CHAPTER 29: WIND, AND WHAT COMES AFTER

He stood frozen in the center of the circle, heart racing, the echo of wind still brushing his skin. Lucien’s words lingered in the charged silence.

"How did you do that?"

Ethan met his gaze evenly, his throat tight. Then, calmer than he felt, he answered:

"Why would I tell you something that would give you another edge in the tournament?"

Lucien’s grip on his arm tightened—gentle, but firm.

Ethan swallowed around the panic. He needed to stand his ground. He leveled his voice:

"If you can get stronger in a day, then I can get stronger too. I’m not handing you any advantage you weren’t already born with."

Lucien’s eyes darkened for a moment, but he didn’t recoil. Ethan continued:

"And how did you even know I had a new skill?"

He paused, taking a careful breath.

"Something tells me you’re hiding your own new skill. One I haven’t seen yet."

That got to him. Lucien’s arm relaxed ever so slightly. His gaze softened—not in warmth, but with wariness that bordered on respect.

Ethan watched. His pulse slowed. Lucien released him fully, stepping back without a word.

Silence spread between them. Ethan’s chest heaved with relief and lingering fear.

Lucien finally spoke, voice low, calm:

"You’re not wrong."

He nodded once, just enough to signal truce.

"Use the space. You’ve earned it."

With that, Lucien turned around and strode away, boots pressing heavy steps on the training-floor runes.

Ethan watched him go, stomach twisting. Whatever Lucien had found in him... there was no going back. And yet, he hadn’t attacked. He’d waited, questioned, walked away.

Still, Ethan’s breath trembled as Lucien’s door shut behind him, leaving him alone again.

It took Ethan a moment before his limbs caught up with his thoughts. The wind hovered faint around his ankles as if still gathering itself.

He let go of me, Ethan thought. But he still wants answers.

Ethan’s right hand reached down to touch the ground. The concentric circles of runes glowed faint gold beneath his palm. He closed his eyes.

Okay. He inhaled, seeking calm. Time to untangle this.

There was no wand in his hand—none of the dramatic flare of a spell. Instead, he needed precision and subtlety. He lifted his head and focused entirely on his breathing. Inside him, the elemental body hummed—a layering of wind-cohesion he’d barely begun to control.

He conjured a quiet pulse: the familiar swirl of Gale Rend, but lower in force than before. A silent bridge between panic and defense.

He whispered the chant under his breath, steady but soft. The wind lifed in a concentric cone—gentle yet real, a breeze that rattled loose threads of dust. It was controlled but intangible, not strength but presence.

He let the wind settle. It faded back into him. The hush that followed matched the worn silence in his mind.

He tried again—same pattern yield, but smoother. The wind formed more cleanly. He felt the pull of the elemental body resonance: the shell that protected him when instinct barreled forward.

Ethan closed his eyes and thought: That moment with Lucien—fear hit first. Not thought. My body acted on its own. That’s not Gale Rend—it’s something else.

He reminded himself to breathe as his pulse steadied.

He reached deeper. Faltered. Tried again—but this time he remembered a teaching of mana threading: don’t command mana—invite it to flow.

The second cast, calmer, created a soft, swirling wind that lingered and dissipated from inside outward.

He felt his body follow it—his skin lightened, as if gravity momentarily failed. He didn’t feel wind flush around him: the wind was him.

It lasted only a heartbeat, but it was different. Controlled. Intentional. Not instinct. Something else—and it felt... right.

Ethan exhaled. His robes rustled like leaves.

He knelt, pressing both palms to the floor. The runes beneath his hands glowed brighter for a second, then faded.

He murmured to himself:

"That... wasn’t Gale Rend. It was me."

Clarity rippled across his mind.

My elemental body isn’t just a shield. It’s a channel.

He leaned back and rubbed fingertips along the arcane groove of the circle—the same circle where Lucien had challenged him, where magic had proven itself.

He rose again, laided both hands flat on the stone, and felt again the faint pulse of mana running between his palms.

He whispered another attempt: focusing again on drawing wind as a responsive aura.

The hum thrummed under his palms, lifting him just a fraction off the ground before he grounded down again.

Transient... but I’m learning.

Ethan closed his eyes. The system had given him undeniable gifts—Elemental Body, Gale Rend, Aqua Sphere, Healing, Anchor, Mana Sense—but it hadn’t taught him why or how the wind had layered into his defense. He’d triggered something instinctive, something born of coordination, not conscious command.

He realized then: if the system kept its secrets, he’d have to discover his own path. And he knew exactly where to start.

The Great Archive.

His thoughts turned to the library tower—the central vault of magical theory, layered with tomes on elemental synergy and advanced combat spells. The archive’s spiral staircases, floating walkways, and candle-lit alcoves were legendary, but just as infamous for causing even seasoned mages to get lost.

Perfect.

He pressed a palm to the wall, feeling the cold stone tighten around him as though urging him on. He tensed his shoulders, inhaled through his nose, and stepped out into the corridor. The door behind him closed with a soft click echoing down the length of the training wing.

