The Wind Within

---

A week passed in Nytherion.

A strange, healing calm settled over the village—like the sigh that follows a storm. The homes were being rebuilt. Scorch marks faded. The rivers ran clear again. Flowers bloomed near the elder tree where Darius had been buried, and every morning, villagers left fresh petals at the roots.

Asteria stood on a rooftop overlooking the valley, the wind tugging gently at his cloak. Behind him, the others were preparing supplies—packs filled, weapons checked, rations stacked. Their next journey called, and Nytherion, for all its comfort, was only a rest stop on a much longer road.

Cain adjusted his gauntlet straps. "Ready."

Valron strapped a crate of throwing stones to his back. "Let's not waste the day."

Tarn grunted. "We leave before noon."

Seri walked over quietly, cloak fluttering. She looked stronger now—still grieving, but walking with Darius's strength beside her. Her blade was polished, her boots clean, her fire steady.

Only one was missing.

Mira.

They had said their goodbyes last night. She was staying behind—her people needed her. Or so she'd said.

Just as Asteria turned to lead the group down the path—

"Wait!"

They all looked up.

Mira stood at the edge of the village, arms crossed, bags slung awkwardly over one shoulder.

"I changed my mind," she said, trying not to sound breathless. "You'll get yourselves killed without me."

Valron blinked. "Didn't you say you were needed here?"

"Yeah, well," she huffed. "They're better off without me bossing them around. Besides, you'd all die of thirst or make terrible stew."

Asteria tilted his head. "You sure it's not just because you'll miss me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You're the most annoying fire brat I've ever met. Of course not."

Tarn muttered, "She's definitely coming for him."

They all chuckled, even Mira—though she tried not to.

---

The morning sun glimmered softly over Nytherion, casting golden light over rooftops still blackened from the Queen's invasion. Yet peace had returned, if only for a moment.

Asteria stood in the center of the clearing just beyond the main square, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat already lining his brow. Around him, the others began gathering. Tarn cracked his knuckles, stretching. Cain balanced his knives on one finger, testing their weight. Valron dragged a stone slab into place for target practice, and Mira, returned at the last moment, adjusted the bandage on her forearm with a casual grunt.

Serenya—or Seri, as she now allowed him to call her—arrived last, fire in her step and resolve in her eyes. Her hair was loosely braided, her armor worn but clean, her blade strapped to her hip. She had trained hard these past days, harder than anyone expected from a princess. Grief had sharpened her.

"Alright," Asteria said, clapping his hands. "Let's do this properly. Pairs. Light sparring. No maiming. Mira, that means you."

She gave him a mock-glare. "You burn down half a village and I get the warning?"

They split up quickly. Tarn and Valron began with brute force drills—grappling, blocking, countering. Cain set up against Mira, using agility to dodge water blasts and throw quick feints.

Asteria faced Seri.

They bowed. No one said a word.

Her flames lit first, licking at her fingertips as she summoned a controlled arc of heat. A thin whip of fire danced around her, crackling with restrained fury. Asteria grinned and met her heat with his own, a swirl of fire enveloping his fists.

She struck first—a flick of her wrist, sending a sharp lash of fire toward his legs. He leapt over it, twisting midair and countering with a fiery punch aimed at her shoulder. She dodged easily.

They circled.

She advanced again, two jets of fire spun from her palms, rotating in opposite directions. Asteria blocked with a cross-flame stance, stepping in with practiced rhythm. Their flames collided, sizzling violently.

Then she did something unexpected—a low spin-kick combined with a wall of heat, forcing him back. He stumbled slightly, just enough.

She smiled. "You're slowing."

"Just warming up."

He lunged forward, pushing his energy into a wide arc. She blocked with a crescent shield of flame. The two danced across the dusty ground, each step deliberate, each movement more refined than the last. Their earlier awkwardness was gone—this was no longer training. This was precision.

Suddenly, Seri pulled back and unleashed a streak of vertical flame—sharp, blinding.

Asteria reacted instinctively.

He threw up both arms, bracing for impact—but instead of fire… wind burst out from him.

A pulse of air rippled from his chest outward, not just disrupting the flame, but extinguishing it completely.

Everything stopped.

Asteria stood there, arms raised, wide-eyed.

Seri lowered her hands. The rest of the group turned, their mock-battles forgotten.

Mira frowned. "Did he just…?"

Cain stared. "That was wind."

Valron dropped his practice stone. Tarn looked like someone had punched him.

"Try again," Seri said, breath catching in her throat.

"I didn't mean to," Asteria muttered. "I just… I reacted."

She stepped back and raised her hands again, summoning a smaller flame—one meant only to test.

"Focus. Block it again."

He nodded slowly, lifting one hand, trying to summon fire.

But instead, wind surged forward again—a gust that scattered dust and leaves across the field. It wasn't elegant or stable, but it was real. Raw. Elemental.

Mira took a step back. "This doesn't make sense. You're Fire Tribe. Wind is its opposite. The only ones who—"

"The only ones who can wield more than one element," Seri whispered, "are royals. And even then… only one in a generation."

Tarn tilted his head. "You mean—like a Prime?"

Seri turned toward them slowly, her voice hollow with realization.

"In the old scrolls of Eldros, it's written that Primes were chosen from the royal bloodline. Not just for their power, but for their balance. They could learn to bend any element given time—fire, wind, water, even lightning. But they weren't born often. Some believed they had vanished entirely."

Cain glanced at Asteria, then back at her. "You're saying he—"

"He shouldn't be able to do this. Unless…"

Asteria let out a shaky breath. "Unless what?"

Seri stared at him. "Unless you're not just Fire Tribe. Unless you have royal blood."

He raises an eyebrow, smirking as he rubs his hand where the wind came from.

*"So wait—if I'm royalty now, do I get out of chores? Or do I just assign them in a very commanding voice?"

The wind settled. Silence reigned.

Then Mira, always one to break tension with sharp edges, muttered, "Well. Now I feel much better about letting you cook the stew last night. My prince."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Don't start bowing yet. I still can't control it."

> Mira crosses her arms and smirks.

*"Great. So I've been following a prince this whole time? If I'd known, I'd have charged extra. Royal pain tax."

Seri stepped closer. "No… not yet. But that kind of reaction only comes when you're cornered. Under pressure. It's instinct. The Prime's elements live in your blood."

Tarn scratched his beard. "If that's true, then this changes everything."

Valron nodded. "The Queen will double her forces. If she knows what he is…"

Mira let out a long sigh. "We're no longer a wandering band. We're carrying a weapon she thought was extinct."

Cain sheathed his knife. "And that weapon just started waking up."

Asteria looked down at his palms, fingers curling slowly. The wind was gone, but he could still feel it beneath the surface—like a sleeping creature waiting for the next call.

"Then we keep training," he said finally. "Whatever this is, I won't let it control me. We master it. Together."

Seri met his eyes. "Together."

They went back to sparring. This time, not just to grow stronger—but to prepare for the storm Asteria had just awakened.

Preparing for the war to come.

---