Dawn over Mount Aeryon had something sacred to it: the sun rose slowly behind the peaks, bathing the rock in golds and lilacs while clouds danced among the crags like living currents. The air, dense and cold, descended with the purity of Astral, charging every breath with energy.
Asori stood at the edge of the precipice, staring at his hands. He opened and closed them over and over, studying his palms as if invisible wounds were still carved there, burning with a mix of pain and guilt.
He knew they had already healed thanks to Blair's Sweet Kiss, but every time he looked at his palms he felt the blade of Kael's sword piercing them. The memory was so vivid that sometimes he had to look away to keep from vomiting. It was hard to breathe, to stop the trembling, to regain his composure before fear took hold of him again.
Behind him, Eryndor watched in silence, leaning on his staff with that timeless patience only sages possess. He didn't speak right away; he let the wind say what words could not. But when he saw Asori clench his fists in anger, he finally spoke.
—The wind doesn't punish, boy —he said, voice deep but calm—. It only reminds you you're still alive.
Asori turned, trying to force a smile.
—Was that a metaphor or a jab?
—Both —Eryndor replied, a half-smile forming—. If you keep letting the past tie your hands, the wind won't want to carry you… and you'll live anchored to what can no longer hurt you.
Asori lowered his head. His master was right. Since the tournament ended, he'd slept little. Nights were a parade of images: Kael laughing, the sword gleaming, Blair's horrified gaze after being attacked. And though she slept in his arms every night, Asori trembled in silence so he wouldn't wake her. She had suffered enough; it wasn't fair to add his torment to hers.
—I haven't been sleeping well —he admitted at last, quietly.
Eryndor nodded slowly.
—I know. Your eyes give you away. —He approached and looked him straight on—. Tell me, what is it that truly keeps you awake? The pain or the guilt?
Asori gazed out into the void. The wind blew hard, tossing his hair.
—Both —he whispered—. It hurts to remember… but it also hurts that I felt pleasure while fighting. When Kael pierced my hands I thought I'd die, but something inside me woke up. A rage, a fire… and for an instant I enjoyed it. I enjoyed watching him fall, as if a part of me were asking for blood. And I don't know how to feel about that.
—Ah —Eryndor nodded—. The line between instinct and fury. Every warrior crosses it at some point.
—And how do you stop it? How do you keep from giving in to those impulses? Master… I truly wanted to kill him. I wanted him to suffer. I don't know if I was too weak to do it… or strong enough not to break my promise to Blair.
Eryndor set a hand on his shoulder.
—You don't stop it —he said calmly—. You acknowledge it and you tame it. Deny it, and it devours you. And let me tell you something: the fact you didn't kill him doesn't make you weak, Asori. It makes you strong. You kept your promise.
The wind roared in the distance, crashing against the rocks as if answering his contained anger.
—You know what's curious? —Eryndor went on, stepping back—. Down there people call you "Champion of the Capital."
Asori let out a bitter laugh.—Yeah, as if I deserved it. Mikan was the one who won the tournament. I just… got lucky beating Kael. He got cocky, and when I had the advantage he didn't know how to react. I'm not that strong.
—Luck? —the sage repeated, raising a brow—. That title isn't won with strength or technique, but with what you represent. People saw a young man who stood up when every part of his body begged him to surrender. That's what they admire. It doesn't matter that you didn't win the final; you won something more valuable: their hope.
Asori looked at him, surprised.
Eryndor smiled faintly.
—Fear doesn't make you unworthy, boy. It makes you human. Facing it makes you brave.
The words lingered between them. For a moment, the title Champion of the Capital stopped sounding hollow. It became a symbol, something larger than himself.
—Master… —he murmured at last—, were you ever afraid?
Eryndor gave a small laugh.
—Fear was my first teacher. And wind, my second. Both taught me not to stand still.
Later, as the sun climbed over the valleys, Eryndor led him to an even higher plateau. From there, the world seemed infinite.
—Before we continue —said the sage—, answer me something. Why do you fight?
Asori took a few seconds.
—For Blair.
—And if she no longer needed your protection?
The young man hesitated.
—Then… I don't know.
Eryndor nodded slowly.—There's your mistake. If your purpose depends on someone else, when you lose them you'll be empty.
