Makoho lived with his aunt, Sayora, a woman with a sharp gaze and elegant posture. She was a master of strategy, and her advice was highly sought after. "Makoho, get up! Do you think the wind will sweep away your responsibilities all by itself?" she'd say every morning. She constantly repeated, "Brute force is worthless without intelligence. A true strategist can topple an entire army with a single breath."
In his moments alone, Makoho would look at the strange tattoo on his torso, a circular pattern like a spiraling wind, surrounded by ancient symbols. When he asked his aunt about it, she would always look away. "It's not yet time for you to know," she'd say in a suddenly cold voice. "But protect it, hide it, and don't let anyone see it." The secret weighed more and more heavily on him.
One day, as he was clumsily trying to channel the air, Akena and Tensei joined him. "Look, I can make flames dance like a snake!" Akena said proudly. "And I can harden the earth beneath my feet to walk without a sound," Tensei added. Makoho concentrated and held out his hand... a light breeze ruffled their hair. Akena burst out laughing. "Oh, well done! You're messing up our hair, how terrifying!" Makoho's heart sank. At that moment, the wind began to whistle strangely, as if to comfort him.
That night, the tattoo on his torso began to glow faintly. A strange dream took hold: a man with a blurry face, in an azure cloak, stood before him. Around him, winds howled like wild beasts. "Heir of the breath, you bear the mark. Soon, the wind will no longer be your toy… but your weapon." Makoho woke with a start. The light had vanished, but he knew it wasn't just a dream. This was the true beginning of Makoho's journey. A naive, mocked boy who carried the shadow of a forgotten power.