The academy still buzzed with the afternoon bustle. Students drifted through halls toward dining salons, courtyard gardens, or dorms. Ethan moved with purpose, tracing the runed stone corridors until the walls opened to an arched hall lined with stained glass and tall doorways.

He hesitated, recalling the network of paths leading to the Inner Ring. Then lifted his chin. "Alarm magics aside, I’ve got this." He navigated the hall to a side entrance marked with an embossed Aerial Sigil—the insignia of the Elemental and Homeward Branches of magic. The archive was this way.

Corridors looped and forked. He passed two quieter wings—the Herbarium and the Astral Observatory—before arriving at a set of polished brass doors. They weren’t locked, but they were self-closing. He stepped inside.

The gloom pressed in, lit only by suspended crystal chandeliers and the soft glow of mana-infused ivory panels. The scent of parchment, aged leather, and beeswax floated in the air. He unconsciously slowed, letting the hush settle around him. He felt small, like a beginner again, even though he’d already saved himself in a duel and bent the system’s hidden power beneath his skin.

He rounded a column, and a carving caught his eye: a swirling wind motif with hands suspended over a floating scroll. It felt like a nod—an omen. He smiled faintly.

He had no plan beyond "find books on wind synergy." Step one: locate a shelf. Step two: open a book. Step three: learn something useful.

The main hall groaned under the weight of countless volumes. There were tables with stained benches, altar-like lecterns with glowing rune-strips, and sliding doors marked with glyphs in ancient script. He checked a nearby directory panel listing sections: Advanced Elemental Theory, Abyssal Magics, Spell Synthesis, Ethereal Forms.

He tapped on Advanced Elemental Theory. The panel provided a map grid and arrows.

He exhaled, tension in his chest loosening. Then promptly realized his phone—no, not phone—his pocket scroll of cursive—was empty. He’d forgotten a notebook. Well, he’d remember on the fly.

He set off. Three corridors, one folding staircase, five doorways later, he stood before a shelf displaying Volume III: Wind & Aetheric Integration. His pulse accelerated. He pulled it free carefully, reverent.

Page one spoke of aeromancy’s structural elegance—how wind, when drawn through rune‑stone matrices, could form a protective shell around the body, reinforcing spells with lightness and fluidity. A diagram showed a mage enveloped in a soft cloud-line armor, feathers swirling around them like a shield.

Ethan’s eyes glazed with recognition. That was elemental body... refined.

He flipped forward to a Chapter on Defensive Wind Construct Arrays. Terminology made his brain tighten: laminar flow harmonizing with mana coherence, field reinforcement ring nodes, instinctive aura convergence—all scientific-sounding methods to push spells into the body’s innate cover, to do what he’d accidentally done.

He copied notes onto his sleeve in cursive shorthand before sections began to dive too deep. Over time, he’d buy or enchant a notebook with self-repairing pages. Not now.

Two things jumped out:

Array Invocation: A four-point rune layout that, when painted on the floor around a mage, balanced mana flow like a wind-turbine spreads airflow across its blades. It increased the defensive field speed and volume.

Mirrored Halo: A wind aura, thin as a breath, but woven through a reversed rune set on the skin—most effective when the mage stepped into action, and requiring little conscious chant—instinctive.

He underlined both and copied their names along the margins: Array Invocation – Expanded Gale Rend and Mirrored Halo – Auto-Defense Aura.

He looked up to see another student approaching, tall and purple-cloaked, hefting a stack of thick scrolls.

"Sorry," Ethan said quickly. "I’ll step away."

He backed into an alcove and continued copying notes: rune alignments, step diagrams, occasional missing strokes of his script scrawling "Got to try these."

Finally, he snapped the book shut, placed it back, and folded his arms.

Wind, and what comes after.

He had a plan—refine his defensive form into an actual, interpretable method.

The archway he exited took him toward the circulation desk. He’d requested textbooks before and earned some second-hand fame for borrowing rare scrolls—if he needed them, he knew the process. But right now, he wanted to read.

He strode through main hall and looped back toward the training wing, but not quite inside. He spotted a pair of elderly librarians in charcoal robes, passing between shelves.

One wandered over. "Looking for something?"

"No," Ethan said. "Just browsing."

The librarian nodded and glided away quietly.

Ethan stood still for a moment, centering. Then he turned and retraced his steps toward the training corridor, but this time on the way back he glanced at his watch—afternoon was deep into twilight. Classes for the rest of the day would be ending soon.

He paused outside a hall window, where violet light illuminated practice wards for Spellstorm training. Students were moving between forms, chasing shifting magic trails.

He drew in a breath, feeling the buzz of those wards through the barrier glass.

Tomorrow: Array Invocation. A soft shell.

He exhaled slowly, letting light swirl of wind drift around him in reflection.

He tucked his notes into a loose fold in his tunic, half hoping magic wouldn’t blur the ink—a lesson learned from haste.

He stepped away and headed down the corridor.

The walk back to the dorms was lit by the glow of lanterns enchanted with faint stars. He traced runes himself on his palm and exhaled spells to keep the wind-scent around him alive, reminding his elemental self that this was now part of him.

When he reached the dorm staircase, he slipped inside, heading upstairs to the study alcove.