Arel Valefor almost forgot he was standing on the balcony.
That happened sometimes—when his thoughts wandered too far and his body followed without asking. One moment he was half-awake, the next he was barefoot on cold stone, staring out at the city like he was waiting for something to happen.
Nothing ever did.
Aerisvale moved the way it always had: quiet hum of traffic below, distant voices, lights flickering between buildings laced with faint magical lines. The wind drifted through it all, carrying the smell of rain even though the forecast promised clear skies.
Arel leaned on the railing and yawned.
"Still tired," he muttered.
The wind brushed past his face, light and careless. He didn't think much of it. Wind did that.
Arel wasn't special.
At least, that's how it felt to him.
He was fifteen, average height, average build, with hair that refused to behave no matter how much he tried to tame it. He liked walking home instead of taking the tram, forgot homework more often than he should, and had a bad habit of overthinking simple things.
Magic was part of his life the same way it was part of everyone else's.
Just… a bit closer.
Sometimes, when he focused too hard, the air reacted. Sometimes it didn't. Sometimes he thought he understood it, and sometimes it felt like he was imagining things.
Right now, he wasn't focusing at all.
Which was why the wind behaved.
"Arel!"
His mother's voice cut through the morning air.
"If you're outside, at least put shoes on! I don't care how 'connected' you feel to the atmosphere!"
He winced. "Coming!"
Inside, the apartment felt warmer, fuller. The Valefor home wasn't fancy, but it was solid—everything worked the way it was supposed to, quietly supported by low-level enchantments and a lot of careful planning.
Lena Valefor stood by the counter, scrolling through her tablet, already halfway into her workday. She managed coordination for the city's emergency systems, which meant she trusted schedules, redundancies, and backup plans more than raw talent.
"You're up early," she said without looking at him.
"I couldn't sleep."
"That's because you stayed up too late thinking again."
"That's not proven."
She gave him a look. "It's very proven."
At the table sat his father, Eren Valefor, calmly drinking tea. A thin ripple passed through the liquid as he adjusted the temperature without thinking about it. Eren never showed off his magic; it was just… there, like good posture or steady breathing.
Eren noticed Arel watching and raised an eyebrow. "Balcony again?"
"Just for a minute."
"That's what you said yesterday."
"And the day before," Lena added.
Arel shrugged and sat down. "It's quiet out there."
"That's suspicious," Lena said.
Eren smiled faintly.
Breakfast passed easily. Toast, fruit, the low murmur of the city news playing in the background. A famous mage appeared on screen, being praised for stabilizing a mana fault under one of the transit hubs.
"They really talk about magi like they're celebrities," Arel said.
"They are," Lena replied. "Because when magic fails, everything fails."
Eren nodded. "Less than five percent of people can even train properly. Fewer can be trusted with responsibility."
Arel chewed on that.
"I don't feel like that," he said after a moment.
"Like what?" Lena asked.
"Like someone important."
"That's good," she said immediately. "Stay that way."
As Arel grabbed his bag to leave, Eren spoke again.
"The Academy exams are soon."
Arel stopped.
"I know."
"You've been thinking about it," Eren said, not accusing, just stating a fact.
Arel hesitated, then nodded. "A little."
Lena turned toward him. "You don't have to go."
"I know."
Silence stretched—not uncomfortable, just thoughtful.
"I'm not trying to be amazing," Arel said finally. "I just don't like not understanding things."
That made Eren smile.
"That," he said, "is unfortunately a very good reason."
Later, walking to school, Arel blended into the crowd. Students complained about classes, checked messages, talked about exams like they talked about everything else—half serious, half joking.
Someone mentioned the Academy.
Someone else scoffed.
"Only geniuses get in."
Arel kept walking.
He didn't feel like a genius.
He just felt curious.
That evening, back on the balcony, he leaned on the railing again, city lights flickering below.
The wind moved around him, careless and free.
"I'm not in a hurry," he said quietly, unsure why he said it at all.
The air didn't answer.
Which somehow felt right.