The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds, where Ark stood facing his elder brother, Victor. The dueling arena was surrounded by a small audience of servants, knights, and nobles, all eager to witness the clash. At the head of the crowd, Duke Reynard observed in silence, his expression unreadable.

Victor stretched lazily, his cocky grin unwavering. “Ready to embarrass yourself, little brother?”

Ark didn’t reply. He focused instead on the breeze brushing against his skin, the invisible force that had become his closest ally.

Master Darius stepped forward as the referee. “This will be a non-lethal sparring match. First to incapacitate or disarm their opponent wins. Victor, as the senior combatant, you will refrain from excessive force.”

Victor smirked. “Of course.”

Darius gave a sharp nod. “Begin!”

Victor wasted no time. In a blur of movement, he lunged at Ark with a wooden sword, the strike aimed at Ark’s shoulder. Ark sidestepped instinctively, summoning a gust of wind to propel himself backward.

Victor laughed. “Running already? You’ll need more than tricks to beat me!”

He charged again, but this time, Ark was ready. Raising his hand, he directed a powerful burst of wind toward Victor. The older brother staggered, caught off guard, but recovered quickly, digging his heels into the ground.

“Not bad,” Victor admitted, spinning his blade. “But wind won’t stop steel.”

Ark narrowed his eyes, his golden irises glowing faintly. He began to weave the wind around him, forming a swirling vortex that lifted dust and leaves into the air. The crowd murmured in awe, but Victor remained unimpressed.

With a roar, Victor dashed through the vortex, his sword slicing toward Ark. Ark deflected the blow with a concentrated wind barrier, but the force sent him stumbling back.

“Too slow!” Victor taunted, raising his sword for another strike.

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This time, Ark didn’t retreat. Instead, he focused all his energy on a single move. As Victor closed the distance, Ark swept his hand upward, sending a sharp current of wind beneath Victor’s feet.

Victor lost his balance, stumbling forward. Ark seized the opportunity, using another gust to knock the sword from Victor’s hand. The wooden weapon clattered to the ground.

The crowd gasped.

Darius stepped forward, raising his hand. “The match is over! Arkadius wins!”

Victor sat up, brushing dust off his clothes, his expression a mixture of surprise and anger. “You got lucky,” he spat.

Ark offered a hand to help him up. “Or maybe I’m stronger than you think.”

Victor ignored the gesture, pushing himself to his feet. “Don’t get cocky. One little trick doesn’t make you my equal.” He stalked off, his pride clearly wounded.

Ark turned to face his father. Duke Reynard’s expression was as cold and calculating as ever. “A commendable performance,” the Duke said. “But victory in the training grounds means nothing without results in the tournament. You have much to learn.”

Ark nodded, hiding his frustration. “I’ll be ready.”

As the crowd dispersed, Luna approached, a small smile on her lips. “You surprised them,” she said. “Even your father.”

Ark sighed. “It doesn’t feel like enough. Victor won’t forget this, and Father’s expectations are only growing.”

“That’s a good thing,” Luna replied. “You’ve proven you’re capable of more. Now you just need to show them you can go even further.”

That evening, Ark returned to his chambers, the mysterious tome once again in his hands. He had spent hours trying to decipher the runes, but their meaning continued to elude him.

As he flipped through the pages, something strange happened. The runes on one page began to glow faintly, their light pulsing in rhythm with his breathing.

Ark frowned. “What...?”

A whisper filled the air, soft and distant, like the sound of the wind through the trees. The glowing runes shifted, rearranging themselves into words he could finally understand:

“He who wields the winds shall hear their call. Listen, and they will guide you.”

Ark closed his eyes, focusing on the whisper. The air around him seemed to hum with energy, carrying faint voices—fragments of words, feelings, and impressions. He didn’t understand all of it, but one message came through clearly:

“Your power is tied to the ancient winds. Seek the Tempest Relic.”

The glow faded, and the tome returned to its original state. Ark opened his eyes, his heart racing. The Tempest Relic? What was it, and why did the winds want him to find it?

One thing was clear: this was more than just magic. The winds themselves were alive, and they had plans for him.

As the moonlight bathed the city of Avalon, Ark stood once more on his balcony. The winds stirred around him, carrying a quiet strength that mirrored his own growing resolve.

If the Tempest Relic held the key to his power, then he would find it. And with it, he would prove to himself, his family, and the world that he was more than just a third son.

He was the Windborne Aristocrat, and his destiny was only beginning.