A smile blossomed on his face, a mixture of anticipation and hunger.
He reached out to grab it, but despite his best efforts, his fingers only grazed the smooth, shiny surface; the apple remained out of reach, motionless and stubborn.
It should be mentioned that Venti was only 1.57 meters tall, and the apple must have been about 2.5 or 3 meters away.
And so, his first mission in this new world began.
Catch an apple.
He took a few steps back, tried again, jumping, stretching his arm higher, but each attempt failed.
Frustration and curiosity mingled.
Venti: "Why is it so difficult ?"
He thought.
A mixture of surprise and perplexity crossed his mind.
He hadn't thought it would be so complicated to retrieve an apple from the top of a tree, and he also wondered how farmers managed to harvest hundreds of them every day.
A few seconds later, he tried jumping to gain height, but it still didn't work.
He tried again, focusing on the apple, trying to coordinate his movements with his body's momentum, and this time, something strange happened.
As he leaped, a breeze swirled around him, and he felt his legs lengthen almost naturally, as if the wind itself had carried him.
He rose higher than he ever thought possible, his fingers brushing against the apple in an almost unreal way.
Venti: "Finally."
At that precise moment, a realization struck him:
It wasn't just his lightness that was helping him, nor a simple stroke of luck.
An invisible, almost living force seemed to be responding to his intentions.
His jump had become more fluid, more powerful, as if the wind itself were guiding his movements, carrying him, lifting him.
He felt a familiar warmth course through his body, a shiver that brought back vague, distant memories, like echoes of a past life, but at the same time, he felt the cold breeze swaying his hair from side to side.
The apple, now almost within reach, seemed to almost vibrate with this connection, as if acknowledging the bond being forged.
He inhaled deeply, feeling the air flow around him, light and supportive.
Venti : "The wind,"
He murmured to himself.
A mixture of wonder and understanding lit up his eyes.
He had just realized that he had more than just a light body: he possessed a true affinity with the air and the breath that surrounded him, an intimate and instinctive connection.
This revelation sparked a mixture of excitement and determination within him.
If the wind was with him, then perhaps his physical limitations, his apparent weakness, were only temporary.
But it still wasn't enough to grab the apple, and he tumbled back down to the ground.
Venti: "Ouch."
"Come on, let's try again."
He didn't know what he wanted to happen, but he understood that if he wanted to, he could reach higher than he intended.
So, he tried again.
He stood up, first bending his legs, then positioned himself to squat and straightened his knees.
A final jump, more confident this time, propelled him high enough to pick the apple.
Venti: "Yes."
His hands closed around the fruit, and he nimbly slid back down the path.
When his feet touched the ground again, he gazed at the red apple in his hand.
He still wondered how he'd managed to reach a piece of fruit that was about 3 meters high.
He bit into the apple, feeling the sweet, refreshing juice quench his hunger.
Venti: "Delicious."
Even though the apple wasn't fully ripe, it was still better than nothing.
It wasn't too sweet, nor was it too hard.
But in his mind, a bigger idea was beginning to take root: if he could sense and control the wind like this, he had to exploit this connection.
It didn't matter that he didn't yet understand how:
If he could become stronger and have fun with his powers at the same time, then why not?
After that, he decided to continue on his way, walking through the forest.
The young boy resumed his walk, the apple still fresh in his mouth, as the dirt path gradually led him toward a forest whose trees formed a natural arch, though it was also strange to see so many trees gathered in one place.
The scent of damp moss, crushed leaves, and fresh earth filled the air as he descended beneath the canopy of branches.
The sunlight fragmented above him, casting golden patches on his face and clothes, and each breath of wind made the leaves rustle in a soothing whisper.
He walked slowly, attentive to everything around him, but especially to what was happening within him.
This feeling, this strange feeling arose as the wind continued to vibrate in his chest.
He didn't yet know how to fully control it, but he could feel that he was capable.
It was like a melody he already knew, like an instrument he had played for years but whose notes he needed to rediscover.
His thoughts began to wander, imagining the possibilities, the capabilities, the movements he could reproduce.
The possibilities for techniques and methods to use in manipulating the wind are numerous.
Venti: "If I can jump higher,"
He thought, looking up at the gently swaying canopy.
Venti: "Perhaps I could also manipulate the air to run faster?"
"Or even let it carry me."
He smiled, the idea making his heart beat a little faster.
He imagined himself gliding between the trees, carried by a gust he himself had summoned, twirling like a light leaf.
He imagined himself leaping from branch to branch with the agility of a woodland spirit.
He imagined himself using the wind to dry the sheets.
Venti: "In the end, maybe it would be better to just let the sheets dry naturally."
He raised a hand, as if to grasp the air between his fingers.
The wind immediately slipped around his palm, soft, attentive, almost obedient. He felt a thrill of excitement.
Venti: "What if I could create a gust, just powerful enough to repel something?"
"Or even protect someone?"
He then began to imagine all the ways he could use the wind offensively.
His thoughts became more ambitious, more audacious.
He imagined himself conjuring small tornadoes, summoning air currents to disarm an opponent, or even concentrating an invisible barrier of swirling wind around him.
The mere contemplation of these possibilities galvanized him.
Each idea seemed realistic, natural, as if the entire world were just waiting for him to respond.
But for now, he was too weak to put his theories into practice.
He felt the wind playing with his dark hair, fading to turquoise, his cape, his clothes, as if speaking to him in a silent language he understood without having learned it.
This familiarity reassured him, guided him.
He no longer simply felt lost in a foreign body; he was beginning to feel that he could do something with it, that he could flourish within it and transform it into strength.
