The wind that slice

That Night

Kyle lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts wandered.

The Frostfire—the element he had awakened after achieving balance between flame and ice—still lingered fresh in his mind.

It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

Neither flame nor ice, yet containing the essence of both.

A strange, beautiful contradiction. Not classified as fire, and not truly ice either. It was something entirely new.

A smile tugged at his lips.

Now, he needed to master it.

The Frostfire was powerful—cold enough to freeze, yet hot enough to burn.

When used in combat, it inflicted both chilling cold and searing heat simultaneously.

A dual effect that made it terrifyingly versatile.

Without the Ring of Nol and Milia's diary, none of this would have been possible.

Every power he now possessed came from that ring.

Without it, he would still be a Null—a cripple in the eyes of the world.

The very idea of enrolling in the academy would've been a laughable dream.

By instinct, Kyle reached for the diary.

Oddly enough, there had been no new entries since he arrived at the academy.

Days had passed, yet the pages remained unchanged.

The only connection to Milia he'd experienced was the vision—the memory of her suffering.

It hadn't just been a flash of the past; it had served as a guide.

Through it, he had learned to bring balance between flame and ice, and from that balance, the Frostfire was born.

Thinking back to the visions and the diary entries, Kyle had begun to piece together Milia's past—a painful one, filled with forced elemental experiments.

He still remembered the first vision: the moment she was injected with the flame serum.

The agony he felt, though not his own, had been overwhelming.

As if triggered by his thoughts, the diary began to glow.

Before he could react, a familiar pull yanked at his senses—and he fell into another vision.

But this time, it was different.

Unlike previous entries that were written in words, he was now living the memory—fully immersed in it.

When he opened his eyes, he was bound to cold, unyielding metal.

Straps dug into his limbs.

He struggled, writhing against the restraints, but they wouldn't budge.

This wasn't his body—he knew that. And yet, the fear, the rage, the sadness coursing through him felt all too real.

He tried to move, and in his hand, a familiar glow flared to life—the Frostfire.

But it wasn't exactly his.

It was larger, more chaotic.

The power pulsing from it was far stronger than anything he'd ever wielded.

He tried to burn through the restraints with it, but nothing happened.

The material resisted his power entirely.

Footsteps echoed in the room.

"Test F-32 has managed to balance her power. I thought this one was another failure," a cold voice remarked.

Kyle turned toward the speaker—and froze.

The man's eyes were devoid of emotion.

Empty. Hollow.

He spoke like a machine, like human suffering was just another variable to analyze and discard.

"Proceed with the next experiment," the man instructed, turning to the other doctors and nurses around him.

A nurse stepped forward, holding a long syringe filled with a swirling green liquid.

Kyle's instincts screamed.

He struggled violently, shouting over and over, "Let me go! I don't want this!"

But no one listened.

The needle plunged into his arm.

The effect was immediate.

A rush of wind tore through him—not gentle or soothing, but violent and razor-sharp.

It began as a whisper, then surged into a storm.

Invisible blades of air slashed at him, over and over, inside and out.

No blood, no wounds… just pain.

Blinding, relentless pain.

Kyle screamed.

It was as if the wind was trying to shred him from the inside, tearing away his strength, his sanity.

"Enough. The wind essence has been administered. We'll monitor her progress," one of the observers said flatly.

The injection stopped, but the torment didn't.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

The wind howled within him, an endless storm that refused to let up.

Every second felt like an eternity.

He gritted his teeth.

This… this was the worst vision yet.

Why? Why would they do this to her?

Wasn't the Frostfire enough? Why inject her with another element?

He didn't know.

He couldn't know.

But the pain—though not his—was carving itself into his very being.

He wished it would stop.

Wished he could wake up.

Wished he couldn't feel the pain.

But it was.

Time passed—how much, he couldn't tell.

And then, finally, darkness took him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed.

Back in his room.

The vision had ended, but the memory clung to him like smoke after a fire.

He sat up, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Across the room, Koko—the furry, winged creature he'd adopted—watched him silently.

Its normally bright eyes had turned a darker shade of red, glowing faintly in the moonlight.

Unbeknownst to Kyle, Koko was more than just a spirit beast.

It carried a secret.

One that might change everything.