The clearing was unnaturally still. Broken obelisks half-buried in wind-scoured earth ringed the open space—mute witnesses to countless trials. Kael stood at its center, Origin Mark pulsing faintly under his shirt. He drew a deep breath of the crisp, charged air.
A low tremor rippled through the ground. Grass flattened in a widening circle. Then came the hiss: deep, resonant, almost conversational.
From the shadows coiled a serpent as thick as a tree trunk and longer than a man was tall. Its scales gleamed bronze, each plate overlapping like the petals of a savage flower. Eyes—ancient, calculating—fixed on Kael.
Without warning, the beast lunged. Its massive body whipped forward, powerful ribs flexing, jaws opening in silent thunder.
Kael rolled to the side. The wind caught him, carrying his momentum into a crouch. The serpent's tail slammed the ground where he'd stood, cracking stone into fragments that clattered across the clearing.
He sprang back, hands raised.
The Origin Mark reacted—Alae Variabilis surging through his veins. Kael's arm shimmered, half-solid, half-wind, as he lashed out with a gust that struck the serpent's flank. Bronze scales cracked, a thin line of dust and blood emerging.
The serpent recoiled, eyes narrowing. Intelligence flickered in its gaze. It circled, silent, muscles rippling under its hide.
Kael seized the moment. He dashed forward, wind lifting him in a momentary hover, and drove his shoulder into its side. The air around him sharpened, cutting through scales like glass. The beast roared—silent to the ear, but the wind carried the vibration to every nerve.
It retaliated. Coiling its massive body upward, it struck Kael in mid-air. He felt his form phase—bones shifting, limbs blurring—intangible enough that the blow sundered only air. He landed unhurt, breath stuttering.
Kael's heart pounded. He called on the Mark again. This time, the wind formed around his fists—petal-like blades of compressed air. He spun, delivering a flurry of strikes: slice, slice, slice. Each hit carved shallow furrows in the serpent's scales.
The beast lunged again, faster now, snapping its heavy jaws. Kael backed off, summoning the wind to shield him. A torrential gust wrapped around his torso, deflecting the strike, then snapped forward to unbalance the serpent.
Recovering, Kael vaulted onto a low obelisk. From this vantage, he surveyed the wounded creature, its breathing ragged puffs of steam. The Mark pulsed urgently.
He leapt down, summoning a final, unstable surge. The wind coalesced behind him in a vortex—petals and feathers woven into a spiraling blade. With a roar, Kael hurled it at the serpent's exposed flank.
The vortex struck true. The serpent writhed, scales splintering, and collapsed in a great heaving wave. Its head lolled to one side, and at last, it lay still.
Kael approached slowly, wind dying to a soft hum. He knelt beside the serpent's massive head, breath coming fast.
I did that…
Before he could ponder the ease with which his Origin Mark had cut through such a powerful foe, the air around him blurred. A circle of golden light bloomed at his feet. The ground vanished.
Kael's vision tiled into streaks of wind and stone.
And then, nothing but a breathless falling through bright, shifting light…
Kael's boots met solid ground.
But it wasn't stone.
It was glassy, dark-blue crystal, humming faintly beneath him like a heart too large for its cage. A soft mist hovered across the surface, stirred only slightly by his arrival. Overhead, a sky unlike any he had seen stretched open—lavender clouds drifting in slow spirals across a canvas of gold.
He looked around, heart still thundering from the serpent fight. The air here felt heavier, thicker, as if every breath demanded intention.
Then came the familiar voice—wry, elegant.
"Welcome to Floor II, Kael Faelwyn."
Anuunra stood a few paces away, poised atop a slope of black stone. Their white-and-silver robes trailed faintly behind them, rippling in a breeze Kael didn't feel. Their antlered silhouette shimmered faintly in the surreal light, as if the realm bent slightly around their presence.
Kael stepped forward, frowning. "That serpent. It was a Floor boss, right?"
Anuunra tilted their head. "Indeed."
Kael's brow furrowed. "Then… why was it so easy? I barely managed to survive your training. That thing didn't even feel like a real threat after that."
A pause. Then Anuunra smiled.
"Three reasons, if you'll allow me the indulgence."
They raised one long finger. "First: the monsters that forced your second evolution during the training? They were crafted by me. Personal designs. Their danger was… tailored."
"Of course," Kael muttered. "Custom hell."
Anuunra's second finger rose. "Second: Floor I is intentionally designed to be easy. A proving ground. Many pass through it even without unlocking their Sigils."
Kael blinked. "Even those without Sigils?"
Anuunra nodded. "Indeed. Floor I tests potential, not mastery. It separates the willing from the stagnant. You, Kael, had already surpassed the floor's intent the moment you chose to evolve."
The third finger rose.
"Third: You awakened your Origin Mark. A feat not even one in a thousand achieves on the First Floor. Its influence magnifies your evolution beyond what your Sigil alone could offer. The serpent never stood a chance."
Kael looked down at his hand. It still crackled faintly with wind, calm but ready.
"Then Floor I… was just the beginning."
Anuunra smiled, and their eyes gleamed.
"And Floor II is where the Tower begins to breathe back."
Kael's breath came in short bursts. The wind around him flared, stuttered—then scattered entirely.
He stood alone atop one of Floor II's jagged ridges, arms outstretched, trying to shape the air. It fought him—not violently, but indifferently, like a wild beast that no longer recognized his presence.
"It's not listening," Kael muttered, fists tightening. "It listened before."
"You're not on Floor I anymore."
