The world folded inward.
Elara had no time before pressure slammed into her chest, stealing her breath. The wind roared—not just noise, not just force, but weight. A crushing pressure. The tree groaned, its hollowed trunk shuddering. Leaves tore free, vanishing into the storm. She pushed off the wood, trying to gather her mana for Voidwalk—too slow. The wind struck.
A crack split the air. The tree collapsed. She threw herself forward as the hollow caved in. Bark and branches snapped like brittle bones, the force ripping through the wood. She hit the ground, rolling as debris crashed where she’d been moments before. Too close. Too damn close.
She staggered up, heart hammering, legs unsteady. The wind fought her, dragging at her cloak, but its crushing force had shifted. A flash—Darius. Still standing, blades raised, feet planted against the storm. A solid object in the chaos. He didn’t look at her. His focus remained on the wraith, reading its every flicker. He didn’t call for her. Didn’t need to.
She clenched her jaw, pressing herself against the torn earth. Not yet. He had told her not to interfere—not unless he called for her. And he hadn’t. The wraith bore down on him. His boots dug in, stance unshaken, but she saw it—the strain. His armor groaning beneath the pressure. Small cracks formed in the reinforced plating, metal warping, leather creaking. And yet, he stood.
The wraith wasn’t slicing anymore. It wasn’t trying to throw him off balance. It was trying to break him outright. The air surged, an invisible force pressing down. The trees bent, branches shrieking as they threatened to snap. Darius shifted. She saw the slight bend in his knees, the flex of his fingers—not in pain, not in desperation, but in calculation.
He wasn’t enduring it. He was waiting. And when the wraith committed—when the storm pressed with everything it had—he moved. A single step. Enough to break the force’s hold. The air recoiled. The wraith shrieked, flickering, unstable. Darius exhaled, then lifted his blade. Elara’s breath caught. Now.
His sword flicked upward—not to cut the wraith, but to strike the wind itself. Not fighting. Redirecting. The gust that should have launched him instead snapped outward in a violent arc. The wraith reeled. He hadn’t stopped the wind. He had used it. The wraith twisted, air shifting erratically—frustrated. Then it dived.
Not a strike. Not a blade of air. A storm in motion, a force meant to consume. He stepped in. No hesitation. The collision sent a shockwave through the clearing, splitting the ground beneath them. Elara shielded her eyes against flying debris, heart hammering as she saw him still standing.
For the first time, the wraith hesitated. It had met a storm it could not move. Darius exhaled, fingers shifting on his hilt. Then—he swung.
Not to defend. Not to endure. To control. The air snapped, and the storm answered. The wraith screeched, its form twisting violently, reacting to a force it no longer commanded. Wind spiraled around him, no longer striking but circling—testing him. Elara stayed still, dagger gripped.
The wraith struck. Wind collapsed from every direction, a crushing force meant to bury him. Darius angled his blade—not to block, not to cut, but to guide. When the pressure hit, he twisted. The force flowed past instead of against him. The wraith shrieked, its form flickering.
It tried again—coiling air, a trap meant to hold him. He stepped forward. Another cut. Each strike shattered the storm, pulling the wraith apart piece by piece. Elara saw it—the moment the wraith realized it had already lost. It reared back, movements unsteady. The storm wavered, broken and uneven. He pressed forward.
The last strike came not with force, but precision. A single cut through the heart of the storm. The wraith collapsed, its swirling body dispersing into fractured gusts. The wind stilled. And the wraith lay defeated—but alive. Elara exhaled, stepping forward as Darius lowered his blade. She stared at the shifting, half-formed mass of air.
“You’re not going to finish it?” she asked.
He turned to her, calm. “I have no need to.”
She frowned. “After all that?”
He sheathed one of his blades. “It fulfilled what I wanted.”
She studied him, then looked at the wraith. Despite its state, she noticed something—the mist had cleared. That gave her an idea.
She glanced at him. “What if we use it?”
He raised an eyebrow.
She gestured at the air. “It can clear the mist. What if we provoke another one to clear the way to find the dungeon boss?”
Darius was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Good idea.”
He rolled his shoulders. “But not today.”
The wind shifted. And this time, it carried no threat.
She stepped closer, reaching out. “You’re hurt. Let me help.”
