Gray and old-fashioned, the house's walls resembled a canvas touched by the brush of time, adorned with fragments and marks of a distant past.

Sylphrym stared at the monochromatic room, his brow furrowing in perplexity. There was a door, but it lacked a conventional knob or any visible means of entry. Where had he found himself?

The room appeared ordinary, its furnishings familiar and mundane: a bed, a clock, a desk with chairs, and an assortment of books scattered haphazardly, their pages partially opened.

"Hm," Sylphrym murmured thoughtfully as he crouched and touched the door. It was out of place, diminutive in contrast with the rest of the room.

In a subtle silence, the ancient clock clicked and ticked, its cadence both relentless and aloof, deaf to imploring pleas.

Where was he again?

A solitary window perched incongruously atop the crumbling walls, its aged wooden frame sagging and peeling, as if misplaced even within the expanse of the vast room. Yet, the light of what lay beyond, yearning to illuminate the forgotten space, remained thwarted by the dusty panes of glass.

Sylphrym rubbed his eyes, attempting to comprehend the scene before him. A fireplace stood in the room, but it was empty.

“Then, where is the light coming from?”

Sylphrym wanted to say something more as the once-familiar hollowness within him was replaced by fear and confusion, but words escaped him.

A creeping realization seized him—had the room always been so confining? The walls appeared to be closing in.

“~

~”

Were they whispering amongst themselves?

Sylphrym pushed with all of his might, yet the door refused to budge.

As Sylphrym scoured the room, desperate for any means of escape, his gaze fell upon an unexpected sight: a mirror suspended from the ceiling, untouched by the ravages of time.

Its pristine and silvery surface beckoned him, drawing him closer with an irresistible allure. He stood before the mirror, his reflection peering back at him, eyes locked in a silent exchange.

At that very moment, time froze in its tracks, and Sylphrym's gaze fixated on a glimpse of the child within. Brilliant hues of blue and green adorned his robes, his ears stretched out in grandeur, and his eyes shimmered in a mesmerizing shade of violet…

Sylphrym extended his hand, fingers trembling in the air, reaching out towards the image before him.

Grasping at the intangible…

Sylphrym slowly stirred from his nap as his senses gradually awakened.

With a drowsy disorientation, he confronted the familiar struggle of leaving behind the comforting embrace of sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, burdened by the lingering remnants of dreams, as if unwilling to part ways with their peaceful reverie. Reluctantly, he summoned the strength to bid farewell to the soothing sanctuary of slumber.

“...Crap.”

The sun had almost reached its zenith.

Sylphrym shielded his eyes with his palms as he gazed at the summer sky.

Looking south, Sylphrym knew it would be difficult to make it in time. Running wouldn’t cut it, especially on the forest’s uneven trails.

Feeling a pang of guilt, Sylphrym carefully surveyed his surroundings before settling on the forest floor.

There was no way around it; he had no choice but to rely on magic. Silently rueing his decision to come, he began formulating a plan.

As a novice mage, it would be more prudent for him to entreat the wind spirits for a boon. Although his family did not practice wind magic, there was no shortage of them in the Woodlands, especially since it was a favored discipline.

To begin, Sylphrym had to gather materials suitable for an offering, considering the elusive nature of wind spirits. Fortunately for him, he sought only a minor blessing, so he wouldn't need anything particularly remarkable or difficult to find.

Sylphrym carefully examined the surrounding flowers, in search of anything that exuded freshness or airiness. Even plants that could evoke a sense of tranquility or lightness would suffice.

“Where is it? Ah, that’s a red campion. Red campion. Sunflower…? No, not quite. Where are the bluebells hiding? Over there, perhaps? Oh, just some foxgloves… Maybe here? Nope, just some sunflowers…”

Sylphrym slowly grew anxious. Without finding a suitable offering, his chances of making it on time were slim to none.

