Silence filled the meditation tent save for the quiet movement of wind shaped into soft, cloud-like cushions beneath them. Skyheart sat cross-legged, his back straight, eyes closed in deep concentration. The weight of his own breathing settled over him as he drew upon his Aeroquill, feeling the invisible currents respond to his will.

  Across from him, Elder Feather maintained her own meditative pose with the effortless grace. Her weathered features remained serene, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. Like her grandson, she too hovered above the ground, supported by a gentle cushion of controlled wind. Beneath her wind-formed seat, candles flickered within the cushion itself, their flames completely undisturbed by the swirling air that surrounded but never touched them—a display of masterful control that Skyheart could only dream of achieving.

  Between them, a circle of candles flickered in the still air next to Skyheart’s cushion, their flames dancing undisturbed. The soft golden light cast shifting shadows on the tent walls, creating an atmosphere of sacred tranquility that demanded absolute focus and control.

  Skyheart’s mind was in a state of calm where thought and instinct merged. His consciousness flowed with the wind currents beneath him, feeling each subtle shift and adjustment needed to maintain perfect balance. The power hummed through him, steady and controlled, just as his grandmother had taught him.

  Everything was working out perfectly, when suddenly came a dreadful foe. A great and disturbing itch.

  It started small just a tiny tickle at the edge of his nostril that he tried desperately to ignore. But the sensation grew, demanding attention with each passing moment. His concentration wavered as he fought against the urge to scratch, his carefully maintained wind cushion beginning to fluctuate.

  The itch became unbearable. Despite his best efforts, Skyheart’s composure cracked entirely. He sneezed with explosive force, his control shattering completely as he dropped to the ground. The sudden release of uncontrolled wind extinguished every candle in the circle save for the ones under elder feather which were well protected within her own cushion.

  Elder Feather’s eyes opened slowly, fixing him with a stern gaze. Without a word, her walking stick found the top of his head with practiced precision.

  “Power and control, Skyheart,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of disappointment. “The exercise requires both the power to maintain your hover and the control to keep your wind from disturbing the flames. These are not separate skills—they are one unified discipline.”

  Her cane struck again, this time accompanied by a heavy sigh. “You have failed at both tasks, grandson. Again.”

  Elder Feather rubbed her temples with weathered fingers, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. “Bring me the wine jug, Skyheart.”

  He rose from the floor, the traces of his failed wind cushion now gone and moved to the corner of the tent where clay vessels and woven baskets held their supplies. The wine jug sat among carved wooden bowls and small containers of herbs, its surface decorated with swirling patterns that mimicked wind currents. He lifted it carefully, feeling the liquid slosh within.

  “Here, Grandma,” he said, settling back beside her.

  She took a long sip directly from the jug, then sighed and began speaking “you have great potential Skyheart one of the greatest I have ever seen.”

  Feather rubbed Skyhearts head as she sighed, “However you lack focus, your mind is even more bird brained then Sky Child.”

  “Chirp Chirp.” Sky Child responded, lifting its head from its nearby bird nest.

  “Oh hush you.” The Elder gazed sternly at the bird.

  “Chirp.” Sky Child responded softly feeling wronged.

  “Even more talented than the greatest of the Sky Children tribe known in history... Ow.” Skyheart blurted, the words tumbling out in his eagerness—he’d bitten his tongue mid-sentence.

  Thud!

  “Ow!” Skyheart yelled louder as his grandmother whacked his head once more.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Let us not go that far, even in the current history there is another who wields Aeroquill who is more talented then you are. Though it is nothing to be ashamed of the fact I can only think of one or two alive right now speaks volume, and while you may not compare to some of the legends in history besides them few can compare.” Feather soothed him as she rubbed his head.

  “Can you educate me without hitting me please?” Skyheart asked, feeling his head throb.

  “No.” Elder feather responded immediately with no hint of hesitation ever in the air.

  She took another long sip. “You know,” she said, her stern demeanor softening slightly, “I wasn’t much better at your age. Though I was far more focused… still that technique took me a while, I simply did not have the power for it.”

  A slight smile played at her lips. “Come with me. I think it’s time you met someone.”

