After the incident in the library, I had promised Trendil that I would refrain from any more bloodburning. In exchange, he agreed to begin training me as a Windgeist, emphasizing the importance of control and restraint. The key to understanding Elithria—life—lay in mastering its limits. I understood that now. Learn the subtleties of one force, and it would prepare me for others.

"Alright, let's start small, very small. Baby steps, as they say, lad," Trendil said with a wry grin, his voice echoing across the training hall.

A table stood at the far end of the room, stark against the stone walls. On it sat a cup filled to the brim with water, glistening in the pale light.

"You see that cup?" Trendil continued, pointing toward it. "I want you to push it toward me, but—and this is crucial—don't let it fall. I want you to tap into that feeling inside you, let it build in your lungs, but only release a trickle. Just enough to nudge the cup forward a fraction."

I focused on my breathing, the slow expansion and contraction of my lungs, feeling the familiar presence of Elithria seeping through my body with every breath. It was a strange sensation, like holding a breath after a long swim, then finally inhaling—air filling your chest, both a relief and a rush. It was there, in the air I breathed, waiting to be harnessed.

Trendil's eyes glinted as he watched me closely. "Of course, you'll no doubt push too hard. They all do the first time. Care to make a wager?"

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Was he challenging me? Did he think I was just a naive boy? He didn't know the half of it. I'd lived lifetimes and fought in wars—this would be no different.

"And what’s the wager?" I asked, teeth gritted as I focused on keeping the rising energy in check.

"Oh, something simple. If I win, you'll tell me where you really learned to wield a sword like that. And if you win, well—name your prize."

I saw the gleam in his eye, a challenge and a dare wrapped in the guise of a lesson. "If I win, you tell me why you're helping me. What’s in it for you, Trendil? There’s more to this than some vendetta against the Arcana."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "A cynical mind for someone so young. Very well, lad. Deal. Now, focus. Remember—not a single drop of water spills."

I could feel the Elithria building within me, a warmth that spread from my lungs, through my chest, and into my arms. It hummed beneath my skin, waiting to be released. But controlling it—that was the challenge. I imagined it like holding the reins of a horse, keeping the power in check, letting only the smallest sliver escape. The sensation was intense, the pressure almost unbearable, but I kept my focus.

I extended my arms, directing the energy toward the cup. A whisper of wind followed, invisible but palpable. The air shimmered as I willed it forward, aiming to nudge the cup just enough. The tendrils of power reached my palms, too strong. Too fast.

I tried to pull back, to rein in the surge, but it was like trying to hold a flood behind a thin dam. The Elithria snapped from my control, rushing forward with a force I hadn’t intended.

The cup slid forward, teetering dangerously at the edge of the table. My heart raced. I'd almost done it, almost stopped it just in time. But as I exhaled, the release of breath sent the cup over the edge, tumbling to the ground with a soft thud.

"Well done, lad. Well done indeed," Trendil chuckled, walking over to retrieve the cup. "I honestly thought that cup was going to smash into the wall. You did better than most on their first attempt." He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. "I like to challenge my students, push them to prove me wrong. Seems that worked here."

I could barely register his words. My eyes were still locked on the table, on the place where the cup had stood. I had been so close. So close. The frustration gnawed at me, but beneath it all, a small sense of accomplishment flickered.

"So this was just a training technique?" I asked, my voice still heavy with disbelief. "Part of the lesson?"

"Yes and no," Trendil said, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You still owe me the truth, Ragan. A wager is a wager, after all. But what you’ve learned here is vital—less is more when it comes to wind. Subtlety is key. Windgeists are the most efficient of us all with Elithria, and that’s what gives us stamina in the long run."

“Out with it then. Why do you wield a sword like a seasoned fighter? Pay up, lad.” Trendil’s smug smile irritated me more than it should, but a bet was a bet.