"Where have those wretched little creatures scattered off to..."

~~~

Sylphrym winced as he finally stumbled upon a lily of the valley. He carefully plucked the flower, knowing that his task was far from over.

Moving on, he scanned the ground in search of feathers. This time, luck was on his side as he managed to find one with relative ease.

With his physical offering mostly assembled, Sylphrym now needed to enter the Astral World.

It was a challenging task, Sylphrym recalled with a slight grimace. He really needed to get better at this.

He closed his eyes and recalled the changes brought about by the arrival of summer. And as he smelled the scent of earth, he spoke to himself.

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“I’m not in the Woodlands. I’m not in the forest. I’m… not here.” Sylphrym inwardly uttered, seeking to enter a meditative state. He cleared his mind of thoughts and gradually felt his body and mind begin to unwind.

Abruptly, Sylphrym summoned his willpower and opened his eyes. He concentrated as best as he could, drawing upon the teachings of his great-grandfather, despite the warning signals his body was sending him. And as a different image overlapped with the scenery of the forest, Sylphrym called out. Deep into the bottomless abyss at the core of his being, he blinked and “lost” his senses.

It was a curious thing. In an instant, the familiar forest vanished, and he found himself adrift, wandering in forever. It was as if he had stumbled into a never-ending expanse with no discernible beginning nor end, like a mere grain of sand lost amongst the vast beaches of space and time.

Sorithym had once tried to explain the experience. According to him, it was akin to shedding off the mortal coil that confines one to the physical plane and embarking on a journey through a cosmic labyrinth. The trek contained planets on the brink of collapse, comets hurtling through the void, great celestial bodies, spiraling galaxies, and much more. Amidst the vast expanse, one needed to navigate far and deep into the very reaches of their spiritual core.

It was a perilous voyage into the unknown, one that tested the limits of a person’s will and fortitude. The risk of getting lost in the endless stretch of space-time was a very real danger for novice mages. Though the consequences of such a fate were better left unexplained.

Sylphrym averted his gaze from the otherworldly spectacle, aware of the perils that lay in losing oneself to its unearthly allure.

To anchor himself from being drawn into the nearest belt of stars, Sylphrym first created the concept of “gravity”.

Deeply focusing, Sylphrym sought to assert his control over reality. He convinced himself that he remained firmly tethered to the earth, that there was solid ground beneath his feet, and an invisible force held him in place.

Sylphrym gritted his teeth, found his equilibrium, and then he stood.

It always made him a little queasy how the realm defied logic. How could he impose his will upon it? Why did he not need to breathe?

Sylphrym also understood that he, as a beginner, could only apply the concept of gravity to himself. But what of other mages? Those with greater expertise? The notion of wielding such power unsettled him.

The blend of soaring through the air and remaining anchored to the earth was quite the odd sensation. Once acclimated to it, Sylphrym focused his attention on the task at hand: locating a wind spirit. After all, allowing his mind to wander could lead to dangerous consequences. Not only were his will or form at risk, but so was his very existence.

With an unwavering posture, Sylphrym assumed a commanding stance. His head slightly bowed, his lips parted, and with clear resolution, he gave voice to magic.

The verses that escaped his lips transcended mortal languages, their syllables woven from an ethereal tongue that resonated with the very fabric of reality.

It was beautiful and horrifying, in a way. The only piece of elven Sylphrym was taught was these sacred invocations that called upon the Ödiĝo.

With each passing moment, Sylphrym felt himself tire. Speaking in elven took its toll, and he realized he could not endure for much longer.

Sylphrym also knew that he was an amateur mage, untrained and unskilled. But! If he couldn't pull off something this simple...

No, it mustn't be. It had to work. Please, let it work.

As he was about to give up, a faint sound reached his ears.

“~!^%#?'”