  Setting the jug aside, Elder Feather rose and stepped outside the tent. She tapped her staff against the ground, and wind began to swirl beneath their feet, forming two stable platforms of air.

  “Where are we going?” Skyheart asked as they lifted into the sky.

  “Not far. Just to the hill overlook. To meet one of those talents I spoke to you about.”

  They glided smoothly through the air, carried by the mounted winds beneath their feet. Within minutes, they settled on a grassy hilltop where a figure sat in meditation, facing the distant mountains. The woman in front of him appeared to be in her late teens.

  Skyheart’s mouth opened wide, jaw dropping down as he was stunned by what he saw. A woman of such beauty that even the brightest of gems paled in comparison. Unlike the Sky Children’s whites and sky blues. Her hair was long and silver like moonlit mist, it looked almost ethereal as if it was spun from wind itself.

  Her serene countenance held an otherworldly beauty. Her lips, pale and soft, were full and inviting. Her eyes were equally as striking, once she opened them to gaze at Skyheart and Elder Feather, a pale silver-blue that shifted like storm clouds.

  The only words Skyheart could fathom was.

  Stunning.

  THWACK!

  “Close your mouth and focus,” Elder Feather said sharply, her cane finding its most familiar target. “I didn’t bring you here to give me a great-grandson so stop any unnecessary thoughts.”

  Skyheart rubbed his head, confusion replacing his awe. How had he never seen this woman before? The Sky Children tribe had barely a hundred members—he knew everyone, or thought he did.

  The woman opened her eyes and turned toward them with a bright smile. “Elder Feather!”

  “Skysong,” Elder Feather acknowledged. “I’ve brought my stubborn grandson.”

  “This is Skysong,” Elder Feather said turning to Skyheart. “She became a Skywalker nearly thirty years ago, so she will have plenty to teach you.”

  “Thirty years,” Skyheart blurted out, still staring. “Grandma, you said she became a Skywalker thirty years ago, but she doesn’t look much older than me.”

  Skysong giggled, a sound like a gentle breeze.

  Elder Feather rubbed her forehead again. “You know that mastering Quill slows one’s aging, you fool. The deeper the mastery, the slower time touches you.”

  “Now getting back to topic.” Elder Feather continued “Skysong is my protege,”

  Skysong nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve learned much from Elder Feather.”

  “You’ve probably never seen her, and the reason you’ve never seen her is because she only returned recently from a long mission. And you, my dear grandson, have been too busy fooling around to pay attention to tribal affairs, so I doubt you would have seen her during her brief appearances before she left.”

  “When I was younger,” Elder Feather’s voice took on a nostalgic tone, “I developed a unique technique using Aeroquill called Tempest Form. It took me years to master, and I later taught it to Skysong here.” She gestured toward the silver-haired woman. “Since you seem to learn best through combat rather than meditation, she’ll be taking over part of your training.”

  Skysong rose gracefully to her feet, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Ready for a demonstration?”

  She brought her palms together in front of her chest, then slowly closed them into fists. With a fluid motion, she pressed her knuckles together, and immediately a thin sky-blue aura began to emanate from her skin. The aura pulsed once, twice, then burst outward in a brilliant flash. When the light faded, Skysong stood encased in armor made entirely of swirling wind and condensed air.

  “This armor symbolizes Tempest Form,” she explained, turning slightly so Skyheart could see the full effect. “The closer it appears to actual armor, the more mastery you have over the technique.”

  The armor that represented Tempest Form was breathtaking—both serene and violent all at once, unlike anything Skyheart had ever seen. The base appeared as flowing robes crafted from light sky-blue winds, soft and graceful. But layered over this wind-woven foundation were ethereal protective plates that seemed almost solidified—as if a warrior monk had donned armor forged from violent tempest winds themselves. Greaves encased her legs, gauntlets covered her hands, and a breastplate protected her torso, all crafted from translucent blue-white material that shifted and breathed around her form. The result was an otherworldly silhouette that was both beautiful and intimidating.

  “Incredible,” Skyheart breathed, unable to look away from the immaculate armor.

  Skysong tilted her head, wind armor shimmering around her like captured starlight. “Shall we begin?”