But he still asked himself a question that had nothing to do with his powers.
Venti: "Why do I suddenly crave wine?"
Lost in thought, he didn't immediately notice that his steps had become lighter, almost silent, gliding over the humus as if he were walking on a cushion of air.
It was subtle, but real. A slight smile stretched across his lips; without even realizing it, he was already making progress.
The forest seemed to welcome him, the leaves rustling softly as he moved forward, as if encouraging him to go further, to explore this newfound power, to become who he once was, or perhaps to become someone new.
He wasn't in a hurry, and he didn't need to be.
His mind, filled with visions of air and freedom, continued to dream and imagine.
But he didn't know that somewhere further along the path, something or someone would soon interrupt this sweet tranquility.
A few kilometers further on:
About two or three kilometers beyond the gentle tranquility that enveloped the young boy, the atmosphere was completely different.
In a secluded spot on the forest path, where the trees closed in and the light struggled to penetrate the canopy, a cart had come to a standstill.
Its wheels had sunk into a mixture of mud and roots, making any further progress impossible.
The cart creaked slightly under the weight of the crates it carried, loaded with food, fabrics, and a few neatly stacked tools.
A worn linen tarpaulin partially covered it, flapping softly in the capricious gusts of wind from the forest.
Near the stuck wheel stood a man in his thirties, his face etched with fatigue and frustration.
His short brown hair was disheveled by sweat and stress. He wore a simple tunic, reinforced with leather patches, like someone accustomed to traveling in dangerous areas.
A sword hung at his side, a sign that he knew how to defend himself.
He knelt down to try once more to free the wheel.
His fingers dug into the mud, searching for a grip, but the sodden earth slipped through his hands. He cursed under his breath.
Arlan: "Why does this kind of thing have to happen to me?"
He sat up with a sigh, glancing nervously around him.
The trees were so close together that
They were almost silhouettes, and the growing darkness gave the place the air of a natural trap.
A bay horse, tied to the cart, shook its head, breathing heavily.
Its nervousness was evident in its abrupt movements. Its ears pricked up and down alternately, alert to something the man, for his part, could not yet perceive.
Arlan: "Gently," he murmured, stroking the animal's neck.
Arlan: "We'll get out of this, all right."
Crack.
Then, a faint, almost imperceptible sound echoed through the foliage to the left of the path, a sharp crack of a breaking branch.
Arlan froze instantly.
His gaze fixed on the direction of the sound, his body tensed, ready to react.
He instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword.
Arlan: "Who's there?"
He called out, his voice loud, though it betrayed a slight unease.
No answer.
Only the silent forest seemed to listen.
He stepped back slightly toward the cart, his other hand searching for a crate for support, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
Meanwhile, on Venti's side:
At that precise moment, the wind, light but perceptible, suddenly passed between the branches.
A strange breath, almost like a warning.
And on Venti's side, still lost in his reverie, he felt a subtle shiver run through the air.
A change.
A stirring.
As if the wind itself were reacting to something, or calling to him.
His adventure was about to intersect with that of the man in peril.
Meanwhile, on Arlan's side:
At the same instant, on the other side of the cart, the situation shifted abruptly.
Emerging from behind the trees, three dark figures appeared like living shadows.
Their steps were silent, but their intentions left no doubt: they were bandits, their faces hidden by dirty scarves and threadbare hoods.
Their clothing was a mixture of tanned leather, pieces of stolen armor, and dark fabrics that blended into the forest.
The man froze.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw them.
But it wasn't the bandits' presence that chilled him to the bone; it was what they were carrying.
Behind the largest of the three, a small, blonde girl, barely eight or nine years old, was being led by the hand.
Her simple clothes were covered in dust, her face etched with fear, her eyes wet with anguish.
A bandit held her tightly, a short blade pressed against her throat.
???: "Papa!"
She cried out, reaching out to him, tears welling in her eyes.
The man's heart broke instantly.
Arlan: "Leona!"
"No!"
He took a step forward, but one of the bandits raised his weapon, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Bandit #1: "One more move."
Threatened the man holding the little girl in a deep, gravelly voice.
Bandit #1: "And the little girl won't see the next sunrise."
The father clenched his fists, rage and terror vying for control of his soul.
He felt his throat tighten, his breath come in short gasps. His hand was gripping the hilt of his sword, but he dared not move.
The bandit leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his forehead to his cheek, stepped forward.
Bandit leader: "You're carrying some fine things in that cart, traveler."
"Food."
"Tools."
"And surely a few coins hidden here and there."
"We'll lighten your load a bit."
He gave a wicked smile, revealing yellowed teeth.
Bandit leader: "Cooperate, you and the girl will stay alive."
The man swallowed hard.
He looked at his daughter, trembling, unable to hide his fear.
He felt his legs weaken, his breath catch in his chest.
Arlan: "I... I'll do anything you want."
"But let her go."
"She hasn't done anything."
A dry laugh echoed among the trees.
Bandit leader: "Oh, but she's very useful to us."
The leader replied, amused.
Bandit leader: "A hostage... that makes a father very wise."
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
Even the wind had fallen silent, as if the world were watching, frozen, the outcome of this scene. Little Leona sobbed softly, her eyes fixed on her father, who couldn't move forward, trapped by his helplessness.
And two kilometers away, a young boy continued along the path, accompanied by the wind's breath.
A wind that suddenly seemed to change direction, snapping between the leaves, as if carrying a cry for help. Soon, their destinies would cross.
Venti: "...."
"Someone needs help!"
Chapter 2: The Wind That Guides Me
The End