Master Anemoi's office was a shrine to precision. Every scroll in its exact place, every surface free of dust, every document filed according to a system only he understood. On his desk lay the monthly progress reports for advanced students, and one chart made him shake his head in disbelief.
"Impossible," he muttered, checking his calculations again.
But the numbers didn't lie. In three months since his Awakening, Aetos had achieved pneuma control benchmarks that typically took two years. His progression line on the comparative chart wasn't gradual—it was nearly vertical.
"You summoned me, Master?" Aetos stood in the doorway, still breathing hard from afternoon training.
"Sit." Anemoi gestured to a chair. "Explain this."
He showed Aetos the chart. The boy studied it with the intense focus he usually reserved for food or training.
"I don't understand. Is something wrong?"
"Wrong?" Anemoi laughed humourlessly. "According to this, you've mastered tertiary wind-shaping, can maintain seven distinct air currents simultaneously, and your pneuma density has tripled. Most students achieve one of those milestones in their first year. You've done all three in a season."
"Oh." Aetos shifted uncomfortably. "Am I in trouble?"
"No, but..." Anemoi set down the chart. "Natural talent is a gift, but it can also be a curse. Students who progress too quickly often plateau early, having never learned to truly work for achievement. They coast on ability until they meet something ability alone can't overcome."
"So you want me to slow down?"
"I want you to understand what you're doing, not just do it. Can you explain why your wind-shaping works?"
Aetos frowned. "I... ask the wind to take shapes, and it does?"
"Precisely the problem. You succeed through instinct, not understanding. What happens when instinct fails?"
That evening, the senior monks convened in emergency session. The topic: what to do about their unprecedented student.
"We should advance him to senior classes," Brother Thomas argued. "He's already surpassed all his peers in practical application."
"Absolutely not," Brother Kyrios countered. "He's ten years old. Emotional maturity matters as much as pneuma control. Put him with those who are much older and he'll either be corrupted or isolated."
"Then what do you suggest?" Master Zephyrus asked mildly. "He's already modified every form we've taught him. His peers can't challenge him. He needs growth, not stagnation."
"Individual instruction," Brother Alexei proposed. "Keep him with his age group for general classes, but provide advanced training separately. Best of both worlds."
"That requires dedicating a master solely to one student," Kyrios pointed out. "Our resources—"
"Our resources exist to nurture potential," Zephyrus interrupted. "And I've never seen potential like this. I'll take responsibility for his advanced training personally."
The vote was closer than expected—many monks worried about showing favouritism or creating arrogance in their prodigy. But Zephyrus's offer tipped the scales. If the temple's master would personally guide the boy, how could they refuse?
Aetos learned of the decision the next morning when Master Zephyrus appeared at his dawn meditation.
"Come," the master said simply. "Your real training begins now."
They went not to the usual courtyards but to a hidden chamber deep within the temple. Ancient pneuma formations were carved into every surface, creating a space where elemental energy concentrated to almost painful density.
"This is the Chamber of Storms," Zephyrus explained. "Built by the founder for working with forces too dangerous for normal practice. Here, you can push your limits without risking others."
"Or myself?" Aetos asked, noting the scorch marks and cracks that spoke of past disasters.
"That remains to be seen. Show me your strongest wind."
Aetos breathed deep and pushed. The resulting gale would have shredded the practice dummies in the regular courtyard. Here, it merely stirred Zephyrus's robes.
"Impressive force, wasteful execution. Again, but this time, create the same effect with half the pneuma expenditure."
"How?"
"That's what you're here to learn. Power means nothing without efficiency. Any fool can exhaust themselves creating a hurricane. Masters create hurricanes that sustain themselves. Again."
For hours they worked, Zephyrus demanding not just success but understanding. Every technique had to be performed, analysed, refined, and performed again. When Aetos operated on instinct, the master stopped him.
"Why did the vortex form clockwise?"
"Because... that's how it wanted to spin?"
"In the northern regions, yes. But what about south of the divide? What forces determine rotation? How can you master something you don't comprehend?"
These sessions happened daily, sometimes lasting minutes, sometimes hours. Zephyrus pushed harder than any instructor before, demanding excellence not just in execution but in theory, philosophy, and application.
Meanwhile, Aetos maintained his regular classes, trying to stay connected with peers who increasingly seemed to be moving in slow motion compared to his accelerated growth.
"You're different," Markos said one day after basic forms practice. "Ever since the private lessons started. You're... distant."
"I'm right here," Aetos protested, but he knew what Markos meant. When your morning involved containing forces that could level buildings, practicing basic wind pushes felt like asking a master painter to finger-paint.
"Your body's here," Daphne agreed. "But your mind is always elsewhere. Probably thinking about whatever secret techniques Master Zephyrus is teaching you."
"They're not secret," Aetos said defensively. "Just... advanced. And dangerous. And I'm not supposed to practice them without supervision."
