Soft Winds, Sharpened Resolve

The moon still hung in the night sky, its pale light dimmed by the thick veil of clouds. Smoke drifted through the air, curling like phantom fingers around the perimeter of Sulien's home, cloaking the night in an uneasy stillness. 

From the distance, the soft, rhythmic clatter of hooves approached—deliberate, unhurried. A rider. Cloaked in shadow, armor glinting faintly in the gloom. A knight, perhaps. Yet no banner flew. No sound accompanied him save the horse's steady gait. 

Inside, Han Jisoo remained lost in exhausted slumber, undisturbed by the growing presence outside. 

Then came a creak—the floorboards outside, disturbed. Subtle, but clear. 

Sulien's eyes opened. He hadn't been sleeping. 

Alert. Watchful. 

That sound... too heavy for a breeze, too deliberate for an animal. 

It couldn't be Commander Galen, the guy won't return at this hour. Narrowing his gaze, Sulien whispered a few arcane syllables under his breath. The words were sharp, and cold to the tongue. 

With a whisper of displaced air—whoosh—he vanished from his room, slipping into the night like a gust of wind. 

The presence… it's gone? he noted inwardly, unsettled. This wasn't unfamiliar territory for him—he had long danced on the edge of the arcane and the unknowable.

Yet this presence… it stirred something older. Older than fear, older than instinct. 

He drew in a breath, slow and deliberate. Around him, the wind began to stir, circling his form like invisible sentinels. 

He felt it again. 

It wasn't on the ground. Not in the trees. Not near. 

Above. 

He looked up. 

A figure loomed in the sky—silent, unmoving. Its form was like charred stone, smoldering at the edges, as if its body had been carved from dying embers. A cloak fluttered behind it, though no wind reached that high. Its features were lost in shadow, and yet Sulien felt its gaze—heavy, ancient, and unblinking. 

A knight. Or something that once resembled one. 

It said nothing. 

Then, as suddenly as it appeared—it vanished. 

Whoosh. 

The air fell still. Empty. 

"What… was that?" Sulien murmured, more to himself than anything else. His voice trembled slightly—not from fear, but from disquiet. It was neither beast nor man. And worse—it left no magical trace behind.

Nothing to follow. Nothing to understand.

In all his years of travel, across cursed lands and forgotten ruins, he had never encountered such a thing. His mind lingered on its form, the burning body, the silence, the stare. 

"I'll tell that moron when he gets back…" he muttered under his breath, casting one final glance toward the sky before retreating inside. 

The bed creaked beneath him as he lay down once more, though rest would not come easily. 

Not tonight. 

Han Jisoo stirred as sunlight brushed against his face. Squinting, he sat up slowly, still caught in that hazy state between dreaming and wakefulness. For a brief moment, his mind remained blank—quiet.

Empty. 

Then he noticed it. 

A small plate of bread and a steaming cup of coffee sat neatly in front of him, untouched and inviting. 

His eyes widened. "Where did this come from?" he murmured, his voice groggy with sleep but laced with wonder. As he leaned forward to investigate—perhaps to indulge—an abrupt bang rang from inside Sulien's room. 

Startled, Han Jisoo shot up and rushed to the door. He didn't knock. 

Inside, Sulien lay sprawled across the wooden floor, limbs tangled in blankets, his face buried into the boards. His breathing was steady—deep and rhythmic. Still fast asleep. 

Han Jisoo blinked. "So it was just you..." he muttered under his breath, closing the door behind him. 

He returned to the main room and glanced around. "Commander Galen still hasn't come back?" 

Rubbing his neck, he realized he hadn't showered in—was it two days? Or more? Ever since he arrived in this world, time seemed to stretch and blur. Surely, the nurses at the facility had at least wiped him down... right? Yet strangely, he didn't smell awful. Maybe it was the scent of the house—faintly herbal, like dried lavender mixed with wood smoke. 