—I'm not going to lose her.
—We all lose something, Asori —the sage said softly—. The difference is learning to keep blowing… like the wind.
Silence stretched, heavy with meaning.
—Master —Asori asked suddenly—, do sages exist for each element?
—Yes. Each protects the balance of Astral and trains those who might be their successors. We all possess the same level of power.
—Then why don't you face Zeknier and end this? If you're so powerful…
Eryndor sighed, planting his staff on the ground.
—Because it is not our duty.
—Isn't your duty to keep the world in balance?
—Not like that. —His voice boomed, grave—. Sages don't win wars, Asori. We only make sure there are those who can rebuild the world after them. If we intervene, we break Astral's balance. And if we solve this generation's battles, you will never learn to rise on your own.
The wind blew stronger, kicking up dust and leaves around them.
Eryndor looked at him again, serious but serene.
—Remember this, boy: we're not here to stop the storm. We're here to teach you to fly within it.
Asori watched him, and for the first time in a long while, he felt those words were not just a lesson… but a promise.
He looked to the horizon, then to his master.
—Then… should Blair face Zeknier? —Asori asked, voice laden with worry and doubt.
Eryndor didn't answer immediately. The old man kept his eyes closed, letting the wind speak for a few seconds. Leaves swirled around them, and the sound of the valley seemed to fold into his breathing.
—She could —he said at last, opening his eyes—. If she unleashed all her power, Blair could reduce Zeknier to ashes in minutes.
Asori went cold.
—Then… why not let her?
Eryndor pressed his staff gently into the earth.
—Because victory at that price would destroy what she's trying to protect. —He lifted his gaze to the sky—. If the people see in her a force that can raze everything, they will love her out of fear… not faith. And fear, boy, is a root that corrodes the foundations of any kingdom.
—But she's the strongest —Asori shot back, frustrated—. She could end this once and for all…
—Yes, but without control, fire doesn't distinguish between enemy and ally. —Eryndor turned to him, his voice deep, almost paternal—. Blair still doesn't master the totality of her Orb. Her soul trembles every time the fire calls her. If she fights now with everything she has, she could lose more than control: she could lose herself.
Asori lowered his head in silence.The wind roared through the crags, lifting dust and grit around them.
—Then what are we supposed to do? —he asked, voice barely cracking—. Wait for her to be ready while Zeknier destroys the world?
Eryndor stepped closer and set a hand on his shoulder.His gaze wasn't authoritative, but understanding.
—Not wait… prepare. Blair is the flame that will light the way, but fire without direction only devours. She must bring stability, lead with compassion and strength. But on the battlefield… —the old man's grip tightened— it must be another who acts.Someone who does not seek to destroy, but to balance.Someone who understands that fighting isn't always the same as killing.
Asori stared, eyes wide.Eryndor gave a slight smile.
—The wind doesn't try to overpower the fire —he went on—. It steadies it when it falters, and parts it when it threatens to consume everything. You, Asori… are that wind.Perhaps destiny didn't choose you for your strength, but for your balance.
A knot tightened in Asori's chest.
—And if I'm not enough for that? —he whispered.
Eryndor let out a brief nasal chuckle, a mix of fondness and weariness.
—No one is at the beginning. Balance isn't reached without breaking first.But hear me well, boy: when you manage to break your own limits, when you can contain your power without letting it consume you, then you'll have found true mastery. Not mastery of muscle or fury, but mastery of yourself.
The sage stepped back a few paces and pointed to the horizon.
—When the time comes, Blair will carry the crown… but you must carry the storm. And remember: a storm doesn't destroy if it learns to flow with the sky.
Eryndor began down the path, his staff tapping a slow rhythm on the stones. Before he went too far, he stopped and spoke without looking back:
—Blair must learn to reign without losing herself. You, Asori… to fight without losing yourself in the fight.And when you both do… the world will breathe again.
The sound of the staff faded into the wind's echoes.
Asori remained there, alone, staring into the abyss below the cliff.The cold air brushed his face, and for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel it as a shove… but as a calling. He closed his eyes, stretched out his hands, and breathed.He felt the wind circle him —not to lift him yet, but to remind him that every gust had a rhythm, a direction, and a hidden calm.