Kael turned. Anuunra had appeared without sound, her silvered robes rustling in the wind Kael couldn't grasp. Her gaze was calm but sharp.
"Each floor of the Tower is its own world," she said. "Its own laws. The rules shift. The weight of the air, the flow of ether, the responsiveness of your Mark—all of it can change between steps."
Kael swallowed, a flicker of frustration surfacing. "So what worked before might not work now?"
"Exactly," she said. "On Floor I, the Tower cradled you. It wanted you to awaken. Here, it expects you to evolve. You must learn to adjust your wind, not impose it."
Kael looked down at his palm, where faint trails of his Origin Mark shimmered like etched gusts. He nodded once. "Then I'll adapt."
"You will," Anuunra said, a faint smile touching her lips. "But not alone. You've been assigned to a Scion—one who will temper your instincts with form."
Kael raised a brow. "One of the Scions here?"
"Yes," she said, already turning away. "Come. His name is Velkarys."
---
The coliseum felt like a fossilized storm—rings of sunbaked stone stacked high around a circular arena. Etchings glimmered faintly on the walls, and the floor bore the scars of countless duels.
Velkarys stood at its center. Tall, unarmored save for a flowing mantle of obsidian-threaded cloth. His weapon, a long 3-section staff, hung loose in his hand, each segment gleaming like polished iron. The staff's chain-links rattled softly as it moved, creating a sharp rhythm that matched the tension in the air.
"You're Kael Faelwyn," he said, his voice calm and clipped. "The windwalker."
Kael stepped into the ring, tension curled in his gut. "You're my trainer?"
Velkarys smiled thinly. "I'm the one who will try to kill you until your wind learns how not to die."
Before Kael could reply, Velkarys swung the staff—first with a simple flick of his wrist. The weapon split the air with a sharp, cracking sound. The chain-links stretched between the sections, making the staff whip like a serpent.
Kael dove to the side, wind bursting reflexively to break his fall. The staff shot through the air toward him, but Kael barely managed to roll out of its reach, its sharp tip grazing the hem of his cloak.
Velkarys spun, the staff flowing with his body. The second strike came faster, the chain rattling as it twisted and whirled through the air. Kael could feel the wind rushing to meet him—but he couldn't catch it in time.
"You didn't even—" Kael started, breathless.
"Think?" Velkarys finished, his voice low and cool. "That's your problem. The wind is not your servant. It is your skin, your blood, your lungs. You flinch, and it flinches. You hesitate, and it stutters."
Kael's heart thudded in his chest. He could feel the Origin Mark, faintly humming against his skin, urging him to react. This time, Kael didn't try to control the wind with force. Instead, he felt it—the pulse of the air around him, the sway of the currents—and adjusted his body to match.
Velkarys struck again. Kael didn't block; he let the wind bend his body into the arc. The staff passed inches from his face, and the air around him curved, momentarily distorting as he flowed with it.
The Scion paused, eyes narrowing in assessment. "Better," he murmured. "But not enough. Again."
Kael steadied himself, taking a deep breath, feeling the pulse of the air as his own. He couldn't afford to hesitate this time.
The next few hours stretched into a series of fluid movements, each more demanding than the last. Kael's muscles ached from the constant motion, and his mind was a jumble of theories, strategies, and instinctive reactions. Yet, for every step forward, there were two more mistakes, each one more frustrating than the last.
Velkarys stood across from him, his posture loose but purposeful, the three-section staff still resting in his hands. He was a fluid, unyielding presence—like a storm that had learned to move with intent.
"Wind alone is not enough, Faelwyn," Velkarys said, his voice low and steady. "Your power is not brute strength. It is adaptability, fluidity. You must be like the wind—not a hammer smashing through obstacles, but a river carving its way through stone."
Kael exhaled sharply, sweat dripping from his brow. "I've been trying to—"
Velkarys cut him off with a raised hand. "Don't try. Move."
Before Kael could respond, Velkarys flicked his wrist, sending the staff whirling. The air crackled with energy as the staff snapped like a whip. Kael instinctively raised his hands, calling the wind to shield himself. But this time, instead of a gust that would simply push him away, he tried to guide the flow of air to redirect the impact.
The staff collided with the wind, and for a brief moment, Kael felt the sharp force of it against the edge of his control. He stumbled backward, his feet sliding on the ground as the wind fought against him.
"Focus." Velkarys' voice rang through his mind, like a beacon in the chaos.
Kael gritted his teeth. This was his chance—he couldn't hesitate.
He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself. The wind. He could feel it around him, the pulse of it like a heartbeat. It was his ally, his extension—but only if he could align with it, not force it. Slowly, he let the wind pull in closer, a current that surrounded him like a cocoon.
The next strike came faster, and Kael was ready. This time, the wind didn't push against him—it flowed with him. Kael moved in tandem with the staff's strike, sidestepping, twisting his body in a graceful arc. The staff passed inches from his face again, but Kael was already in motion, redirecting his body like water around a rock.
Velkarys stopped, lowering the staff slightly. "Better," he said, his voice tinged with approval. "But it's not enough. The wind doesn't follow you because you demand it to—it follows you because you understand it."
Kael nodded, panting. "I think I understand," he said, though his voice was shaky. He felt the energy of the wind surrounding him—an extension of his own body now, not just a force to be controlled.
Velkarys gave a faint smile, the corners of his lips twitching. "Good. But don't mistake understanding for mastery. You've only scratched the surface. Now—again."
Kael stood tall, his body burning with exhaustion but his resolve firm. He wasn't ready to stop. Not yet.