The library hummed with a quiet, living energy. Runes pulsed faintly along the roots overhead, their glow casting long shadows that danced between the shelves like ethereal, lazy ghosts.
Tear sat cross-legged on a mat of woven moss, a thin leather-bound tome open before him. His finger traced the ancient glyph for Anemos. Wind.
He sighed, closing the book.
"Most of the elves only study healing magic," he murmured. "Or speak with trees. Or coax flowers and plants to bloom."
His voice echoed in the stillness, soft and full of longing.
"They say peace is our way now. That we've outgrown the need to fight. But I… I think we've just forgotten what it means to stand tall."
In the old days, the elves of Elaranwyn had been warriors, guardians, and battle mages. Not all, but enough to carve their names into stories and legends. Now? Magic was delicate, tame. It was still beautiful, but too safe. Too perfect.
Tear wasn't looking for war. But he wanted strength.
He turned the page. The first lesson of wind magic: cutting a leaf.
Simple. Precise. Impossible.
He placed a dry leaf before him, its edges curling and browning, veins running like ancient script. With a slow breath, he rested it gently on his palm.
"Wind is freedom," the book had said. "It does not obey to a master. It listens."
He closed his eyes and began to guide his mana; the breath of reality, the inner stream that flowed through all living things. It pulsed within him like a quiet tide, and he willed it outward. Not forced but guided. Like shepherding a breeze through still trees.
"Be the wind," he thought. "Free. Unending."
He visualized a small spiral forming in his palm, a tornado no bigger than a pebble, spinning patiently.
And it spun into reality.
A sharp hiss cut into the air. The leaf shredded instantly, crumbling into curled fragments.
His eyes shot open.
"I… did it?" he questioned.
The wind stilled. The mana fled into the air. The spell faded as fast as it had arrived, and the pieces of the leaf scattered like startled birds.
He blinked, stunned and then burst into laughter.
"I did do it!" he said.
Book tucked under his arm, heart hammering, he raced through the winding root halls and into the forest's emerald light. He found a small clearing where Silverlight apples grew in uneven rows. He plucked a few and set them up on tree stumps like training dummies.
He tucked his book under his arm and stretched out his hand, facing the target dummies with dramatic flair.
"Alright… let's go!"
He took a deep breath, focused his mana, and chanted:
"Anemos!"
A swirling burst of wind surged from his palm.
..and completely missed.
The apple didn't even wobble.
A drop of sweat traced down his cheek.
"…That's fine. That's totally fine. No big deal."
Again.
"Anemos!"
Whiff. The spell hit a bush to the left.
"Anemos!"
Sliced a flower clean in half five feet to the right.
"Anemos!"
Thunk. The apple trembled… then stilled. Still intact.
He growled softly. "Maybe if I visualize harder.."
Then he paused. He inhaled, slower this time.
"Don't force it. Let the wind guide itself."
He let go of the tension. Let his mana slip through him like a whisper, not a command.
"Anemos."
A soft hum. A graceful twist.
The apple split clean down the center.
"YES!" he shouted, fist in the air. "I am unstoppable!"
A quiet chuckle drifted from the tree line.
He turned.
She stood there like a sculpture draped in starlight; Alma the Wise, oldest of the Elaranwyn elders, her silver hair braided with moon petals, her staff was crowned with an orb that glowed like dusk. Despite being almost a thousand years old she was still beautiful.
"Nice first strike," she said with a hint of amusement. "But you might want to keep it down, unless you're trying to start a bird choir."
Tear scrambled upright, smoothing his robes. "Elder Alma! I didn't.. I mean I was just..!"
"Practicing," she said, amused. "And loudly."
He bowed in embarrassed apology.
She approached, gaze gentle but unreadable. "Why do you chase the land beyond, child?"
He stood straighter.
"Because I want to leave the forest and make something of myself."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Restless already at your age?"
Tear sighed.
"There's more out there. I can feel it. Not just danger. Not just cruelty. Possibility."
