The Calderon estate was unusually quiet the next morning. A sense of unease hung in the air, as if the wind itself was holding its breath. Ark felt it the moment he stepped into the grand dining hall, where his father, Duke Reynard, and his two brothers sat in their usual seats.

The Duke's piercing gaze met Ark’s as he entered. “Arkadius, join me in the study after breakfast. There’s something you need to see.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them was unmistakable. Ark nodded silently, his mind racing with possibilities.

After breakfast, Ark followed his father to the study. The room was lined with ancient tomes, maps, and relics, but it was what lay beyond that intrigued him. The Duke pressed a hidden switch behind a bookshelf, revealing a concealed passage.

“Come,” the Duke said curtly.

Ark descended the narrow staircase, the air growing cooler with each step. The passage opened into a dimly lit chamber, its walls covered in carvings of swirling winds and symbols eerily similar to the ones in the mysterious tome.

In the center of the room stood a pedestal, upon which rested a crystalline shard glowing faintly with an inner light.

“This,” the Duke began, “is the Windstone. It is a relic of our family’s lineage, tied to the ancient winds. Few in our bloodline have ever been able to resonate with its power. I brought you here to see if you are one of them.”

Ark stepped forward, his golden eyes fixed on the Windstone. “What do I need to do?”

“Simply touch it. If the winds accept you, the Windstone will react.”

Hesitating for only a moment, Ark placed his hand on the shard. A sudden surge of energy shot through him, and the room was filled with a faint hum. The carvings on the walls began to glow, the winds in the chamber swirling wildly around him.

Duke Reynard’s eyes widened slightly, his usual stoicism giving way to a rare expression of surprise. “The Windstone has chosen you.”

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Ark withdrew his hand, the hum subsiding but the energy lingering in his veins. “What does this mean?”

“It means your connection to the winds is stronger than I anticipated,” the Duke said. “But it also means greater responsibility. The Windstone’s power is not without its dangers.”

As they ascended back to the study, Duke Reynard spoke again, his voice lower, almost hesitant.

“The carvings in that chamber depict an ancient story. They speak of a relic known as the Tempest Relic, said to hold the pure essence of the winds. Our ancestors once sought it but failed. Some believe it is merely a legend, but others... others believe it still exists.”

Ark’s pulse quickened. “I’ve heard of it before. The winds spoke of it to me.”

The Duke stopped in his tracks, turning to face Ark. “The winds spoke to you?”

Ark nodded. “They told me to seek the Tempest Relic. I don’t fully understand it, but I feel like it’s connected to my powers.”

For a moment, the Duke was silent, his sharp features betraying nothing. Finally, he said, “Then perhaps the legend is not as distant as I thought. If the winds are guiding you, you must follow them. But tread carefully—many would kill to control such power.”

Later that day, Ark found Luna waiting for him in the gardens, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.

“You’ve been busy,” she said. “What did your father want?”

Ark hesitated before telling her everything—the Windstone, the carvings, and the Tempest Relic. Luna listened intently, her expression growing more serious with every word.

“If the Tempest Relic is real, you’re not the only one searching for it,” she said finally. “Relics like that are tied to ancient conflicts, and there are factions that would do anything to claim such power.”

Ark frowned. “Do you know something about it?”

Luna hesitated, then nodded. “My family served the Calderons for generations, but before that, we were scholars of the arcane. I’ve read fragments about the Tempest Relic in old texts. If you’re serious about finding it, you’ll need more than just the winds to guide you. You’ll need knowledge—and allies.”

That night, as Ark lay in bed, a chill wind crept through his room, carrying a faint whisper. He sat up, his heart racing.

“Beware…” the voice seemed to say, its tone faint but urgent. “The shadows move against you…”

Ark sprang to his feet, his golden eyes scanning the room. Nothing seemed out of place, but the unease lingered.

The wind stirred again, this time forming a distinct word in his mind: “Avalon.”

Ark frowned. Avalon was the capital city, a place of political intrigue and danger. Was the voice warning him of an immediate threat—or pointing him toward his next destination?

Either way, he knew one thing: his journey was far from over.