Two years had passed since that day in the city.
Two years since I first walked among common people, since I tasted an apple bought at a market, since I saw a boy mage perform water tricks and his mother pulled him away from me as if I were a plague.
Two years since that battle against Master Zekin, when Calithia and I faced him together and, though we lost, we lasted longer than ever before. We had pushed to the limit everything we learned in those months, everything we practiced in secret, all the extra hours we dedicated to training without the master knowing.
Well, maybe he did know. Zekin knew everything. But he never said anything.
In these two years, I had become one with my element. The wind was no longer something I consciously channeled; it was part of me, like an arm or a leg. I could reach speeds my eyes could barely process, spin several times in the air before falling, and descend to the ground with the softness of a leaf detaching from a tree. Sometimes, when I ran with the wind at my back, I felt like I was flying. Truly flying.
And most importantly: the master had praised me. More than once. His words, scarce but meaningful, were etched into my memory like invaluable treasures.
—Good work, little Aito —he once told me, after a particularly hard training session—. Keep it up.
That was enough. More than enough. For those words, for that look of approval, I kept practicing every day. More and more. Until pain became routine and routine became life.
---
Now, I, Prince Aito Greymont, had just turned seven years old.
Three years training. Three years sweating, learning, falling, getting up, falling again, and getting up once more. Even if my knees bled. Even if my muscles burned. Even if some nights I fell asleep with tears in my eyes from exhaustion.
But I wasn't stubborn. I didn't put myself in danger unnecessarily under the pretext that "it was a lesson." No, I distinguished well between pain that strengthens and pain that destroys. When I made mistakes from lack of knowledge, when I fell from not understanding, that's when I told myself: this is a lesson. And I learned. And I improved.
My life was simple on the surface: I woke up, trained, ate, bathed, ate, slept. And the next day, the same thing. Over and over. Like a clock. Like a ritual.
But inside, something was brewing. Something was growing.
---
I had grown, physically too. My black hair now reached my waist, and I wore it loose most of the time, except when training, when I tied it in a low ponytail so it wouldn't get in the way. My golden eyes, according to my mother, and as I saw them in the mirror, shone with a curiosity that not even stories of powerful mages could extinguish.
And believe me, they tried.
Every night, before sleeping, mother still read me adventure tales. Mages crossing infinite deserts, climbing mountains where the air was so thin ordinary men died, fighting legendary beasts and winning. Ancient heroes whose deeds were sung in taverns and written in grimoires.
But...
They were no longer enough.
My curiosity didn't cease. On the contrary, it grew each day, fed by those same stories that once fulfilled me. Now, when mother closed the book and gave me my goodnight kiss, I would stay awake staring at the ceiling, imagining not the stories I had just heard, but the ones I didn't yet know. The places I hadn't seen. The people I hadn't met.
And deep down, something told me that was a problem.
I knew that one day, without even realizing it, I might try to escape the palace. Not to run away, not to abandon my family, but to search. To find. To see with my own eyes all that which only existed in books.
I knew that if I tried, I wouldn't get far. They'd find me in minutes, surely. But in those minutes, anything could happen. An accident. A kidnapping. I could make my mother sad, and that... that I couldn't bear.
So I made a decision.
It had been circling in my head for a long time, but I always put it off. Tomorrow, I told myself. Next week. When I'm a little stronger.
But I couldn't wait any longer.
I gathered my courage, like that day two years ago, when I stood before my mother and asked to go out to the city. Now the request would be greater. Much greater.
---
Today is a sunny day.
The sky is clear, except for a few small, scattered clouds, so faint they're no match for the sun's rays. It's warm, that typical mid-spring warmth that made the palace gardens bloom in their maximum splendor.
—Uff —I exhaled, feeling the hot air on my skin.
My element, the wind, kept me cool most of the time. But when I moved a lot, when I trained intensely, I heated up like anyone else. And I sweated. Oh, how I sweated.
At that moment, I was eating an apple. The sweetness exploded in my mouth with each bite, and I couldn't help but smile. Apples were, without a doubt, one of the best things in existence. That taste reminded me of that day in the city, of my first walk, of freedom.
I finished the apple and headed to the garden where mother always sat to drink tea. Or coffee, depending on the day and her mood.
There she was, as always, at her white marble table, a steaming cup between her hands. The sun caressed her face, and for an instant, before she saw me, I could observe her without her knowing. She was beautiful, my mother. More beautiful than any queen in the stories.
Her chestnut hair was gathered in a carefully styled low bun, with delicate waves escaping with artistic intent. An ornament of thin branches with small pearls sparkled among the strands, as if the moon had settled on her head.
I took a deep breath and stood before her.
—Mother —I said, in a voice I tried to make firm.
I didn't greet her. It wasn't necessary; we had seen each other just a few hours earlier, at breakfast.
She looked up and smiled, but something in my expression must have alerted her, because her smile faded slightly.
—Tell me, son —she replied in a soft voice, carefully lowering her cup.
I opened my mouth.
And closed it.
I opened it again.
Nothing.
I had rehearsed this so many times. In my room, in front of the mirror. In the training yard, between strikes. In the tower, while Eliel explained theories about mana. I had always known what to say, how to say it, in what order.
But now, in front of her, with her green eyes looking at me with that mixture of tenderness and curiosity that only mothers have, the words refused to come out.
—What's wrong, son? —she asked, and her voice was a warm whisper—. Because you're clenching your fists.
I looked at my hands. She was right. I had them clenched so tightly my nails were digging into my skin.
—Could it be...? —she paused, and something in her tone changed—. Do you want to hit your mother?
She stared at me.
And I felt as if a spear had pierced me.
A chill ran across my forehead. A shiver went down my spine, freezing me to the bone. My eyes opened wide, and panic seized me. Her aura, that presence that only kings and queens have, forced me to hold her gaze, unable to look away, unable to move.
No, no, no, no...
My plan had completely crumbled. All the courage I had gathered over weeks, over months, collapsed like a house of cards before a single look from my mother.
And to make matters worse, now she thought I wanted to hit her. Hit my mother?! Where had she gotten that idea?!
I wanted to explain myself, to tell her no, never, how could she think that, but the words still wouldn't come. My throat was closed, paralyzed by fear and shame.
But then, something inside me pulled itself together.
This too is a lesson, I told myself. Don't give up, Aito. Breathe. Try again.
Almost a minute passed. An eternal minute in which the only sounds were the birds singing and the faint rustle of wind through the flowers.
Finally, the words came out.
—I want to go out —I said, and my voice sounded strange, as if it weren't mine—. Outside the palace.
I paused. Took a deep breath. And let out what I really wanted to say:
—And travel the world.
The silence that followed was even deeper than before.
Mother looked at me without blinking. Her expression was unreadable, an impenetrable wall behind which I couldn't guess what she thought, what she felt.
The teacup remained in her hands, motionless.
—What? —she finally said.
A single word. But in that word there were so many things... Surprise, disbelief, perhaps a hint of concern.