I woke up again—but this time, the pain was gone. The mark on my forearm no longer throbbed like a cursed branding—it simply was. It pulsed quietly, almost like it had become part of me. Familiar voices echoed softly. I didn't open my eyes, but I sensed my parents were sitting beside me, speaking in hushed tones. My mother's hand was trembling slightly in my father's palm. Neither of them noticed I was awake. And at the door stood my sister, her back pressed against the frame, her eyes locked on them in a great sense of worry
I remained still, just listening.
Mother: "It's happening... isn't it? The same curse from the legend... the one we were told had vanished centuries ago."
Father: "I prayed it wasn't. I tried to believe he was just... special. But it's the same mark. The same sign. The Wind Lord won't ignore it."
Mother (whispering): "He's coming, isn't he?"
Father: "He's already on his way."
Mother: "So what now?"
Father: "We shall send him away, for the Wind Troopers could come at any time. To the Sikghan Valley"
Mother: "No, how can u even think about it?"
Father: "My dear, try to understand, this is the only way his freedom would be saved
Mother: "Would he be okay there? Alone? All by himself?"
Father: "I do hope so..."
I couldn't describe what I felt exactly at that very moment. An emotional storm—confusion, fear, betrayal—rushed inside me, but no tears came—just silence.
My sister slowly stepped closer. Her voice was fragile. As if she were about to cry.
Sister: "Why... why is the Wind Lord coming before brother?"
My father's voice cracked slightly as he answered:
Father: "Because this time... it isn't just a mark. It's a call. And the skies are listening. It's a curse on all of the kingdom and for us as well"
My sister went in complete silence
Nobody uttered a word, just my sister at the door, mother's hand in my father's, all seemed to be worried not for me but for themselves.
Father: "We must not send him away, for the lord will kill us all. We must get rid of him", and somehow the mother, who always seemed to oppose my father, betrayed her son and agreed with him. It was now just my sister who opposed sending me away to Sikghan. And even if we survive the wind lord's fury, we may die of its curse now. I was confused. What kind of curse? I just knew that this mark was a curse, nothing else.
. I sat up quietly. They all flinched slightly and tried to pretend everything was normal, offering fake, forced smiles, casual nods. But I knew better. I said nothing and walked past them, out the door.
The air outside was damp with silence. I made my way to the bench beneath the old tree, where I usually sat during hard times.
I sat down, arms around my knees. And then, the sky broke open.
Rain.
Cold and sudden.
But I didn't move.
This time, I stayed still.
From the corner of my eye, I saw them—Samaira and that damn fire-boy with the glowing yellow hair—standing beneath a single umbrella. Hands intertwined. Faces close.
But it didn't sting anymore.
I was fading. Becoming a shadow.
No one cared. Not really.
And, the mark ignited again.
Pain surged. My skin burned with light. I gritted my teeth. Out of the misty rain, they came. Soldiers in teal and silver—Wind Troopers. Faces hidden behind narrow visors, cloaks flapping unnaturally in the breeze. One grabbed my wrist.
"The marked one. We found him."
I pulled back. Another reached out and touched the mark. His scream split the rain-soaked air—his hand caught fire, burning down to ash in seconds.
"He's unstable!" someone yelled.
They surrounded me, grabbing my arms. I struggled.
"Where are you taking me?" I yelled. "Why?!"
"To the Wind Lord," one of them replied, voice hollow. "That's all we were told."
Then the warmth turned to fire.
The mark exploded.
Flames erupted from my forearm, wild and furious. Three troopers vanished into ash, blown away by an invisible force. One of the older soldiers managed to reach me. He struck the back of my neck hard, the world dimmed—but I saw his arm catch fire as well.
Then—darkness
When I woke up again, I wasn't home.
I was somewhere else.
The chamber around me shimmered with wind. Banners of white and silver danced despite no breeze. Pillars etched with cloud-spiral runes rose into a ceiling hidden by sky itself.
A palace.
A throne room.
The Court of the Tenth Sky.
And sitting across from me, high on a throne of storm and silence... was he.
The Wind Lord.
He leaned forward slightly.
Eyes like two calm hurricanes bore into me.
And then he spoke—in a voice that shook the air itself:
"Hey, kiddo... tell me your name.