Chapter 4 | Part 2

Month one.

The forge draft rose from the basement in a steady column—heated air climbing through gaps in the floorboards, creating invisible currents that Drusniel could almost see when he concentrated. Zaelar had positioned candles at intervals along the study wall. Ten feet. Fifteen. Twenty.

“Use the draft from the forge.” Zaelar settled into his chair by the window. “Feel it, then redirect.”

Drusniel closed his eyes. The heat created natural movement—warm air rising, cooler air rushing to fill the space. He reached for that movement, tried to catch it the way he might catch water in cupped hands.

The nearest candle guttered.

“Good. Further.”

He pushed. The draft wanted to rise, but he coaxed it sideways, threaded it through his awareness like pulling a strand from a web. The second candle flickered. The third—

His concentration shattered. The current scattered, and three candles went out at once while papers lifted from Zaelar’s desk in a chaotic gust.

“Sorry.” Drusniel opened his eyes. His breathing came harder than it should, as if he’d sprinted rather than stood still.

“Precision drops beyond arm’s reach.” Zaelar gathered his papers without concern. “You’re working with existing airflow, not creating it. The further you push, the more you must account for interference: other currents, obstacles, temperature changes.”

“How far can I push this?”

“Further than you know.” A faint smile. “But not yet.”

Five minutes of practice and Drusniel was winded. The magic drained something—energy, focus, some resource he couldn’t name. But beneath the exhaustion, the tightness that had lived in his chest since the trial felt smaller.

“Again,” he said.

Month three.

The practice dummy stood in the center of Zaelar’s training room—a wooden frame wrapped in padding, roughly human in shape. A torch burned on the wall behind it, casting dancing shadows and creating a rising heat current Drusniel had learned to feel without thinking.

“This is different from extinguishing flames.” Zaelar watched from the doorway, arms folded. “You’re moving mass now. Air can nudge things at your level—don’t expect to hurl anything across the room.”

“Understood.”

Drusniel centered himself. The torch heat rose in a steady column. He reached for it, gathered the current like cupping water, felt pressure build against his awareness.

Release.

The dummy rocked backward. Stayed upright.

“Again,” Drusniel said.

“Rest first. You’re—”

“Again.”

He gathered the current faster this time, pulling heat from both the torch and a vent in the corner where forge warmth seeped through. Two sources. More air. More pressure. He compressed it until his temples throbbed, until something behind his eyes felt ready to snap.

Release.

The dummy flew backward, crashing against the wall. Drusniel staggered. Warmth trickled from his nose.

He touched his upper lip. Blood.

“There.” Zaelar was beside him, pressing a cloth to his face. “That’s your current limit.”

“I can do more.”

“Not without cost you’re not ready to pay.” He guided Drusniel to a chair. “Nosebleed means you’ve overreached. Your body isn’t conditioned yet. Push harder and you’ll damage something that doesn’t heal quickly.”

Drusniel tilted his head back, cloth pressed to his nose. The tightness in his chest—that hollow pressure he’d carried since the trial—was easing. He could feel it. Every lesson, every small proof that he wasn’t broken.

“Tomorrow,” he said through the cloth. “I want to try again.”

Zaelar studied him for a long moment. Satisfaction crossed his features.

“Tomorrow,” he agreed.

Month five.

“Close your eyes.”

Drusniel stood in the center of the study, hands loose at his sides. He’d learned to trust Zaelar’s exercises even when they seemed pointless. They always revealed something.

He closed his eyes.

The tower breathed around him. He’d never noticed before—not consciously—but months of training had made the air a constant presence in his awareness. Draft from the window, carrying surface smells he was learning to identify. Heat threading up from the forge two floors below. His own breath, disturbing the stillness in small patterns.

“What do you feel?”

“Air.” Drusniel pushed his awareness outward. “Window draft. Heat from below. My breathing.”

“What else?”

The room had dimensions in air the way it had dimensions in space: currents and stillness, pressure differences, subtle displacement caused by solid objects. He mapped it without thinking, the way his assassin training had taught him to map shadows.

And there—at the edge of his perception—something new. A disturbance. Air moving around a shape that hadn’t been there before.

“You moved.” Drusniel kept his eyes closed. “You’re by the door now. You were by the window.”

He opened his eyes. Zaelar stood exactly where he’d sensed him, one hand on the door handle.

“The air tells you things.” Zaelar’s voice carried a note of genuine approval. “Most people feel only temperature and wind. You can feel displacement. Presence. With practice, you’ll know when someone enters a room before you hear them. Before you see them.”

“That’s useful.”

“More than useful. That sense might save your life.” A pause. “Some places punish those who don’t notice threats approaching.”

Drusniel filed that away. Zaelar spoke in layers—surface meaning and something deeper beneath.

“What about water?” He’d been thinking about it since seeing his assessment—air dominant, water secondary. “You said I have dual affinity.”

“Water is harder for you. More passive.” Zaelar moved back toward the window. “You can sense it—feel its presence nearby, its depth, its pressure. Try now. There’s a basin in the corner.”

Drusniel reached outward with his awareness. Air came easily, familiar now. But beneath it—or beside it, in some direction he couldn’t name—there was something else. A heaviness. A presence that felt less like current and more like weight.

“I feel… something. The basin?”

“The water in it. You’re not ready to manipulate it—that requires training we don’t have time for here.” Zaelar’s voice took on that layered quality again. “But there are places where both affinities could flourish. Where you could learn things I can’t teach you.”

Wyrmreach. The name hung unspoken between them.

Drusniel didn’t respond. But he filed that away too.

The hollow pressure was almost gone now. Power filled its place. Real power, earned through sweat and blood and will.

For the first time since the trial chamber, Drusniel felt like himself.

End of Chapter 4.2 —> 4.3: Forbidden Knowledge: The Warning Signs