I sighed. “I trained, that's the simple answer. My father taught me the basics for the first two years—though it was hardly training. He showed me how to hold a sword properly, at least. Then I was conscripted into King Thalyon’s imperial army. It was there that Captain Kildrict took an interest in me. I ran errands for him, and in return, he taught me how to truly wield a sword—the techniques that separated a novice from a warrior.”

Trendil raised an eyebrow, but I pressed on. “After that, my skill was forged in battle. Over the next 40 winters, I fought in the Battle of Esemberk, the War of Three, Healmdock... to name a few. I’ll admit, I was a little rusty when I got here, but it’s all coming back to me now.”

Trendil leaned back, smirking. “Been reading some history books while you should’ve been studying, lad? Welch on a bet, and no one will trust your word. It’ll be worth about as much as a snowflake in a blizzard.”

His expression shifted to one of brief annoyance, then back to the familiar instructive tone. “Again! This time, hold the Elithria in place within your lungs before you release it. Control the flow at the source. True mastery comes from controlling your own body—your own Elithria.”

Trendil gestured toward the spilled cup. With a flick of his fingers, the cup lifted from the floor, and the water pooled back together, defying gravity as it reentered the cup in one fluid motion. The cup gently floated to the table, landing in its original position, still brimming with water. Not a single drop had been lost. Trendil turned to me with a satisfied smile.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I stared, wide-eyed, as if watching a master painter perfect his craft with a few effortless strokes. The elegance of his control astounded me—every motion precise, every result flawless. It wasn't just the power he commanded, but the grace in how he wielded it, like an extension of his own being. He didn’t seem fatigued, his breathing steady, his posture relaxed. It was as though the act hadn't taxed him in the slightest.

"Come on, lad. Stop gawking." Trendil's voice broke through my thoughts. "Focus. You need to stop being distracted and letting your mind wander."

I chuckled, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up. I was being scolded again. In this younger body, it was easy to forget who I truly was. Would Trendil have responded the same way if I stood before him as my former self—a seasoned warrior, battle-hardened and weathered by life? Or was this youthful appearance affecting how I was perceived, and more importantly, how I perceived myself?

I shook the thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time for musings. I had to learn control.

I pulled at that familiar energy again, the Elithria rushing into my lungs with a force that left me breathless. It roared within me, a wild torrent of power eager to be unleashed. I tried to hold it back, to slow its raging storm, but it resisted my every effort, straining against the reins I placed on it.

"Don’t try to restrain it," Trendil instructed calmly. "That only makes it push harder. Guide it. Let it flow like water through a clear stream. Remove the obstacles in its path, and it will obey."

His words resonated, but my mind drifted. Images of the past flared in my mind—Villas’ voice whispering through the years, "I will remove it." The memory of Myia, her soft smile, her gentle touch. The calmness of her presence soothed the tempest inside me, and suddenly, the Elithria changed. It became less chaotic, less volatile. Instead, it spread out through my chest in a rhythmic pattern, like a breeze moving over a field of flowers, gentle and steady.

The tension that had been gripping my mind and body released, and for the first time, I could breathe easily. My lungs expanded and contracted in harmony with the power inside me, the new air seamlessly mingling with the old, following the same steady rhythm.

"Very good, very good indeed, lad," Trendil said, his voice warm with approval. "Now, try again. Push the cup, just as you did before."

I focused, releasing only the smallest thread of Elithria from my lungs, and this time, it didn’t rage through my body like an untamed beast. It flowed smoothly, obedient to my will. I could guide it, hold it, even call it back if I wished. With every pulse, the energy responded, gathering at my fingertips, waiting for my command.

I extended my hand, carefully releasing the power I had summoned. The air moved, a gentle breeze this time, soft but purposeful. For a moment, I felt the perfect balance between control and release.

But the moment passed.

With a sharp breath, I lost hold of the delicate thread, and the force snapped free. A gust of wind erupted from my palm, far stronger than I intended. The cup shot across the room, crashing against the stone wall with a resounding thud.

Trendil sighed, shaking his head. "Again."