Eventually, he stumbled upon the bathroom. It was humble, oddly so for a place like Sulien's. Clean. Sparse. Just a tub, a block of hard soap, and a faint draft. 

Cautiously, Han Jisoo dipped a hand into the water. 

Bloop. 

"Cold," he muttered with disappointment. 

As he stood there contemplating whether to just endure it, his eyes landed on a curious lever—one side painted red, the other blue.

"Temperature control?" he guessed aloud. Without much thought, he pulled the red side. A soft rumble echoed in the pipes. Moments later, the water warmed in the tub. 

"Is Sulien an engineer?" he wondered, briefly amused. Or maybe… something more.

After his bath, refreshed and dressed in his usual black shirt and trousers, Han Jisoo stepped into the yard. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet earth and something faintly metallic. 

He glanced back toward the bathroom. Sulien probably doesn't need a scoop to bathe, he mused. He can manipulate water. And the towel? Probably not needed either—wind does the trick. 

He let out a soft sigh. 

"When are we going to begin training…" 

The question had barely escaped his lips when a presence appeared beside him—silent and sudden. 

"Ahhh!" he moved back instinctively. 

"Calm down," came the gravelly voice. 

Commander Galen stood there in a plain shirt; armored trousers still caked with dust. He sat beside Jisoo as if he'd always been there. Han Jisoo tried to steady his breath.

"What brings you here, Commander?"Galen gave him a long, unreadable look. Then, without a word, he reached into a cloth-wrapped bundle and pulled out a sword. 

It gleamed. Refined, polished, deadly. 

Han Jisoo's eyes widened as he took it in his hands. The balance was different. Heavier. Stronger. The edges were razor-sharp—no longer rusted, but singing with potential. 

"I enhanced its durability using earth magic," Galen said simply. "And a mineral from Sulien's reserves. Its strength and attack power are significantly higher now." 

Han Jisoo turned the blade slowly, watching how the sunlight played across its surface. His awe was plain to see. "Thank you, Commander Galen." 

He gave a single nod, stood, and without another word, returned inside. 

To cook lunch, Han Jisoo noted, half in disbelief. 

He sat there a moment longer, sword resting across his lap, the weight of it grounding him. The quiet morning held a strange stillness, as if something were gathering just beyond the veil of the mundane. And somewhere, just faintly, he felt the world shift again.

Han Jisoo stood in the yard, gripping his newly-enhanced sword. With each swing, the wind responded more sharply than before—coiling around the blade, then lashing out in slashes that cut cleanly through the air.

It was satisfying in a way only raw improvement could be. The sword felt heavier, yet more balanced, as if demanding more from him in return for its power. He pushed himself harder, expecting to unlock more force, sharper waves, faster cuts. 

But before long, exhaustion crept in. His arms trembled.

His footing lost its precision. Breathing raggedly, Han Jisoo realized he'd overextended—again. "Should've warmed up," he muttered to himself, hunched over, sweat dripping from his brow. The thrill of new strength had gone straight to his head. 

Inside, the scent of grilled fish and roasted vegetables pulled him in like a spell.

Commander Galen stood at the table, sleeves rolled up, calmly arranging plates. At the center was a massive fish—easily over seven feet long—its skin charred to perfection, surrounded by tomatoes and golden potatoes glistening with oil and herbs. 

"I picked it up at the Cathedral market," Galen said, not bothering to look up.

"Managed to get the biggest one before the nobles started bidding." 

Han Jisoo didn't respond. His stomach answered for him, and as he stepped toward the table, the air shifted—soft, faintly cool. Sulien floated in, half-asleep, drool still trailing down his chin. He hovered over the table like a ghost drawn to incense, the smell waking him mid-drift. 

"WAHHH WHAT A FEAST!" Sulien cried, eyes wide, voice booming in the small kitchen. 

"Calm down," Galen said flatly, taking his seat. "Let me sit first." 

