The morning sun spilled across the rooftops of Eryndral, gilding the thatch in molten gold as the Shadelight River mirrored the sky's brilliance. Birds flitted between apple branches heavy with fruit, and the air was sweet with the scent of blossoms. To the villagers, it was just another dawn. But to Selene Ardyn, the world felt alive, vibrant, eager to whisper its secrets to anyone willing to listen.
She stood barefoot at the riverbank, auburn hair falling in loose strands across her shoulders, her pale blue eyes narrowed in concentration. A smooth stone rested in her palm, carved with faint grooves that traced a symbol — a rune.
Her father's voice carried from behind her, deep and steady. "Focus, Selene. The wind listens only to those who respect it."
Selene pursed her lips. "I am focusing, Father."
Caelen Ardyn stepped closer, folding his muscular arms across his chest. He was a broad-shouldered man, his face lined with the years, his beard streaked with grey, though his eyes still held the piercing sharpness of a hawk. He wore a simple leather tunic, his hunting knife at his belt, but it was his presence — steady as oak — that commanded respect.
He crouched beside his daughter, pointing at the etched stone in her hand. "You've chosen Aerthys today. The Rune of Air. It is the first of all, the breath that underlies every spell. Do not treat it lightly."
Selene rolled her eyes, though not unkindly. "I know, Father. You've said that a hundred times."
"And I will say it a hundred more until you learn." His stern tone softened into a faint smile. "Try again."
Selene held the stone out before her. She whispered, tracing the rune's lines with her finger: Aerthys.
The air stirred, a soft breeze curling around her like a cat winding at her ankles. Encouraged, she pressed harder, closing her eyes. The wind grew, rustling the grass, tugging at her hair. For a moment, she felt its rhythm, the pulse of something vast and alive. Her heart thrilled.
Then the breeze sputtered, faltered, and blew back in her face with a puff so sharp that she stumbled backward, coughing.
Tomas Lethar, who had been perched on the fence nearby, burst into laughter. "You look like a startled hen, Selene!"
Selene shot him a glare, cheeks flushed. "Quiet, Tomas! I nearly had it!"
"Nearly," Tomas teased, grinning wide enough to reveal his chipped tooth. His mop of sandy hair fell over his brow as he leaned forward. "Maybe next time you'll summon a gale to knock me over, instead of yourself."
Caelen gave Tomas a warning glance, then turned back to his daughter. "Mockery doesn't help, boy." His voice softened when addressing Selene again. "Failure teaches faster than success. You felt the rhythm, didn't you?"
Selene nodded reluctantly, brushing dirt from her tunic. "Yes… but it slipped away. Like trying to catch water in my hands."
"That is because you grasp too tightly. The wind cannot be owned. Only asked." Caelen rose, extending his hand to her. "Come. We'll try a different rune. One that suits your restless feet."
Selene's eyes lit up. "Ventrin Minor?"
Her father's mouth twitched. "You always choose the ones that let you run faster."
She grinned and pulled another stone from the pouch at her belt. This one bore a swirl like a curling breeze. She held it before her, whispering: Ventrin Minor.
At once, the air gathered around her ankles, a subtle hum that vibrated through her legs. When she moved, she felt lighter, quicker. She darted forward, the grass whipping beneath her feet, laughter bursting from her lips.
"Ha! Look!" she cried, racing along the riverbank, her auburn hair streaming behind her. She leapt over a log, twirling mid-air before landing with a flourish.
Tomas whistled low. "Show-off."
Caelen shook his head, though pride glimmered in his eyes. "You treat it like a game, Selene. But remember — one day, this magic may save your life. Or someone else's."
Selene slowed, the spell's hum fading as she rejoined them. "I know, Father." She looked down, biting her lip. "But it's hard to think about that when everything feels so safe here."
Caelen's gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the dark line of forest loomed beyond the fields. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then enjoy your innocence while you can. But promise me, Selene — when the time comes, you will take your training seriously."
She nodded, though in her heart, she still thought of the runes as playthings — beautiful toys that let her dance with the air.
That evening, Selene sat at the hearth with her mother, weaving ribbons while her father etched runes into fresh stones. She traced them with her fingers, murmuring their names softly.
Avior, Skywalker, Skyshield Minor…
She imagined herself soaring above the clouds, her laughter scattering across the heavens. She dreamed of standing tall in battle, the wind shielding her like an invisible wall. She whispered the names like secrets, never imagining how soon they would be written in blood and fire.
Above Eryndral, a crow circled silently, its black wings cutting across the silver moon.
And the wind — the very wind Selene loved carried whispers that she was too young to understand.