He hesitated, then nodded. She placed a hand on his shoulder, channeling warmth through his battered form. His breath evened as the pain faded.
He glanced down, then at her. “Thank you.”
She smiled, but his expression turned wry as he gestured at his mangled armor. “I’ll need a moment... and your help.”
She stared at the warped metal, suppressing a laugh. “That bad?”
“Worse. It is deformed in all the wrong places.”
He scanned their surroundings, searching for a place to rest. She caught his weary look and took the lead, guiding him toward a nearby grove of trees. The leaves rustled in the breeze, sunlight filtering through the canopy to cast dappled shadows on the ground. It was a peaceful spot, removed from the chaos of the battle.
He let out a breath, nodding approvingly. “This will do.”
He sank to his knees, his armor clanking as he did so. She knelt beside him, her fingers tracing over the twisted metal. She could feel the heat radiating from it, a testament to the force of the encounter.
“This is going to take some work to get off you,” she said, her voice soft.
He nodded, his eyes closed as he braced himself for the task ahead. She focused on following his instructions, on removing the metal from his frame. As she worked, he removed his arm braces.
After she got the metal breastplate of him, his breathing evened out. “Thank you,” he said again.
She smiled at him, her heart swelling with warmth at his words. “Anytime.”
She took a moment to study him. His cream-colored tunic was damp with sweat, clinging to his skin, and she could see the bruises forming along his collarbone. Some of the impact had gone through the armor despite its protection.
“Should I heal those bruises a little more?” she asked, concern evident in her tone.
He shook his head. “No need.”
He exhaled, then let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Honestly, I should have done this sooner. I took fewer injuries than expected.”
Elara’s expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You’d better not try anything like that unannounced again,” she said sharply. “At least warn me earlier next time, so I can mentally prepare.”
He sighed, his expression turning more somber. “I didn’t plan to do this so soon,” he admitted. “I was going to ask for your help—but I thought I had more time. I was planning to seek out a wraith after the dungeon was closed.”
She stared at him, aghast. “You thought you had time? Darius, do you hear yourself?” She shook her head, frustration clear in her voice. “Planning this without telling me first isn’t fair when I’m involved.”
He looked at her, then nodded, his expression apologetic. “You’re right. I should have told you sooner.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m sorry.”
She sighed, her frustration softening. “Just don’t do it again,” she muttered, shaking her head. “So why did you become a punching bag for the wraith?”
He exhaled and shifted slightly, his expression brightening. “What do you know about elemental magic?”
She blinked, surprised by the sudden change in topic. “Not much,” she admitted. “I mean, I know mages use mana to call forth elements, but that’s about it.”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He gave a smirk. “Do you know how mages get their class?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “By studying?”
He chuckled. “Kind of. You can certainly try to learn magic from books, but feeling the element—experiencing it firsthand—that’s the real way to connect with it.” His voice grew more animated, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “You have to encounter it. Let it become part of you. That’s how a mage truly bonds with an element.”
She watched him, intrigued by his enthusiasm. “So, you deliberately let the wraith’s power push against you to feel the wind’s force?”
He nodded, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Exactly. I needed to understand it, to feel how it moves when wielded by a true master, how it flows. Only then can I wield it properly.”
She huffed, crossing her arms. “Is there no other way? That sounds reckless—a quick way to die.”
He hesitated, then admitted, “There are other ways. A teacher of the same element, sparring with someone who wields it—but that’s not what I wanted.” His expression grew resolute. “I don’t care for learning in a safe, controlled way. I want to learn from a being whose entire existence revolves around wind. If I could, I would have sought out a wind elemental in the Elemental Planes instead.”
Elara considered this, thinking about what Flamebeard had said about Boogie returning to the Elemental Planes after his death. If that was true, then the planes were more accessible than she had assumed. The thought lingered, but she set it aside for now.
He tilted his head. “I wanted to. But traveling there requires power, knowledge, or an invitation. None of which I have at the moment.”
She nodded slowly. “Fair enough.”
As they settled into a moment of calm, her eyes drifted upward. High in the branches of a tree, she spotted a peculiar yellow fruit—clusters of small, grape-like orbs fused together. Its color blended well with the foliage, making it difficult to notice at first glance. A small smile tugged at her lips; Lana would love it.
He noticed her shifting focus. “What is it?” he asked, following her gaze.
