Chapter 52 – Wind and Will
Chapter 52 – Wind and Will
Tyler stood alone amidst the broken bones of Skyreach Monastery. Stones lay scattered across the snow-covered courtyard like forgotten prayers, some half-buried beneath drifts, others cracked and shattered from the last time he was here. The wind howled through the jagged holes in the walls and spires, whistling mournful tunes that echoed off the barren stone.
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Each stone he lifted scraped against his palms, the cold biting into raw blisters. His breath came out in clouds as he knelt and braced a broken beam against a pillar, then fumbled for another cracked slab to wedge into place. The old structure groaned but held. The work was slow, clumsy, and imperfect, but Tyler poured himself into it.
He worked without skills or shortcuts. No flashy abilities, no game mechanics to assist him. Just muscle, sweat, and guilt.
His mind wandered as he worked—drifting through memories like a ghost. Milo’s laughter echoed in his head, the way he rolled his eyes when Tyler said something arrogant. His little jabs, his encouragement, his stubbornness. Tyler paused, gripping a stone tightly until his knuckles turned white. Milo had told him, again and again, not to rely on Poison Mist. And still…
“I’m sorry,” Tyler whispered to the snow. “I should’ve listened.”
Up above, Zephryn watched him.
She floated silently from the broken edge of the monastery’s second level, the wind curling around her form protectively. She had been watching him rebuild for hours now. At first, she had expected a trap. But no attack came. No tricks. Just the sound of stone scraping against stone, and the occasional grunt of effort from a guilt-ridden man.
She couldn’t understand it.
The sanctuary had once been beautiful. Towers carved from crystal-laced stone, archways that shimmered with divine sigils. Now it was a wreck of collapsed beams, broken columns, and wind-scoured halls. She remembered the voices of her followers echoing in the grand chamber, the warm flicker of braziers that no longer burned. There had been laughter here. Praise. Worship.
Then Tyler had come.
And destroyed everything.
She descended, landing near the pile of awkwardly stacked rocks Tyler had been working with.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice as sharp as the wind.
Tyler didn’t stop. He hoisted another stone into place and pressed his weight against it. “Because I broke it.”
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She frowned. “That much is obvious.”
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But I have to at least try to make things right.”
She crossed her arms. Her eyes scanned the crude repairs—the poorly balanced walls, the uneven stones, the sad excuse for a makeshift archway. “It’s awful.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I never claimed to be an architect.”
A pause.
Then, the faintest laugh.
“I’m surprised you came back,” she said. “Most people take what they want and never return.”
“I didn’t come back for anything,” Tyler said, brushing dust from his armour. “I came back to give something. Maybe just time. Maybe effort. Maybe something more.”
Zephryn tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not what I expected.”
Tyler smiled faintly. “Neither are you. You’ve changed.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve fought you twice now,” he said. “The first time, your attacks were wild. Powerful, sure, but unfocused. But today—your Forcepush was refined. Directed. That wasn’t rage. That was strategy.”
She blinked. “I was angry.”
“You still are. But you’re learning. You’re adapting. You’re growing.”
She didn’t respond.
“That’s why I want to spar with you,” Tyler said.
Her gaze sharpened. “Spar?”
“You get stronger through experience,” he explained. “I gain strength by levelling up. But you? You improve with practice. With repetition. Your power evolves when you use it, refine it. You’re already halfway there.”
She scowled. “You want to train me? A god?”
“Yes, the god who had lost to me not long ago.”
Zephryn glared at Tyler, with a storm surging in her eyes.
“I want to help a friend.”
She looked furious. “Friend?! The one who slaughtered me and destroyed my sanctuary dares to call me a friend?”
“I never said I deserve your friendship,” Tyler said solemnly. “But I’ll say this. I am sorry. Truly. And if you want to punish me, then train until you’re strong enough to beat me in a fair fight.”
Zephryn stared at him for a long time. The wind carried silence between them.
“…Fine,” she said finally, brushing windblown hair from her face. “But don’t cry when I flatten you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He stepped back, bracing into a loose stance. “Let’s begin.”
Zephryn gathered the wind into her palm. Her first attack came as a sweeping arc of Forcepush, cleaner and more focused than before.
Tyler activated [Sprint] and pivoted to the right, letting the gust slice past. “Not bad! But too wide! You’re wasting energy.”
“Oh? Enlighten me, wise one,” she said, already prepping another attack.
“You’re spreading your power in all directions. That’s only good when you’re surrounded. Against one target, it’s like swinging a giant hammer at a fly. You’re using 95% of your energy for nothing.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Condense it. Not too narrow or I’ll dodge it. But focus it in a cone, medium spread. High intensity.”
Zephryn focused. The wind shimmered around her hand, thinner and sharper. She thrust forward.
Tyler ducked, the edge of the attack catching his hair and whistling past him like a blade.
“Closer,” he called. “You’re getting it!”
Zephryn smirked despite herself. She adjusted again, aiming more precisely.
They danced through the broken remains of the sanctuary, sparring not with hatred, but precision. She attacked, he dodged and instructed. The wind grew sharper, faster. Tyler broke a sweat—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer speed at which Zephryn improved.
Then she gathered her strength. Her posture straightened. Her arm steadied. The wind circled her like a halo.
“I hope you’re ready,” she said.
Tyler narrowed his eyes, crouched into a stance. “Bring it.”
The storm had only just begun.