The sun had just cleared the eastern sea when Tala and Kofi stirred. Five days of elemental rites had woven the island's pulse into their bones. Yesterday's earth lessons left their muscles grounded; today, the wind beckoned. They stepped lightly along the ridged path that led to the island's highest bluff, where the canopy fell away and air reigned unchallenged.
Asa waited at the cliff's edge, staff planted in the soil, his gray hair lifted by a gentle breeze. The box and its egg sat on a flat stone beside him, pulsing softly in time with the rising wind. He turned as the boys arrived, his eyes reflecting the pale blue currents above.
"Yesterday, you became soil and rock," he said. "Today, you will become breath and gust. Air is the keeper of echoes—every cry, every whisper, every storm ever born. You must learn to hear its song, to shape its flow, and to become its echo."
Tala and Kofi nodded, feeling the Core thrum in their chests—a universal affinity that had blossomed since the first lesson in water. They stood side by side, ready to chase the wind.
Early Morning
Before any shaping, they had to listen. Asa guided them to stand on a smooth slab where the air rushed up the cliff face in cool currents.
"Close your eyes," he instructed, "and let your Core tune to the wind's archive."
Tala inhaled, sensing every shift: the soft sigh of rising air, the distant rush of waves, even the faint murmur of leaves far below. His Core answered with a steady hum. When he opened his hand, a single leaf hovered, caught in his personal breeze, before drifting away.
Kofi followed. He felt not only the wind around his body but also the subtler layers—warm breaths from the island's heart, cold sighs from ocean currents, and even the faint, rhythmic exhalations of distant storms. When he exhaled, a small vortex of dust spun at his feet, then dissipated like a rolling echo.
Asa's voice broke the silence. "You both hear it. Now, you must learn to speak it."
Mid-Morning
They moved to a wind tunnel formed by two sheer rock faces. Here, the gusts were strong and unpredictable.
"Shape the wind without force," Asa said. "Invite it to bend around your will."
Tala closed his eyes, arms outstretched. He felt the Core's upper register—light as a bird's wingbeat. He tilted his wrists, drawing the wind in a soft arc that curved around him like a living cloak. The gust followed the curve, bending around the rock face instead of shattering against it. He opened his eyes to see a ribbon of mist tracing his motion—a pale echo of his intent.
Kofi stood opposite. He let his Core thread through his fingertips, focusing on precision. He drew a straight line in the air, and the wind condensed into a razor-thin blade that sliced through a trailing vine with a whisper-soft hiss.
Asa nodded. "Tala, you move like a drifting cloud. Kofi, like a razor-sharp gale."
Late Morning
Asa produced two narrow fans woven from palm fronds. "Tools amplify your breath. Use them."
Tala grasped the fan, feeling the Core pulse in its ribs. He opened it wide and waved it slowly. A gentle updraft lifted him onto a low ledge. He hopped higher, then higher still, until he hovered a full pace above the ground before landing on the next outcrop.
Kofi used his fan differently. He snapped it closed, launching a concentrated jet of wind that carved a swirling channel through the undergrowth. The blades of grass bent in unison, revealing a hidden path that led deeper into the bluff's heart.
"Air is both cradle and scythe," Asa said. "Learn both forms."
Early Afternoon
They reconvened at the bluff's summit, where stones arranged by long-ago tides formed a circular altar. The stones here held the pulse of past storms; the air sang with layered echoes.
"Draw the echoes forward," Asa instructed. "Let the wind carry memories of itself."
Tala knelt and pressed one palm to a central stone, feeling its archive of gusts and squalls. He rose, lifting his palm skyward. A spiral formed in the air above him—a miniature whirlwind that captured every tone of the breeze: creaking branches, distant seas, and a thousand birdsong calls. The spiral hovered, then unfolded in rings that drifted outward until they vanished.
Kofi extended both arms. He gathered the scattered rings of that spiral, compressing them into a single, silvered gust. He exhaled sharply, releasing a blast of wind that knocked a line of small stones from the altar, sending them tumbling like a rain of pebbles.
Asa stepped between them. "You have summoned the wind's echoes and commanded them. This is your language."
Mid-Afternoon
Back at camp, Asa prepared a shallow basin of water infused with crushed herb leaves. "Air does not burn alone," he said. "It carries relief."
He drew a soft fan-shaped gust across the herb infusion, stirring fragrant steam. He instructed Tala to inhale deeply, letting the herbal vapors clear the ache that lingered in his leg. The steam soothed, the Core's rhythm aligning with the healing breeze. Pain eased, and the old ache faded beneath a light coolness.
Kofi followed, breathing in the scented mist, inhaling the relief carried by every soft eddy. His lungs filled with calm; the burn on his forearm stung less sharply.
"As wind shapes dust," Asa said, "it can clear what clings to the spirit."
Late Afternoon
As the sun dipped, Asa led them back to the summit altar. The wind here was cooler, charged with gathering dusk currents.
"Speak as one," he said.
They stood face-to-face. Tala grounded one foot; Kofi planted both. They closed their eyes, matching breath. The Core's upper and lower registers aligned—soft flutter and deep hum. When they opened their arms, a dual current formed: Tala's gentle spiral wrapped around Kofi's precise gust, creating a living corridor of wind between them. Through that corridor, Asa stepped as if on an unseen bridge. He passed without stirring a single leaf. They had not just shaped wind; they had woven it into a shared path.
Early Evening
Night crept in on silent wings. The box pulsed twice, a measured beat that mirrored the rhythm of the summit winds. The boys returned to the hearth pit, faces flushed with effort and triumph.
Asa placed a hand on each shoulder. "Tomorrow," he said, "we awaken the beast heart. Your animal companions await the call only you can send."
Tala and Kofi exchanged tired smiles. Air had taught them freedom; it had shown them how to carry echoes. They had risen like birds, cut like blades, and healed like breezes. Now, under a canopy of stars, the island's breath settled around them, ready for the next chapter of their journey.