“That fruit,” she said. “I want to get it for Lana.”
He studied the branch it hung from, then rolled his shoulders. “Watch this.”
He extended his right hand, palm up, and concentrated. A faint green swirl of wind formed just above his skin, twisting and gathering momentum. With a small push, he sent it flying in an arc toward the branch. Nothing happened.
The branch swayed slightly, but remained stubbornly intact. The fruit didn’t even tremble. She bit back a smile, watching as he exhaled sharply and squared his shoulders, clearly determined.
“Okay, that was just a warm-up,” he muttered.
She smiled. “Of course.”
He tried again, this time narrowing his eyes. The wind gathered more force, rippling upward with greater intensity. It struck the branch with a faint whump—and still, the branch held.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “This is embarrassing.”
She couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. “So, how long have you been practicing wind magic?” she teased.
He shook his head. “I haven’t unlocked any actual skills for it yet. This is just something my uncle taught me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re using wind magic without a skill?”
“More like fumbling my way through it,” he admitted. “I’m hoping that once I hit level 200, I’ll have fulfilled the prerequisite for a wind-related class.”
She nodded, watching as he prepared for another attempt. “Well, at least you’re persistent.”
He scoffed. “If nothing else, I refuse to lose to a branch.”
With one last push of concentration, the wind gathered once more, this time sharper and more precise. It shot forward, slicing the branch just enough to send the fruit tumbling down.
Elara caught, holding it up triumphantly. “Looks like you won after all.”
He grinned. “Told you.”
She chuckled, tucking the fruit safely away. “Come on. Let’s get moving before you start a fight with the next tree.”
Darius smirked. “Well, you never know. I read about a forest in the west where the trees are alive and moving. A wandering forest. They’re said to be a danger to any settlement.”
Her eyes widened. “A wandering forest? That sounds... terrifying.”
He nodded. “It does, doesn’t it? But who knows? Maybe one day we’ll come across it and see for ourselves. Then I can fight as many trees as I want.”
She shivered at the thought, but couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement that stirred within her. “Do you have the book with you?”
He blinked, momentarily surprised. “Oh, that book? No, I don’t have it with me.” He hesitated, then shook his head. His gaze shifted slightly. “I don’t own any books. I borrowed them from my uncle’s library.”
“The same uncle you learned wind magic from?”
He nodded. “Yeah. My family stays at his estate. I had free rein of the library growing up.” There was a distant note in his voice, a hint of nostalgia or perhaps something else unspoken.
She hesitated before carefully asking, “Would it be possible for me to see it one day?”
His eyes flicked to her, surprised by her directness. They were barely more than traveling companions—closer now than before, but still distant. He considered her request for a moment, then exhaled. “It’s far away,” he said finally. “And I have no interest in returning home right now.”
She studied him but chose not to press further. Instead, she nodded. “Maybe someday, then.”
He gave a small smiled, the weight in his expression lifting. “Maybe.”
She noticed his shifting beside her, his usual confidence giving way to something more hesitant. He glanced at her, then away, rubbing the palm of his hand.
She tilted her head. “What is it?”
He hesitated before speaking. “Your skill with your dagger and magic. Did your parents teach you? Did they also help you work toward a class?”
Elara blinked, surprised by the question. The way he asked—careful, uncertain—made her think he wasn’t sure if he should.
She glanced down, her fingers idly tracing the fabric of her sleeve. “No,” she said after a moment. “They didn’t.”
He didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t the type to pry, but his silence told her he was listening, waiting, in case she wanted to say more.
Instead, he nodded slightly. “That’s fine. Most people end up with a class through things they’ve been doing in their youth, sometimes without even realizing it. Just because your parents took one path doesn’t mean you have to follow it.”
His tone was even, casual, but something about the way he said it made her pause. It sounded practiced—like something he had told someone before. Maybe even himself.
Before she could decide whether to ask, he shifted again, this time more deliberately. “What about your family, then? What are they like?”
She opened her mouth, the answer forming in her mind—
And then, just as quickly, it was gone. She frowned. What had he just asked?
The thought slipped through her fingers like sand, and a strange pressure settled at the edge of her mind, like something was pushing her away from it. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, her mind grasping for something just out of reach.
“Elara?”
She looked up at Darius, who was watching her with a hint of concern.