She was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable.
"You remind me of someone," she finally said. "My son. Senna."
Tear blinked. "You had a son?"
She nodded, her silver hair catching the light. "He too dreamed of the land beyond. Left, bright-eyed and proud. He trusted those with soft smiles… and they gave him sharpened blades in return."
A long silence passed.
Tear's chest tightened.
"I don't wish to see you return in a pine box," Alma said, her voice heavy. "If you truly mean to face the Trial of Legel, I'll make sure you earn it. Otherwise, I'll keep you here bound by care, not chains."
He met her eyes, firm and honest. "Then I'll be ready. In a year."
Her brow lifted. "A year? That is but a week to us."
"I know," he said. "But I feel it will be enough, I feel like I've waited enough."
She studied him for a long breath.
"We elves have long resisted change, bound by tradition and our years," she said. "But..."
"You are a strange one, Tear. And strange ones always change the course of things."
She turned, robes whispering against the grass.
"Keep training. Perhaps our ancestors will carry you far."
"I plan to," he grinned. "I'm having too much fun to stop."
She vanished back into the forest like mist.
Tear turned back to the apples, flipping through his book as he muttered.
"Wind magic… close to mid-range. Piercing, slashing… devastating when mastered correctly.."
He stared at his palm.
"You really are cool, huh?"
The wind curled gently around his fingers. And if it could smile, he swore it did.
He raised both hands, fingers splayed as if plucking notes from the air. His mana stirred, called forth from within like breath drawn from the marrow of his soul.
The wind answered.
Leaves fluttered, spun.
Then the air shifted and gathered.
From his hands, the current began to shape with not just blades or bursts, but forms. Figures. Silhouettes.
A stallion emerged first, swirling and translucent, its mane whipped into a thousand streaming ribbons of air. It reared back with a soundless neigh and galloped in place, held together by Tear's will.
Then came the wyvern, smaller, sleeker, its wings beating in time with his breath, spiraling above like a dancer in the sky.
Tear smiled as his heart raced.
This was beyond anything he'd done before. It was otherworldly.
More shapes joined the dance. Wisps twisting into wolves, doves, foxes. Each one delicate and alive, flickering around him in a ballet of wind and light.
He reached out with his soul, maintaining the tempo, guiding the movement.
And then…
A memory pierced him sharply.
Rain. Cold. Pavement beneath him. Blood in the gutter.
The knife.
The sting.
His fingers twitching, trying to hold on to the world.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
Tear gasped, and the wind forms collapsed.
The creatures shattered into harmless streams of air. His knees hit the moss with a dull thud. His vision blurred.
His mana, overextended. His body trembled.
And the forest fell silent once more.
Tear groaned as he slowly regained consciousness, his body heavy and sore from mana exhaustion. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the sky, watching the tree branches sway overhead. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he could smell himself. An unpleasant mix of sweat, dirt, and that faint tinge of magic residue.
"Well, that was… fun," he muttered dryly to himself. "Mana exhaustion. It's like breaking a bone and growing it back stronger. If you don't die from it, of course."
He slowly pushed himself up, brushing the damp earth off his clothes, his muscles aching from overuse. Mana exhaustion wasn't dangerous in the long run, but it was still a pain. Usually, it just helped expand the mana pool, like adding another layer to the foundation of his magic. It was all about pushing his limits... which he had definitely done. And when you pushed too far, the consequences could be pretty serious. Not that he was worried. He'd learned his lesson.
He snorted. "And a bath sounds really nice right about now."
Tear stood, stretching, and looked down the slope toward the River Lythe, its waters sparkling under the sun. He could already feel the coolness of the river in the air, beckoning.
"Alright, time to wash off the stink smell" he grumbled.
As he approached the riverbank, he felt the playful presence of the river spirits. Tiny bursts of water shot out from the river, splashing him in the face. He blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing.