—Break my limits… —he murmured to himself—. Control the wind, and don't let it drag me.
Asori closed his eyes. He understood, even if it hurt.
Blair always said she wanted to be a queen loved, not feared. Perhaps that's why she spent hours listening to farmers, signing decrees, cleansing her name before the people.
Eryndor approached and set a hand on his shoulder.
—Enough talking now. Time to fly.Asori sighed, exasperated.—Again? I've jumped like twenty times already.—And crashed twenty times. But the wind still waits for you. Come.
They stepped to the cliff's edge. The air was so strong it pushed them back.Asori closed his eyes, trying to ignore the memories of previous falls.He felt Astral course through his body and, this time, instead of forcing it, he let it flow.Eryndor watched without a word, with an almost paternal smile.
—Remember, boy —he whispered—, you're not trying to command it. You're asking it to go with you.
Asori stepped forward… and jumped.
For an instant, he fell. Then the wind held him.
His arms opened instinctively and the currents circled him, lifting him upward.It wasn't perfect flight, but it was real. For the first time, the air accepted him. He laughed, free, feeling each blow, each wound, each fear dissolve in the heights.
—I did it, Master! I'M FLYING!
From the summit, Eryndor watched him with a proud smile.—That wasn't flying… —he murmured—. That was trust.
That afternoon, Blair was in the castle gardens. She was surrounded by farmers, merchants, and elders who had traveled from various villages to present their grievances.Seated on a stone bench, she listened carefully to each story, wrote down names, asked for details. She didn't promise miracles, but she offered real solutions, and that was enough to make people smile as they left.
—Your Highness —an old man said, voice trembling—, you… you remind us of Queen Elena.
Blair stilled a moment. Her smile softened.—Then I hope to do my mother justice —she answered, a nostalgic glint in her eyes.
When the gathering ended, the sun was already dropping behind the walls, painting the sky in golden hues.
That was when Asori appeared along the paths, covered in dust, clothes in tatters, and grinning from ear to ear.
—Blair! —he shouted from afar, throwing up his arms— I flew!
Blair blinked, incredulous, then burst into laughter.—Really?
—Yes, though Master will say it was a controlled accident.
—That sounds exactly like Eryndor.
They both laughed. The day's tension melted into that shared laughter.
That night, the moon bathed the castle balconies in silver light. Blair and Asori sat side by side, watching the sky.The breeze blew softly, playing with Blair's hair as if it too wished to caress her.Asori watched her in silence. In his eyes, the stars' reflection seemed to dance. He wanted to speak, but a knot in his throat stopped him.
Blair noticed at once.—What is it? —she asked gently.
—I need to talk to you —he said, lowering his gaze—. I don't want you to think I don't trust you, but…
Blair didn't let him finish. She hugged him suddenly, with a firmness that unraveled his words.She rested her head on his chest and whispered:—You don't have to say it. I already know.
Asori stared at her, bewildered. She lifted her face and smiled, warm.—Don't forget what we share, Asori. The Sweet Kiss connects me to you, too. I can feel how you are, even when you don't speak. At first I thought your sleeplessness was because you were sleeping with me… —she laughed softly—, but I soon understood there was more.
—You knew all this time?
—Since the first night. But I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to trust me, not to do it because I could feel it.
Asori lowered his head, moved. Blair lifted his face with a hand and, in a low tone, added:—We're a couple now, remember? And that means we support each other. No matter how busy I am with my duties… I will always make time for you.
Asori smiled faintly.—That's very sweet of you.
Blair arched a brow, that mischievous spark that always knocked him off balance lighting up.—You should be grateful. Not everyone has a girlfriend who can literally feel your heart.
—Believe me, I am —he replied with a soft laugh.
Blair nestled against his chest, lacing her fingers with his.For a while, neither spoke. They only listened to the wind brushing the balconies, to each other's breathing, the world slipping away.
—The wind never stops —Asori murmured.
Blair looked up, her hair gleaming under the moonlight.—Neither do we —she whispered.
The wind carried their words to the mountains, where the castle's torch-fire burned calmly.Fire and air.Two different forces, yet destined to rise together.
For an instant, the world seemed to pause, and only they existed… in that perfect balance between warmth and breeze, between promise and the present.