“I—” She hesitated. What had they been talking about? There was something important, wasn’t there? But the more she tried to recall it, the further it seemed to slip away.
Darius shifted closer, his brows drawing together as he studied her face. “Elara?” His voice was quieter this time, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.
She straightened, forcing herself to focus. “Yeah?”
Darius hesitated, then, as if testing something, asked again, “What about your family? What are they like?”
The moment the words left his mouth, she felt it again—that strange, hollow blankness. The answer was there, just for a breath, before slipping into nothing. She tried to hold on to the thought, to grasp at the memory forming in her mind, but it was like trying to catch mist with her bare hands.
Her fingers twitched, an uneasy sensation crawling over her skin. She swallowed, shaking her head slightly. What was happening?
“Elara?”
Darius’s voice cut through the strange fog settling over her thoughts. His gaze had sharpened, searching her expression. He leaned in just a fraction closer. “You—are you feeling alright?”
She blinked at him; the question catching her off guard. “What?”
He exhaled, glancing over at her like he was trying to find something wrong. “You hesitated. Twice. And just now, you looked… I don’t know. Off. Do you have any status effects on you?”
The words sent a ripple of unease through her. She knew he was only trying to figure out what was happening, but something about the way he was watching her—concerned, studying her reaction—made her stomach twist.
“I—” She shook her head quickly, forcing a half-hearted laugh. “I’m fine. Just… tired, maybe.”
He didn’t look convinced. If anything, his expression tightened. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer right away. Because the truth was—she wasn’t sure at all. He exhaled, leaning back slightly, but his gaze never left her. He seemed to choose his words carefully this time.
“I asked you a question. Twice,” he said, his voice measured. “Do you remember what it was?”
Her fingers curled against her arms as a sharp unease settled in her chest. She looked at Darius, really looked at him, and for the first time, she didn’t see just concern—she saw something else. Something calculating.
She shook her head. “No,” she said firmly. “You asked me if my parents taught me. That’s the last question you asked.”
He didn’t comment right away, which somehow made it worse. He just watched her, unreadable as ever. Then, finally, he said, “That’s not true.”
Her breath hitched. A strange, twisting sensation curled in her stomach.
“Are you messing with me?” she asked, her voice sharper than before. “Trying to see how I react?”
He blinked, clearly taken aback. “What? No.”
“Then why are you acting like I forgot something when I didn’t?” She stepped back before she realized she was doing it, her pulse picking up. Her thoughts felt tangled—wrong. “I remember what you asked. I know what I heard.”
His brows furrowed. “Elara, I’m not—” He exhaled, rubbing his face. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You really don’t remember?”
The way he said it, that careful tone, made her feel like the ground beneath her was shifting. Like she was the one who was wrong.
“I don’t,” she said, jaw tightening. “And I don’t like what you’re implying.”
He hesitated, then stepped back slightly, like he could sense the tension building. His hands lifted, placating. “I’m not trying to mess with you, I swear.”
She searched his face, but doubt had already taken root. The way he looked at her made her feel off-balance, like he knew something she didn’t. And she hated it.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “Maybe it’s a side effect from the mushrooms,” he muttered, almost to himself.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. “What?”
He looked back at her, brow furrowed. “The spores. You inhaled them, and they knocked you out. Maybe they did something else—something to your memory.”
A hot spark of anger flared in her chest. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not,” he countered, his tone calm, almost too calm. “You passed out. You had a status effect. What if there’s more to it?”
She scoffed, crossing her arms tightly. “So now I’m sick? Or cursed? Or what, hallucinating?” Her voice had a sharp edge, but beneath it, frustration churned. “I know what I remember, Darius.”
“I’m not saying you’re sick,” he said carefully. “I’m just saying something is—”
“Wrong?” she cut in. “You think something is wrong with me?”
He hesitated, clearly realizing too late that whatever he said next would only make things worse. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She didn’t like this—not the way he was looking at her, not the way he kept pushing, like she wasn’t the one who knew her own thoughts.
“I don’t feel any different,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t immediately argue, but his expression remained skeptical. And somehow, that was even worse. A strange heat pressed behind Elara’s eyes—frustration, anger, something else she couldn’t name. She didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She didn’t want to be looked at like this, like she was broken.
She turned away, jaw clenched. “Just drop it, Darius.”
