Not difficult.
Not exhausting.
Just strange.
Too easy.
Too relaxed.
It felt as if the entire class treated them like mandatory physical training,
not like a form of magic capable of tearing mountains apart
or lifting ships into the sky.
The only one who took wind lessons seriously was Kairen.
For him, it was a native element, and he shone every time the instructor said the word “flow.”
The others?
Finn was bored. He yawned and lazily spun a small fireball around his finger.
Sometimes he blew wind at it, made a little “ring of fire,” and laughed like a child.
But understanding the true potential of wind?
No. Not even trying.
And that was strange.
Very strange.
Because I knew the truth.
I knew wind could:
-
alter climate;
-
move floating islands;
-
create hurricanes capable of wiping out fortresses;
-
accelerate the body until it becomes a blurred silhouette;
-
tear flesh apart if the flow is shaped correctly;
-
extinguish fire—or amplify it tenfold.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
I knew it from experience.
As children, Mira and I played games using storms as toys.
Powerful demons could raise city-sized hurricanes simply because… it looked beautiful.
And here?
Here, students tried to make a light breeze
to cool their foreheads.
I watched and thought:
“Why… does no one… understand?”
The wind instructor observed us with almost no expression.
But every time I pretended to accidentally direct a flow the wrong way,
his eyebrow twitched upward.
And when I completely lowered my mana to look weaker—
his lips slowly stretched into a thin smile.
Not threatening.
Not kind.
Knowing.
As if he wanted to say:
“Helvard… do you really think I’m blind?”
It unsettled me.
A lot.
Edgar and Reynar discussed metal and air as if it were trivial.
“Wind and steel… I don’t know,” Edgar shrugged.
“Maybe it’ll be useful someday?” Reynar said doubtfully.
Tara and Siren believed wind was only good for “moving faster” and “dodging.”
Astra scratched her head.
“Air… it’s just… well… air, right?”
Even Lucille paid little attention to wind.
She considered it an annoying element that interfered with spatial control.
And Finn…
Finn was a case of his own.
He smirked.
“If I need wind to make fire stronger, I’ll just make the fire stronger myself.
Why bother with this element?”
I nearly choked.
“He’s… serious?”
Yes. He was.
At first, I thought, “Fine. I’ll keep playing the weakling.”
Then I got careless.
During one lesson, I relaxed too much and even pretended to yawn, acting as if wind bored me.
And then…
I accidentally created a flow that was too perfect.
The wind didn’t just wrap around my palm—
it formed stable spiral pressure.
The instructor noticed instantly.
“Helvard,” he said quietly.
“Are you aware that this is a second-year technique?”
I froze.
“Uh… I just felt like this was more comfortable…”
The entire class turned to look at me.
Elinia narrowed her eyes.
Again.
I had to immediately disperse the flow and pretend I didn’t know what I was doing.
The instructor chuckled, clearly aware I was lying.
“Very well. That’s… an interesting sense of intuition. Continue.”
His gaze said it plainly:
I know you’re hiding something.
But I won’t ask yet.
By the end of the week:
Kairen had become the class hero—wind obeyed him perfectly.
The others… grasped the basics, but still treated the element lightly.
The instructor was clearly suspicious of me.
Elinia had started automatically scanning my mana during every lesson.
And I continued pretending to be bored.
But inside, I knew one thing for certain:
Wind is a dangerous element.
And the fact that no one takes it seriously…
will only cause problems in the future.