Kazuhan stood on a floating platform, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Garlan.

  — Assume your full draconic form. And call forth your wind armor.

  Garlan nodded, drawing a deep breath. His body shifted slowly, muscles tightening, crimson scales spreading across his skin, claws and fangs lengthening, wings of wind bursting forth in a silent pulse. Once the armor settled, he stood tall, ready.

  Kazuhan studied him for a long moment.

  — Let’s see what you can withstand.

  Without warning, he unleashed a series of razor winds. Invisible, yet deadly. The first struck Garlan’s shoulder, a clean, deep cut. He snarled, stumbling back. A second sliced across his flank. A third whistled past, tearing into his thigh.

  Blood flowed. The armor had dulled the blows, but not stopped them.

  Garlan dropped to one knee, teeth clenched.

  — Kazuhan! Marenna cried, furious and stunned.

  She raised her arms, a storm of thorns bursting toward the wind dragon. Kazuhan didn’t flinch. A denser breath than air swept them aside with ease.

  Marenna rushed to Garlan, already channeling her mana into him.

  — You’re bleeding!

  — I’m fine, he growled. It was…

  He struggled for breath.

  — …a good test.

  Marenna glared at him, torn between anger and admiration.

  — If you ever do that again, I’ll make sure you’re the last one I heal, she muttered.

  Kazuhan, standing back, spoke calmly:

  — I’m impressed. I attacked you at fifty percent of my strength, and barely cut you. Promising. Now it’s your turn: try to create blades of wind as sharp as mine.

  Garlan rose slowly, still wounded but determined. He closed his eyes, lifted a hand. The air vibrated around him—but nothing formed.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  — Not with force, said Kazuhan. With clarity of intent.

  Garlan tried again. He focused his mana, narrowing it to a single point. A blade of air burst forth, but scattered too soon.

  — Again.

  He tried once more, adjusting his stance, his breathing. The next blade flew straight, but weak. Another followed. Too slow. Too wide. Too unstable.

  The training stretched on. An hour. Then two. Marenna and Brenuss watched silently from a nearby platform, respecting the weight of the moment.

  At last, Garlan lowered his hand with a fluid motion. A clean, swift blade split the air with a pure whistle, striking a dense wall of wind conjured by Kazuhan. A sharp cut marked it—precise, perfect.

  The wind dragon nodded slowly.

  — There. You’ve just cut the wind itself.

  Kazuhan stepped back, lifting his head slightly.

  — Good. But this is only the beginning.

  He gestured toward the open expanse before them.

  — Now, take your draconic form again, summon your wind armor… and unleash as many strikes as you can. Until your mana is spent to the last drop.

  Garlan stared, surprised.

  — You want me to collapse?

  — I want you to know where your limit lies. And learn how to break it.

  Garlan drew a deep breath. He closed his eyes, centered himself, and once more awakened his wind armor. His wings shuddered, claws extended. He raised his arms.

  And began.

  Blade after blade. Gust after gust. Each sharper, faster, laden with greater intent. He spun, struck, leapt from platform to platform. His breath quickened, his vision blurred, but he pressed on.

  Kazuhan remained silent. Watching.

  When Garlan finally dropped to his knees, wings folding, breath ragged and mana drained, only a near-sacred calm remained around him.

  Marenna approached slowly, a proud smile at the corner of her lips.

  — You’re insane. But you did it.

  Kazuhan descended from his platform.

  — Your training here is finished. You have nothing more to learn of the wind until you face what still holds you to the ground.

  Garlan lifted his head, weary but resolute.

  — Where must I go next?

  — Where stone does not yield. Where even fire dies. Seek the sanctuary of Earth.

  Kazuhan turned, gaze fixed on the far horizon.

  — And tell him… I never managed to make him bend.

  A final gust carried Garlan, Marenna, and Brenuss away from the hanging palace. Toward the ancient mountains. Toward the stone. Toward what awaited them next.