Once they'd all gathered, a short prayer was muttered—more reflex than ritual—and then the feast began. Han Jisoo had barely taken his third bite when Sulien had already devoured the fish's entire head. 

"Cronch, cronch, cronch." 

Han Jisoo stared, wide-eyed. "He's eating the bones...?" he whispered in disbelief, then immediately shoveled in more food before Sulien could steal seconds. Galen ate without fuss, as though none of this was new. 

By the end of the meal, Sulien leaned back, patting his stomach with a loud burp. "Man, that hit the spot!" 

"That was a great dish, Commander," Han Jisoo said, nodding in genuine appreciation.

Galen hummed quietly and drank his water. 

After a pause, Han Jisoo glanced at Sulien. "When are we starting training?" 

Sulien stretched with a lazy groan. "Let's take a short break first. I'm too full to move." 

Han Jisoo nodded. He wasn't in a hurry either. Still digesting, he rested with him outside under the shade. 

"So," Sulien said without lifting his head, "how do you rate your wind skills now?" 

Han Jisoo scratched his chin. "Solidly average, I'd say. I get the motion, but I'm still not at the level where it's second nature." 

"Fair enough," Sulien replied. "Good thing, too. Training's going to be different today. Harder." 

Han Jisoo blinked. "Wait, harder?" 

Sulien didn't answer right away. His eyes were half-closed, arms behind his head. Then he cracked one open. "You asked me before—I am a traveler, yeah." 

"Have you ever faced... death? While traveling?" 

His body didn't move, but the expression in his eyes shifted. "Yeah. Two years ago. I wandered into a dungeon I wasn't ready for. Thought I could handle it. Found out real fast I couldn't." 

Han Jisoo leaned in. "What happened?" 

"There was a dragon. Green scales, small build. It was west of here, so it's probably tied to the Monarch of Nature. At first, it didn't seem that bad—I even managed to cut off a leg. But then it got to its pod—some kind of water cocoon. Its body... changed. It deformed, like its bones melted and reformed into something else. It became a different kind of monster altogether." 

Han Jisoo was quiet for a long moment. That description—it echoed something. The Identity Inspection... a dragon, in a lost city.

He'd need more than just training. He'd need Sulien's knowledge of this world, its dungeons, its rulers, its monsters. But more than anything, he'd need strength.

Enough to stand on his own. 

Eventually, the fullness faded from his limbs. He stood and stretched, feeling lighter. Beside him, Sulien had already changed into a dark vest, his movements fluid and easy. He rolled his shoulders and pulled on a pair of gloves. 

"I'll be heading out for a while," Sulien said, tightening his belt. "So I'll leave you to your drills with Galen. Same routines. I'll check your progress when I'm back." 

Han Jisoo nodded. "Got it." 

With a smirk, Sulien mounted his horse. "Don't slack, kid." 

"Chao!" he shouted, waving over his

shoulder as he rode off, disappearing into the morning sun. 

Figures, Han Jisoo thought, smirking faintly to himself. He flies, eats like a beast, and rides off before the sweat even dries. 

He looked to the sky. The sun hung just above the eastern rooftops, shrouded faintly behind a gauze of thin clouds. The light was soft, not golden but pale—cool, almost aloof. The wind had retreated, just as the one who trained it had. 

Not ideal weather for wind training, he noted. But I'm not here to depend on ideal. 

His footsteps were quiet as he stepped forward. The yard, now familiar, felt different in the morning's hush. Like it was holding its breath. Waiting. Maybe it could sense what was coming too. 

Han Jisoo raised his sword slowly. Felt its weight. Aligned his posture. 

"I'll manage," he said softly to no one, the words lost to the quiet. 

A few moments later, a second presence entered the yard—Commander Galen. He said nothing, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and steady. There was no warmth in it, but no malice either. Just the kind of attention that measured effort in scars and silence. 

The wind may have faded—but the training had only just begun.