The Weight of the Wind

Night fell slowly over Azoth. The castle’s windows bathed the corridors in golden light, and Blair walked through them, her white hair still damp, wrapped in a light robe. Her steps carried her to the private chamber where her aunt, Tifa, awaited—bent over documents and war maps spread across a table.

—You’ve been quiet since you came back from the bath —Tifa remarked without looking up—. Is something troubling you?

Blair lowered her gaze, fidgeting with her fingers.
—It’s… the Sweet Kiss.

Tifa raised her head, serious.
—What did you feel?

—It wasn’t just that I saved him —Blair whispered—. It’s more than that. I can feel him. I know where Asori is, what he’s doing… like an echo of his soul beating inside me.

Tifa pressed her lips.
—Then the bond has already begun.

Blair nodded, nervous.
—And there’s more… if Asori falls ill, no medicine or healer will be able to help him. Only me. If I stray too far, even a mild sickness could kill him.

The silence grew heavy.

Tifa rose, circled the table, and placed a firm hand on Blair’s shoulder.
—That means as long as he lives, you are bound to his fate. And he to yours.

Blair lowered her head.
—I know. But I don’t regret it.

Tifa arched a brow.
—Not even giving him your first kiss?

Blair flushed red, turning her face away.
—Aunt!

Tifa chuckled softly, then her expression grew stern again.
—Blair, you must understand. The Sweet Kiss is a beautiful power… but also dangerous. If one of you dies, the other will suffer the consequences. It is a bond of life.

Blair clenched her fists.
—That’s why I want to master my power. I can’t stand idle while others risk their lives against Zeknier. My parents… they died because of him.

Tifa closed her eyes briefly. Her face hardened, hiding something.
—Yes… —she said slowly—, Zeknier was behind many deaths.

Blair fixed her with a sharp gaze.
—What do you mean by “many”?

Tifa looked away, returning to the table.
—This isn’t the time for that. What matters now is that you train, that you learn to tame the chaos inside you.

Blair sighed, hurt, but didn’t press further.

In the eastern courtyard, the Sage of Air waited with a basket of fruit. Asori approached, uneasy, still resentful about training.

—So what are we doing today? —he asked, crossing his arms.

The Sage smiled.
—Before anything, you must understand your Astral energy.

Asori raised a brow.
—Astral?

—It is your life force —the Sage explained—. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. A warrior who looks invincible in strength may still fall to someone who masters their Astral. It flows through your body like wind between mountains: if you guide it, it empowers you.

Asori gave him a skeptical look.
—And what does that have to do with what happened in the forest?

The Sage walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back.

—The “Awakening” is a defense mechanism. When a bearer is on the verge of death, the Orb transforms him and grants, for a moment, the memories and strength of previous bearers.

Asori recalled the way he had crushed Zeknier’s henchman.
—So that’s why… I tore through him without knowing how.

The Sage nodded.
—Exactly. But that power only happens the first time. If you try to transform again now, nothing will happen. You’ll have strength, yes, but without technique. And a hurricane without control destroys its own master.

Asori sighed, ruffling his hair.
—Great. So I’m a warrior who doesn’t know how to fight.

The Sage smiled.
—That is why we train.

The old man picked a green apple from the basket and tossed it into the air.
—Your first lesson is simple: stop this apple… with your eyes closed.

Asori blinked.
—You’re joking, right?

—The Warrior of Air must sense the currents around him. Every movement stirs the wind. If you can hear it, you’ll know where the apple is and catch it before it touches the ground.

Asori eyed him suspiciously.
—And if I miss?

The Sage shrugged.
—Then it becomes applesauce.

Asori snorted and closed his eyes. The Sage threw the apple. The boy stretched out his hands, nervous, listening only to the sound of the wind.

Fffffshhh…

He felt a faint pressure brush his cheek, like an invisible touch. He moved his hand… too late.

Thud! The apple splattered against the ground.

The Sage smiled.
—Not bad. You felt something. But the wind isn’t a whisper, it’s a conversation. Learn to listen.

Asori frowned.
—A conversation? With what, the leaves?

The Sage chuckled.
—With everything.

While Asori repeated the exercise again and again—failing, picking apples from the ground—Blair sat with Tifa in another chamber, candlelight casting their faces in warm glow.

—I don’t want to be a burden to anyone —Blair said—. I want to fight. Zeknier must pay for what he did to my family.

Tifa studied her in silence. Her expression concealed truths she wasn’t ready to reveal.

—And you will —she whispered at last—. But remember: your power is both a gift and a curse. Don’t forget it.

Blair lowered her gaze, touching the flower-jewel in her hair.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard, Asori closed his eyes once more. The wind carried with it the murmur of trees, the brush of branches, the weight of the falling apple. This time, he moved his hand at just the right moment.

Thud.

The apple landed in his palm.

The Sage nodded, satisfied.
—Good. The wind is beginning to recognize you.

Asori opened his eyes, surprised, and allowed himself a faint smile.

The training had only just begun.