The morning of Aetos's tenth birthday dawned clear and utterly still—an unusual and somewhat unsettling occurrence on Mount Helicon, where wind was as constant as the ancient stone itself. The unnatural calm set everyone on edge, from the eldest masters to the youngest novices, as if the mountain itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
"It's time," Master Zephyrus announced at the dawn gathering, his voice carrying unusual weight. "Today, our youngest student undergoes the Awakening."
A ripple of surprise and whispered speculation ran through the assembled monks and students. The Awakening ritual was sacred, shrouded in mystery, traditionally performed only when a student showed absolute readiness—usually around age twelve or thirteen at the earliest. But Aetos had been ready since the day he arrived, carried on storm winds that defied nature's laws.
The week of preparation had been harder on Aetos than any physical training or mental exercise. Ritual fasting meant drastically reduced food intake, and for someone with his extraordinary metabolic needs, it was nothing short of torture. He'd grown visibly gaunt, his cheekbones sharp beneath stretched skin, his usual boundless energy dimmed to a flickering candle flame.
"I'm so hungry I could eat the meditation cushions," he confided to Daphne the night before the ceremony, his voice weak. "And the incense. And possibly Brother Kyrios's sandals."
"One more day," she encouraged, trying to hide her concern at his hollow appearance. "Then you can feast until even you are satisfied. Besides, think of all the pneuma you'll be able to channel without a full stomach weighing you down."
"I'd rather have the full stomach," Aetos groaned dramatically, but he smiled weakly, appreciating her attempt at comfort.
Now, dressed in simple white robes that hung loose on his fasting-thinned frame, he followed Master Zephyrus through corridors he'd walked thousands of times. But today they seemed different—charged with possibility and ancient power, as if the very air had thickened with anticipation. The stones beneath his bare feet hummed with accumulated centuries of pneuma work, each step resonating with the footfalls of countless students who had walked this path before.
The Awakening Chamber was the temple's heart, a perfectly circular room carved from a single piece of mountain stone by the founding masters. No mortar, no joints—just seamless rock shaped by pneuma arts lost to modern practitioners. The walls curved up into a domed ceiling, every surface polished to mirror smoothness by centuries of careful tending. At the cardinal points stood focus items for each element: a brazier of ever-burning flame for fire, tended by spirits older than memory; a pool of mountain spring water so pure it seemed to glow with inner light; a garden of living stone with crystals growing like impossible flowers; and for air, an opening in the domed ceiling through which sky was always visible, no matter the weather.
Twelve senior monks already waited, arranged in meditation positions around the room's perimeter. Their combined pneuma created visible currents in the air, ribbons of power that twisted and flowed, setting up the resonance field necessary for a proper Awakening. Each monk represented decades of study, their presence lending weight and safety to the ritual.
"Aetos of Mount Helicon," Master Zephyrus intoned formally, his voice taking on the ritual cadence passed down through generations, "you come seeking conscious connection to the element that calls you. Are you prepared for what you might find within yourself?"
"I am prepared, Master." Aetos's young voice carried surprising steadiness despite his physical weakness from fasting.
"Then take your position and begin. Let the mountain witness. Let the wind decide."
Aetos moved to the exact centre of the chamber, his steps measured and purposeful. He settled into lotus position with the ease of long practice, his spine straight despite his exhaustion. Around him, the monks began to chant—not words but pure tones, each voice finding a harmonic that resonated with the chamber's unique acoustics. The sound built slowly, layer upon layer, creating a cocoon of vibration that would help the student reach the deep meditative state required for true Awakening.
Most students took hours to achieve the necessary depth. They had to quiet their chattering conscious minds, release their expectations and fears, and open themselves to elemental connection without forcing or grasping. It was a delicate balance that many failed to achieve on their first attempt, some requiring multiple ceremonies before succeeding.
Aetos dropped into the required state in minutes.
His breathing, already naturally aligned with pneuma circulation from birth, deepened and slowed to match the chamber's resonance. The monks' chanting wavered slightly as they felt him sync with their carefully maintained field, not fighting it or merely riding it but becoming part of it, as if he had always belonged there.
Then the wind came.
It started as the gentlest whisper through the ceiling opening, barely disturbing the incense smoke that rose in straight lines. But as Aetos breathed, it grew stronger, more directed, more purposeful. The smoke began to swirl in complex patterns that matched his inhalations and exhalations perfectly.
