The grass bent in wide, gleaming arcs as Fayte dove, wings stretched like a sail, his wingtips slicing spider-silk strands that glimmered faintly blue in the evening. The threads curled back on themselves, recoiling from his wind wake.
Aurelian leaned against a stone outcrop, watching. The air smelled of crushed mint and wet bark, sharp on the tongue. He had never thought silence could feel so full—not emptiness, but a bowl brimming with the sounds of play. Fayte dipped low, clipping the stalks of high grass with his wings. The ardentis wheeled and came around again, talons curled but harmless, and Aurelian laughed. The sound was raw and startling in his own throat.
He had not known such simple enjoyment since Rita. He had gone from having no one but Rita to being surrounded by bonds. Eden, always standing sentinel, like a mother bear herself, ready to pounce, teach, or love, and Fayte, forever companion.
"To have his energy," Eden murmured. Her braid brushed his shoulder as she tilted her head. "You couldn't have received a greater blessing."
"He enjoys exercising his wings," Aurelian said softly.
A shriek split the play. A Dust Fowl broke from the far thicket, feathers ragged, one wing dragging. Its eyes were wild, beak stained with berry pulp like blood. Fayte reared midair, startled. Aurelian felt the pull — the choice that was becoming instinct. He raised his palm, fingers parting as if the air itself were waiting between them.
Breathe.
The sprig of silver-leaf in his pouch hummed against his ribs. His pulse steadied. The air bent.
Gust.
The Dust Fowl slammed sideways as if a hand had cuffed it. It crumpled into feathers and dust; the body dissolved before it struck the earth. The grass shivered in the aftershock, threads of spider-silk trembling. Fayte gave a triumphant cry, circling back. Aurelian lowered his hand, stilling his breath. "I did it…" He still looked down at his hands in amazement. It was clear what lived in his body. While he had selected a mage in his contract, he had not been sure how it all would work. It was beyond the price of the pact he had made.
"We should practice refinement," Eden said. "Measured. Power answers intent. You struck to end swiftly. The air obeyed."
He flexed his fingers. They still tingled, as though he had touched lightning.
They began the climb at dusk. The air thinned, sharpening against his teeth. Loose stones rattled down behind them, tiny echoes chasing into the dark. Fayte circled above, silent but for the whisper of his pinions.
At last, the hidden valley spread before them again. Mist silvered the grass. Rocks stood like teeth around its rim.
But it was empty.
No chime of hooves on water. No ripple of light-bent air. Only wind moving lazily across stone.
Aurelian's chest sank. His hand found the sprig in his pouch, thumb brushing its leaf-vein. "Gone."
"Not gone," Eden whispered. "Withdrawn. Myths are not lanterns to summon at will. They arrive when the world turns its face toward them."
"Then why?" His voice cracked sharper than he meant. "Why show, only to vanish?"
"To see if you would follow." Her eyes found him, steady as always. "Patience is pursuit."
He turned his face away, jaw tight. He wanted to argue, to demand, but what words could he offer the silence? The qirin would not answer a boy stamping his feet. Fayte swooped low, brushing him with the soft thrum of his wingbeat.
Eden touched his arm. "Come. If the sky is not ready to take you, then we make ready for the sky. Use what you've gained. Show me Gust."
They returned to the meadow where tall stalks rose in tight clusters, their tips crowned with velvet-petaled blooms. Fireflies drifted between them like sparks shaken loose from the stars.
Eden gestured to the blossoms. "Strike the petals only. Leave the stalk standing."
He frowned. "That's… too fine. Gust is force, not—"
Her eyebrow lifted. "Force that cannot choose is only destruction. Learn choice."
He exhaled, placed his feet. The hum flickered in his blood, restless. He raised his palm and released.
The first stalk toppled with a harsh snap.
Eden shook her head. "Too much."
He tried again, focusing on restraint. The air puffed weakly, barely stirring the petals.
"Too little."
He gritted his teeth, sweat beading. Again. Again. Each strike either shredded the bloom or left it untouched. Fayte hopped from perch to perch, impatient with his fumbling.
"Feel the air, don't force it," Eden instructed, voice like river-stone. "Breathe in, gather. Breathe out, release. It is not your strength. It is your surrender."
He hated how right she sounded.
This time, he inhaled deeply, slowly, filling his ribs. The hum steadied. His exhale carried the motion, not as a push but a letting-go. His fingers barely parted.
The petals shivered—then drifted down, severed clean. The stalk stood unharmed.
"This time, the air chose."
Aurelian's heart leapt. "Yes."
Eden allowed a small nod. "Again."
Hours blurred. Exercise upon exercise. Stripping petals. Splitting threads of spider-silk without tearing both ends. Knocking pebbles aside while leaving the earth beneath unscathed. Each attempt drained him, but each taught.
Fayte became part of the lesson. Eden whistled, and the griffin dove — only for Aurelian to cast a gust at the last second, redirecting his glide into a gentle curve rather than a crash. Fayte trilled approval, wings catching the updraft.
Eden had him leap from a low rock, and Aurelian flared a cushion of air beneath him. The ardentis landed on a pillow of wind, rolled, then called happily, demanding another round.
Aurelian laughed despite his fatigue. "He'll never stop now."
"Then you must never stop learning," Eden said.
[Skill Progression: Gust → Gust II]
Control increased. Range widened.
[Effect Unlocked: Cushion]
Fall damage decreases within a short range.
His body ached with the strain, but it was an honest ache, earned. The hum in his blood no longer lashed wildly; it curled obediently, waiting to be shaped.
By the time the moon climbed full above the ridge, they had built a small fire in a hollow of stone. The flames were soft, barely a glow, masked from watching eyes. Fayte lay curled with wings half-spread, head tucked. Aurelian flexed his hand toward the firelight. The air stirred faintly around his fingers, responsive now. He smiled, weary but sure.
Eden watched him through the smoke. "Storms begin as whispers. You are learning to whisper."
He stared at the silver-leaf sprig resting near his boot. Its edges glimmered faintly, still humming, still waiting. "And if the storm never comes?"
"It will. One day, the sky will decide it is time. Until then, you learn to walk like air."
He leaned back against the stone, listening to the fire crackle. Above, stars pricked the darkness. He thought again of eyes watching, not judging, simply present.
Fayte stirred, feathers rustling. His nearness warmed him in a way no fire could. He thought of the qirin, of shelter, of rain washing rot from the roots. He thought of the phoenix, fierce and unyielding. Both were far from him tonight. But he had this.
He closed his eyes. The wind brushed his cheek like a hand, and for the first time since Rita, he felt carried.