Lucius was now nearing seven years old. His figure had stretched slightly, and his eyes—still sharp—carried a rare maturity for his age. Days passed, and the forest surrounding the village had become a vast training ground for him.
He was spending more and more time with Elenya. The lively and curious young elf had taken to him naturally, and their friendship had formed effortlessly. They ran between the trees, climbed branches, built makeshift huts with leaves and twigs. She showed him which plants could heal, which ones stung, and which to avoid. In return, Lucius told her stories—some invented, others drawn from his past life.
But he never neglected his training. Every morning, before the sun pierced through the foliage, he practiced channeling his magical energy. He repeated the gestures shown in the old grimoire again and again, feeling the magic flow resist him—wild and stubborn. He was making progress, yes… but slowly.
Wind remained his strongest affinity; he could feel it more naturally within himself. Still, his control lacked finesse.
— I need to become stronger. Not just in mind… he often thought.
He had understood that magical power alone would not be enough. His body needed to keep up. A mage too weak to stand couldn't accomplish anything. So, he paid attention to his diet, observed how to build strength. He imposed small exercises on himself—carrying wood, climbing trees, running nonstop. It might seem trivial, but he knew this discipline would lay the foundations he needed for the future.
One day, when they had wandered deeper into the forest than usual, Lucius and Elenya stopped to rest. Sitting side by side on a moss-covered stump, they looked up at the sky through the branches.
Elenya stayed quiet, looking a bit downcast. Then, she suddenly said:
— "You know, Lucius… humans don't like elves."
Lucius turned to her.
— "Why?"
She shrugged.
— "They say we're arrogant, mysterious, or dangerous. They look at us like we're not… normal." She hugged her knees. "And not just us. There are the Bestial too. But the dwarves, well… they're somewhat tolerated because they're excellent blacksmiths."
She didn't usually speak like that. Her voice was softer, more fragile than usual.
Lucius listened quietly, then murmured:
— "Where I come from… it's different."
Elenya looked at him, curious.
— "What do you mean?"
He took a deep breath, searching for the right words.
— "Back there, people come in all colors, all shapes. There are conflicts, sure, but… we learn to live together. You're taught that everyone is equal, and that no matter where you come from, you can have a place. There are laws to protect those who are mistreated, schools open to everyone… and sometimes, even when everything goes wrong, people help each other—just because they believe it's the right thing to do."
A silence followed. The wind whispered softly through the leaves.
Elenya gave him a small smile, her eyes shining.
— "Someday… will you take me there?"
Lucius smiled back.
— "Yes. I promise."
They didn't know what the future would hold, or if such a journey would ever be possible. But in that moment, that simple exchange sealed a silent promise.
A promise carried by the wind.