"Too soon," one monk murmured, breaking protocol with his startled words. "He shouldn't be manifesting yet—the connection takes time to—"
Master Zephyrus silenced him with a sharp gesture. This was Aetos. Normal rules and expectations had never applied to the storm-born child.
The wind built rapidly from breeze to gale, but it wasn't chaotic or wild. It moved with clear purpose, spiralling around Aetos in ever-tightening circles that defied physics. His white robes rippled and snapped in the currents, but the boy himself remained perfectly still, lost in deep communion with his element.
Then he began to rise.
Slowly at first, just an inch off the meditation cushion, as if the air had simply decided to cradle him. Then more, until he floated at the height of the seated monks, suspended in a perfect sphere of circulating air. His eyes had rolled back, showing only whites, but his expression was one of perfect peace and understanding.
The chamber's atmosphere changed dramatically, pressure dropping as if a massive storm approached. Scrolls scattered from their shelves despite being in alcoves protected from wind. The water in the sacred pool began to spiral in a miniature whirlpool. Even the eternal flame flickered and bent toward the floating child, as if paying homage.
"He's pulling pneuma from all elements," Brother Alexei whispered in awe, his own considerable control wavering. "That's impossible. He has air affinity—only air—"
"He's not pulling from them," Master Zephyrus corrected quietly, his ancient eyes wide with understanding. "They're responding to him. Greeting him. There's a profound difference."
Indeed, while Aetos clearly channeled only air pneuma, the other elements seemed to acknowledge him as something significant. The flame danced higher when his breathing deepened, creating patterns of light on the walls. The water swirled faster as his winds accelerated, droplets rising to join his spiral. Even the earth crystals hummed at a frequency that matched his heartbeat, their facets catching and throwing light in rhythm with his pulse.
For twenty long minutes, Aetos floated in his sphere of wind, power building until the very walls vibrated with harmonic resonance. Several younger monks showed visible signs of distress—the pneuma density in the chamber had reached levels usually only achieved during master-level workings, pressing against their mental barriers.
Then, as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.
The winds died instantly. Aetos dropped—not falling but descending with impossibly controlled grace. His eyes opened, no longer the storm-grey the monks knew but swirling with actual clouds, miniature weather systems playing across his irises in mesmerising patterns.
"I understand now," he said, his child's voice carrying new depth and resonance. "I'm not separate from it. I never was. The wind isn't something I use or command—it's something I am. We're the same thing in different forms."
He stood smoothly, despite the week of fasting and the enormous energy just expended. The ceremonial robes, which should have been disheveled from the violent winds, fell perfectly as if just pressed by invisible hands.
"How do you feel?" Master Zephyrus asked carefully, studying the boy for signs of pneuma overflow.
Aetos considered the question with new seriousness. "Hungry," he said finally, and despite the sacred nature of the moment, several monks chuckled with relief. "But also... complete. Like I've been trying to breathe through thick cloth my whole life and someone finally removed it. Everything is clearer now."
"The Awakening is successful," Zephyrus announced formally, though his voice carried undertones of awe. "Aetos of Mount Helicon, you are confirmed in your connection to air. May you use this gift wisely, in service to balance and protection of the innocent."
As the monks filed out, many casting wondering glances at their youngest member, Brother Kyrios lingered behind.
"That was not a normal Awakening," he said to Zephyrus, his usual skepticism replaced by genuine concern.
"No," the master agreed heavily. "Nothing about that child has ever been normal."
"The power he channeled... I've seen master-level practitioners with decades of experience show less raw ability. And he's ten years old."
"Which is why we must guide him more carefully than ever. Power without wisdom, strength without restraint—these create tyrants, not heroes."
"Can we contain him? When he truly realises what he's capable of?"
Zephyrus watched Aetos race off toward the kitchens with renewed energy, Brother Benedictus's long-suffering laughter echoing as the boy no doubt began making up for a week of fasting.
"We don't contain storms, old friend. We teach them to contain themselves. And pray to all the gods that we're wise enough to succeed."
But privately, both masters wondered the same troubling question: what would happen when Aetos fully understood that he wasn't just touched by wind, blessed by air, or gifted with pneuma? What would happen when he realised that somehow, impossibly, he was the living breath of the storm itself, wrapped in human form?
The Awakening had revealed a truth they were only beginning to grasp. They weren't training a pneuma warrior.
They were raising a force of nature that had chosen to walk among humans.