Moonlight poured over the city like spilled silver.
The noble district sat at the highest ridge of the capital, where towering mansions overlooked the lower streets like silent judges. Marble statues lined the rooftops. Tall glass windows reflected the pale glow of the night sky.
And at the very peak of the largest mansion stood a single figure.
Ishimo balanced casually along the roof's edge as if gravity had forgotten about him. His long silver hair flowed freely in the wind, catching the moonlight with every subtle movement. Thin silver piercings traced the curve of his ears, glinting faintly whenever he turned his head.
In his hands, he held a small bundle of chrome.
A tiny baby dragon.
"Cuppy," he said softly, offering a small carrot between two fingers.
The Dragon's nose twitched. It leaned forward, nibbling happily.
"Finish your veggies."
Cuppy made a tiny purring sound as it chewed.
Behind Ishimo, the courtyard below told a very different story.
Bodies covered the ground.
Dozens.
No—hundreds.
Black cloaks with iron insignias lay scattered across the marble like discarded shadows. Broken blades reflected the moonlight. Blood ran in thin rivers between the stone tiles before disappearing into the drainage grates.
Black Iron agents.
All silent.
All still.
All except one.
A teen with blonde hair staggered near the center of the courtyard, one hand clutching his ribs as he forced himself to remain standing. Blood soaked through the front of his uniform. His breathing came in ragged bursts, each inhale sounding like broken glass scraping against bone.
He stared up at the rooftop.
At Ishimo.
"Do you think…" he wheezed, struggling to stay upright, "…we're a joke?"
Ishimo tilted his head slightly.
"Oh," he said with mild interest.
His eyes softened with recognition.
"You're Thomas."
The blonde teen froze.
"How'd you know my name?"
Ishimo crouched down near the roof's edge, still holding Cuppy comfortably in one arm.
"I know many things."
Cuppy finished the carrot and blinked lazily.
Ishimo scratched behind her ears.
"And you," he continued, glancing down at the wounded man, "are someone I'd like to train."
Thomas blinked slowly.
For a moment, the words didn't seem to register.
Then his expression twisted in disbelief.
"You come here…" he rasped, gesturing weakly at the sea of fallen bodies around him, "…murder my comrades…"
He coughed, blood staining his lips.
"…and now you're telling me you want to train me?"
Ishimo shrugged.
"It's either that," he said calmly, "or I kill you."
Silence stretched across the courtyard.
Thomas straightened slowly despite the pain screaming through his body.
"I'd rather die."
The words came without hesitation.
Ishimo's expression remained unchanged.
"Oh?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Just like your mom," he said lightly.
Thomas's eyes sharpened.
"Or your dad."
Ishimo brushed a strand of silver hair away from his face.
"Or your brother—"
Thomas took a step forward.
"Shut up."
Ishimo paused.
"Oh wait."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Your brother is still alive."
Thomas froze.
"…What?"
His voice cracked.
"What did you say?"
Ishimo hopped down from the rooftop.
He landed softly in the courtyard, barely disturbing the dust.
"That's not important right now."
Thomas stumbled toward him.
"My brother is dead," he said through clenched teeth. "I was told by Lord Surbast—"
"You were told what you needed to hear."
Thomas's hands trembled.
"How?"
His voice shook.
"How is he alive?"
Ishimo turned away, already walking toward the mansion gates.
Cuppy climbed onto his shoulder.
"Follow me," Ishimo said without looking back.
Thomas stood there for a long moment.
Then slowly… he followed.
---
Miles away, the wind screamed across an open plain.
Ezra stood alone in the center of the field, cloak snapping violently around his body as the sky above twisted with dark clouds.
His eyes glowed faintly green.
"Wind…" he whispered.
Dust lifted from the ground.
Leaves began to spin.
"Show me your strength."
The air exploded.
A violent gust ripped across the plain, spiraling outward before twisting upward into a towering column of air. Dirt, stones, and shattered branches whipped around him in a roaring cyclone.
The tornado climbed higher.
Higher.
It tore across the field like a living beast before slamming into a nearby rock formation.
The impact thundered across the valley.
Stone cracked.
Then shattered.
Fragments rained across the grass like falling stars.
At the edge of the field, Tomora stood with his arms crossed.
He watched quietly as the wind howled.
"That's just the beginning," he said.
Ezra struggled to keep the storm steady.
The tornado lurched wildly, threatening to spiral out of control.
Tomora's voice remained calm.
"Control it."
The wind surged.
"Don't let it control you."
Ezra clenched his fists.
The storm trembled…
…then slowly steadied.
The tornado dissolved into scattered gusts that faded into the sky.
Ezra dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
---
Later that day, the training ground sat beside a rushing river deep within the mountains.
Cold water thundered over rocks as Tomora stood in the clearing, arms folded.
"Remember what Ishimo said," he called out.
Ezra wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Push your limits. Endurance. Precision. Focus."
The boy nodded quickly, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
Tomora raised an eyebrow.
"We're not here to play."
Ezra straightened.
Tomora smirked slightly.
"Alright," he said.
"Let's start with endurance."
Ezra waited.
"Do one hundred push-ups."
Ezra blinked.
Tomora glanced at him again.
"Oh right," he added.
"You're a child."
He thought for a moment.
"Fifty."
Ezra dropped to the ground immediately.
"One!"
The mountain wind swept past the clearing.
"Two!"
Sweat began forming on his forehead.
"Three!"
Time blurred.
The sun moved across the sky.
Ezra sprinted up steep mountain trails, legs burning as he climbed rocky slopes. He leapt over fallen logs, rolled beneath swinging branches, and stumbled through narrow paths carved into cliff edges.
More than once he collapsed.
But each time, the wind stirred gently beneath him.
Lifting.
Helping.
Encouraging.
Ezra forced himself back to his feet.
"Pain is temporary," Tomora's voice echoed from somewhere behind him.
Ezra ran harder.
"Strength is earned."
The river roared beside them.
"You won't survive otherwise."
Days passed.
Back in the clearing, Ezra stood with his hands outstretched.
The air trembled.
A small vortex spun slowly between his palms.
Not a tornado.
Not yet.
Just a tight swirl of wind no larger than a ball.
"Not too strong…" Ezra murmured.
The wind steadied.
"Not too weak…"
The vortex tightened.
Tomora nodded slightly.
"Good."
Ezra looked up.
"Now let's see how fast you can move that."
Ezra flicked his wrist.
The miniature tornado shot forward like a bullet.
CRASH.
Three training dummies toppled instantly.
Ezra grinned.
Tomora watched silently.
Day after day, the boy grew stronger.
Faster.
The wind responded more eagerly each time he called it.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, Ezra unleashed another controlled storm across the field.
The wind roared beautifully.
Tomora watched from the edge of the clearing.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You might just be…" he murmured quietly.
The wind howled across the valley.
"…the hero of this hell."