Sylphrym cast his gaze toward the sound and saw what could best be described as an Aurora Borealis.

Ribbons of celestial light danced and swirled in a mesmerizing display, lighting up the once-dark void. Radiant shades of green, turquoise, and purple seemed to pulse and shimmer.

The luminous colors intertwined and separated, casting a soft glow that bathed Sylphrym. And as they stretched gracefully from one end of the horizon to the other, a gentle mist began to descend. It wrapped the ribbons, casting a hazy veil over them.

After the spectacle concluded, Sylphrym beheld a shimmering light that continuously shifted its colors, gracefully gliding to and fro within the vast expanse.

“/?$)^”

The voice emanating from the Ödiĝo encompassed a melodic blend of gentle and discordant tones, alternating between high and low pitches. Despite Sylphrym’s inability to converse in elven, he knew how to convey his intentions.

Since he couldn’t employ a telepathic connection on his own, Sylphrym extended his hand toward the luminous specter, its ethereal nature teasing his grasp. Despite the fact that his hand seemingly passed through the intangible entity, he clung to the hope that his purpose had been understood.

He reached out with his thoughts, and instead of speaking, his mind conjured a myriad of images.

A vortex of swirling wind, leaves dancing in the light of day, and a banner gently fluttering in the breeze...

Despite lacking physical features, Sylphrym sensed the Ödiĝo's gaze fixed upon him, its attention seemingly focused on his ears and eyes.

After a moment of uncertainty, the Ödiĝo’s luminescence flickered, as if thinking. Suddenly, it erupted into a kaleidoscope of vibrant auroras, which converged and enveloped Sylphrym in a dazzling embrace.

Anticipating what was about to happen, Sylphrym did not resist and gently closed his eyes. When he opened them once more, the Ödiĝo had vanished, leaving him on a desolate and sandy plane.

It stretched out as far as the eye could see, devoid of life and lushness. Sand dunes rose and fell, while above, the sky crackled with tempestuous energy, its furious might manifesting as swirling tornadoes. The wind roared fiercely, whipping loose grains of sand around Sylphrym.

Sylphrym knew there was no need to attract the attention of the wind. After all, the Ödiĝo had already caused a commotion.

Without further ceremony, he took a step forward, followed by one backward, silently hoping that his plea would be heard.

He loosened his grip on the feather, releasing it to the mercy of the fierce gales, allowing it to be carried away by the winds.

“O Gentle Zephyr!

You are the Spirit of the Winds;

The Bearer of Whispers and Master of the Skies;

The Unseen and Untamed.”

Sylphrym closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a breeze fill his empty lungs. He exhaled slowly and extended his arms outward. As the wind’s presence intensified around him, he knew that it was watching.

"O mighty spirit of the wind, I humbly proffer unto thee a fragment of mine own essence. May my breath entwine harmoniously with thine, forging an eternal bond between our beings."

Sylphrym took the plucked flower, raised his voice, and proclaimed:

"O wondrous spirit of the wind, I humbly present thee with a delicate bloom. May it grace thy presence and merge with thine currents.”

The instant he had relinquished the flower, it took flight, soaring through the skies. Mindful of the strong winds blowing against him, Sylphrym stood unyielding and swiftly chanted:

“I implore thee to lend me thine winds. May thou bestow upon me the swiftness of a raging gale, that I may transcend my earthly limits.”

Having completed his task, Sylphrym wearily sank onto the sandy ground beneath him. Everything he had done, albeit brief, had drained him, both in mind and body.

Looking upwards toward the clear skies, he noticed the wind had stopped raging. Instead, it now quietly encircled him. As Sylphrym instinctively breathed, he felt his body and mind clearing, the tiredness from a moment ago all but gone. Although the spirit decided not to show itself, it still gave him its blessing.

Sylphrym happily smiled, knowing that he had succeeded.

Gradually, like a whisper carried by the wind, gentle laughter resonated across the desolate plane.

“Heh. Hah. Hahaha.”

Mischievously, a gust of wind playfully blasted into Sylphrym’s face, abruptly halting his outburst.

“Hey! Why’d you do that?”