"Alright, alright, I get it!" he yelled, splashing the water back at them. "You got me, you little troublemakers!"
The river spirits giggled, their laughter sounding like the tinkling of chimes. They continued to play, splashing him with water in every direction. Tear shrugged and decided he was already soaked, so he jumped in with a grin, letting the cool water soothe his muscles.
He spent a few moments enjoying the river, rinsing off the remnants of his earlier exertion. After a while, though, the water spirits had their fill of mischief and darted off, giggling as they disappeared into the depths. Tear shook his head, smiling at their antics, and made his way out of the river, drenched but feeling far better.
The Library of Udun wasn't far, but Tear had barely taken a few steps before something caught his eye—a fluttering bird, its wings catching the sunlight. The creature landed gently in front of him, holding a small letter with a wax seal.
He raised an eyebrow. "A bird? Really? Well, I guess it's more efficient than the postal service."
He unfurled the letter, eyes skimming the words quickly.
"Summoned by the Council of Elders."
Tear blinked in surprise. He had never been called by the Council before. That was usually reserved for serious matters, the kind of things that involved world-changing decisions or some type of immense power struggle.
"Well," he said to himself, stuffing the letter into his bag. "Guess that's my afternoon plans changed. Better make it quick, then."
Tear entered the Council Chambers, a room bathed in soft, golden light. At the center was a round table, where the Four Elders of Elaranwyn sat with each one exuding a distinct aura. Alma the Wise, Seneca the Seer, Elarion the Rooted, and Silvana the Kind.
As he approached, Silvana, the most welcoming of the group, smiled warmly. Her beauty was almost ethereal, but it was the gentleness in her eyes that made her presence so inviting.
"Ah, Tear. Welcome," she said with a soft voice. "It's good to see you."
Tear gave her a quick, respectful bow. "Thank you, Silvana. It's… nice to be here."
Elarion, however, cut in with his deep voice, clearly more focused. "You are Tear Falkewind, son of Astas and Selene, yes?"
Tear nodded, trying to keep the mood light. "Yep, that's me. I've heard a lot about you, Elder Elarion. You're kind of a big deal."
Elarion didn't seem amused. "It is not often that we convene the Council for matters of personal aspiration. You have come with the intention of leaving Elaranwyn, yes?"
Tear's response was quick, unwavering. "Yes. I want to see the world beyond. I've read about it in books for so long, and it's time I make my own story. I want to go and make my mark upon the world."
The Council exchanged looks. Alma the Wise, with her calm and insightful expression, leaned forward. "And why this urgency, Tear? You wish to take the Trial of Legel, a rite that only the most exceptional of Elaranwyn's children attempt... and few, if any, under one hundred years have passed it."
Tear's eyes glinted with confidence. "I'll pass it in one year. I know I can."
A brief silence filled the room. Alma tilted her head, clearly amused but cautious. "Confidence is admirable, but there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, young one."
Tear smiled slightly, "I'm aware. But I don't intend to fall before I can stand."
The Elders exchanged glances, and after a long discussion amongst themselves, they finally spoke.
"We will allow you to take the trial," Seneca the Seer said, their voice calm but sharp. "But to do so within one year? That is bold. You must understand the gravity of such a decision."
"I understand," Tear replied, unfazed. "And I believe I am ready."
The room grew quiet, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Finally, Silvana spoke with a gentle yet firm tone.
"Prepare yourself, Tear Falkewind. The trial is no small matter. One year from now, you will face it. We shall see what your resolve can achieve."
Tear bowed again, his resolve firm. "Thank you, Elders."
With a subtle nod, Silvana gestured for him to leave. As Tear made his way toward the door, Alma's voice followed him, warm but laced with a hint of playful warning.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Tear," she said, a glimmer of amusement in her tone. "The road ahead is never as easy as it seems. Be careful not to bite off more than you can handle."
Tear paused at the door, turning his head slightly with a smile. "I'm not worried, Elder Alma. I've always preferred to learn things the hard way."