"So they're secret," Markos concluded flatly.
The gap was widening, and Aetos didn't know how to bridge it. How could he explain that yesterday he'd learned to create vacuum spheres that could suffocate opponents? That he could now feel air pressure changes from miles away? That sometimes, during deep meditation, he could sense every breath taken in the entire temple?
Master Zephyrus noticed his struggle during one of their sessions.
"You're distracted today. Speak."
"The others think I'm becoming arrogant. That I think I'm better than them."
"Do you?"
Aetos hesitated. "Not better. Just... different. When Markos talks about finally holding a wind stream for five minutes, I want to celebrate with him. But I also want to show him the twelve-stream weaving pattern you taught me yesterday. Not to boast! Just to share. But sharing would hurt him."
"The burden of rapid growth," Zephyrus acknowledged. "You're experiencing something every prodigy faces—the isolation of excellence. How you handle it will determine whether you become a leader or a loner."
"What should I do?"
"Teach."
"But I already help with exercises—"
"Not techniques. Teach them how to think about their element. Your instinctive understanding, properly translated, could accelerate their growth. Build bridges with knowledge, not just power."
The next day, Aetos tried a different approach. During group practice, instead of completing the exercises effortlessly and then daydreaming, he watched his peers struggle and looked for patterns.
"Lydia," he called out. "You're fighting the wind instead of inviting it. The air wants to flow—give it a channel, don't force a direction."
"Easy for you to say," she panted, sweat beading as she tried to maintain a simple water spiral. "Air does whatever you want."
"No," Aetos said seriously. "Air does what it wants. I just learned to want the same things. Watch."
He created a small whirlwind, then deliberately fought against its natural rotation. The air sputtered, resisted, finally dissipated entirely. "See? When I oppose its nature, I fail. But when I understand what it wants to do anyway and guide that..."
A perfect spiral formed, elegant and effortless.
Lydia stared, then looked at the wind with new eyes. Instead of forcing a spiral, she felt for the air's natural tendency to rotate and simply... encouraged it. The resulting spiral wasn't perfect, but it was smoother than any she'd created before.
"How did you know that would work?" she asked.
"Because Master Zephyrus makes me explain everything. Understanding why is harder than doing, but it makes the doing easier for everyone else."
Word spread. Soon, students were approaching Aetos not just for technique help but for conceptual understanding. He couldn't teach them his raw power or instinctive connection, but he could translate the wordless knowledge the wind gave him into principles others could grasp.
Brother Kyrios observed this development with surprise. "The boy is actually helping," he admitted to Zephyrus.
"Children often teach each other better than masters can," Zephyrus replied. "They remember the struggle more clearly. Aetos is learning something more valuable than any technique—that true strength builds others up rather than standing alone above them."
But the isolation wasn't entirely solved. During a particularly intense session in the Chamber of Storms, Aetos achieved something that shook even Zephyrus's composure. Frustrated by repeated failures at a complex technique, Aetos had stopped thinking entirely and just... breathed.
The chamber filled with visible wind. Not currents or gusts but wind itself given form—translucent serpents of condensed air that moved with independent purpose. They swirled around Aetos like loyal pets, responding to his subconscious desires rather than conscious control.
"Enough!" Zephyrus commanded, and for the first time, had to use his own pneuma to forcibly disrupt a student's technique. The wind serpents dissipated reluctantly, and Aetos collapsed, nose bleeding from the strain.
"What was that?" the boy asked weakly.
"Something you shouldn't be able to do for another decade," Zephyrus said grimly. "Pneuma manifestation—giving form to raw element. Masters twice your age struggle with basic versions. You just created multiple autonomous constructs without conscious effort."
"Is that bad?"
"It's dangerous. Power without understanding, instinct without wisdom. We're pushing too hard, too fast."
"No!" Aetos struggled to sit up. "Please, Master. I need to learn. The wind... it's showing me possibilities, but I don't know how to reach them safely. If you don't teach me, I'll try anyway and probably hurt someone."
It was honest, and that honesty decided Zephyrus. The boy would push forward regardless—better to guide that journey than let him stumble blind.
"Very well. But we add philosophy and theory for every practical lesson. You'll understand the why before attempting the how. And if I ever see you attempting manifestation without supervision..."
"You won't," Aetos promised quickly. "I learn from mistakes. Even wind serpents that want to eat the training dummies."
"They wanted to what?"
"Nothing! I mean, they dissipated before doing anything. Probably."
Zephyrus sighed. Three months of vertical growth on the progress charts. At this rate, the boy would surpass his teachers before his voice changed. The only question was whether wisdom could grow as quickly as power.
Looking at Aetos—bruised from training, exhausted from pushing limits, but still eager for the next lesson—Zephyrus chose to have faith. The storm-child was becoming something unprecedented. The least they could do was ensure he became something good.