The lesson dragged on for what felt like an eternity, and I was fairly certain Trendil took some perverse joy in watching me fail time and again. Oh, how I failed. My mind had to be reshaped, every instinct I had honed through battle and survival was now my enemy. I had spent my life relying on brute force, charging headfirst into every challenge without hesitation. Now, I was being asked to restrain myself, to be delicate, patient—a virtue I had never aspired to master.

But over the course of the next few months, I learned, slowly and painfully. My muscles, my instincts, even my mind adjusted to this new way of thinking. Deliberation over haste, control over chaos. We even incorporated wind manipulation into our training sessions, though Trendil still outmatched me easily.

"Don’t you eat enough?" I teased, entering the training hall. Trendil was lounging, two fruit tarts on the table beside him, one already demolished.

"My eating habits are none of your concern," Trendil replied, not even looking up. "But, since you asked, it's berry season in Gilathic. The sweetest you'll ever taste, and I have a whole barrel to get through before they lose their flavor."

I sighed, shaking my head. I still couldn’t figure out how this place worked. The pantry was always fully stocked, the meals appeared as if by magic, and everything remained clean no matter what. I’d tried staking out the kitchen one evening, determined to catch whoever or whatever was behind it all. Nothing. As soon as I left, though, a feast had appeared on the table. It was as if the mountain itself was feeding us.

“Well, by all means, finish,” I quipped. “I can wait.”

Trendil smirked, stuffing the last bit of the tart into his mouth. "Why you cheeky—" He swallowed the last of it and dusted off his hands. "Alright then. Let’s see what you’ve learned. But this time, lad, I warn you—no holding back. I’ll use everything at my disposal, and you’ll have to land a strike on me. Use whatever you see fit, including your wind."

I waited for him to stand, but he remained seated, licking his fingers. "Well? Are you going to start?"

That was invitation enough.

I pulled at the Elithria in my lungs, directing a gust of wind behind him, aiming to strike him in the back. Just before it made contact, the force shattered into a thousand pieces, blown away by an invisible explosion of air from Trendil.

"Oh, you’ve started! Very good, lad."

Without hesitation, I advanced, sword in hand, and willed the air around me to pull various objects from the training hall toward him—shields, practice swords, even the empty tart tin from the table. None of it would likely hit him, but it might give me the distraction I needed to get in close. If I could get within a few feet, I could feint left, pull the racking down from the right with wind, and land a clean strike on his shoulder.

I moved with speed, watching as Trendil deflected everything effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. Even his own cup fell victim to his wind, rolling off the table. Getting sloppy, are we?

One more step, and I feinted to the left. I readied the Elithria, now fully under my control, to pull at the racking. Just as I was about to strike, I felt it—a subtle gust of wind at my feet. Before I knew what was happening, my foot stepped down, and Trendil’s discarded cup rolled directly under it.

I stumbled forward, my balance completely lost, and tumbled straight toward the table. My face collided with the second tart, now in Trendils open palm, smearing hot, sticky jam all over my head. The world spun as I blinked, jam dripping into my ears.

For a moment, all I felt was embarrassment and disgust at the fruit filling, still warm against my skin. But then, something clicked in my mind—this wasn’t just a joke. I had heard this move before, a tale whispered by the Faye. The story of Smoke in the kyneshed. The pie in the story had been a dagger, but the tactic was unmistakable.

I pushed myself to my feet, wiping jam from my eyes, my gaze locked on Trendil, who was now in fits of laughter, slapping his knee in amusement. I stayed silent, the realization settling in.

Could it be?

"Come on, lad! It’s just a bit of fun!" Trendil wheezed between chuckles. "Do you really think I could eat two whole tarts? It’s a valuable lesson, I’ve taught you here."

"And what lesson is that?" I asked, my voice low, steady. "Trendil... or should I say Smoke?"

The laughter stopped abruptly. Trendil’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open in shock. For the first time since I’d met him, he was speechless.