The sea lay unnaturally still under a moonless sky, as if the world itself held its breath.

  From the shadows of the cliffs, a fleet of ships slid into Haixiu's harbor silently, without the usual rowdy ruckus that accompanies returning sailors. No sails flapped. No gulls cried. Only the soft knock of oars against hulls and the rhythmic clink of armored fists whispered beneath the stars.

  Hu Lao stood on the lead vessel, wrapped in black ceremonial armor that gleamed like obsidian in the dark. The scent of salt, smoke, and destiny clung to the air. His eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on the flickering torches around the town bell of the coastal town. Haixiu was a lively town with a diverse population, known for trade, fresh catches… and him.

  Gahlaen.

  A name Hu Lao had spoken with disdain for years. "The Hollowrealm Hero. Child of The Wind. Aerun's Chosen," Hu Lao mused aloud. But to Hu Lao, he was a pebble in his path that refuses to budge. "A pebble that could grow into a boulder," he thought as his mind reminded of past humiliations he suffered because of Gahlaen. They were minor setbacks, but his gut told him that Gahlaen's very existence could eventually threaten his ambition, his dream. Hu Lao trusted his gut. It was what got him to the Head Minister position, the very first step towards the path he had chosen, one inevitably steeped in blood. The hardest of paths, for the strongest of wills.

  His gloved hand tightened on the rail. His soldiers disembarked systematically, pouring into the pier. Haixiu was to be the spark, the sacrifice, the groundwork that needed to be laid, in order for the world to be saved. Yet Gahlaen, with his wits and might, seemed to foil his best laid plans at every turn. Every plot undone before it could play out. Every volley of arrows turned into harmless leaves against his wind. And worst of all, Gahlaen fought not to kill.

  That made him a symbol. Revered. Dangerous.

  "Make sure we bring the documents," Hu Lao commanded. Nearby, a soldier in nodded and vanished into the shadows. His loyal, obedient elites had spread out before him of the pier, looking up, awaiting his command. His gaze swept across the platoon. Satisfied, he shouted, "Commence operation!"

  With a bow, they dissipated like smoke. "Tang Ke, Rei. Supervise. Anderson will stay with me," he said as he hopped onto the pier. A broad-shouldered man stepped off the ship, his boots thudding dully against the wooden dock. He was strapped in light leather military gear, fastened with worn straps. His blond hair was messy and wind-tossed, hanging just above his eyes. His iron gauntlets glowing faintly in the moonlight. Anderson was Hu Lao's insurance. The three of them were part of his Five Pillars, handpicked talents, each worth more than a thousand men. Two of his Five Pillars were likely enough for this mission but he wasn't just there to suppress some bandits. He was there to hunt a hero.

  In a modest hut near the bluffs, Gahlaen sat cross legged beside a dying hearth. He sensed the wind had shifted. He rose to his full height and focused on his attention on his senses. The floorboards felt cool beneath his calloused feet. His sharp eyes, gray as thunderclouds, narrowed toward the dirt road that wound along the coastline. His ears picked up the rhythmic thumping of booted feet.

  With heightened alert, he grabbed his cloak and stepped out onto his porch. High pitched cries pierced the silence of the night. Gahlaen watched in horror as a column of disciplined soldiers stormed into homes, rounding up the townspeople. Some protested. Others were dragged out in chains. All would bear witness. He could hazard a guess who was behind this.

  The Sha empire.

  Gahlaen exhaled slowly. He quickly turned back into his home. His gaze fell to his baby, barely 1 month old, sleeping soundly in his cot. Determination welled up in his chest. He would keep his family safe. His town safe. He rolled his shoulders as he approached his gear rack. His cloak shifted to reveal the spiraling tattoos along his bronzed arms. He quickly shrugged on some of his old adventurer gear. They still fit. Then the staff.

  A darkwood length wrapped in burnished metal, carved with a spiraling wind crest near its head. He slung it onto his back and stole one last glance at his child before heading to confront the troublemakers.

  "Aerun… Guide me," Gahlaen muttered beneath his breath, bending down to touch the shimmering symbols etched into his anklet - the mark of the wind deity's blessing that few mortals had ever carried. A swirling tempest gathered at his feet and carried him into the air, towards the town bell. Strong gusts of wind blew through Haixiu, the likes of which the town had never seen. Torches flickered. Gravel and dirt flung in all directions. Hu Lao's soldiers tried their hardest to hold onto any ledge they could find but to no avail. The townsfolk cried out but were miraculously unaffected as the currents circumvented them. They hurriedly retreated back into their homes.

  Anderson stood still, feet firmly planted on the ground. With flick of his arm, he diverted a soldier tossed towards him by the wind. Hu Lao stepped out from behind Anderson, observing the events unfold.

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  "Turn back, Hu Lao," Gahlaen descended on the townhall and walked into the firelight, staff in hand. "There is nothing here for you."

  Hu Lao looked up and smiled, almost kindly.

  "Oh but there is. I am here on official business," he produced a scroll with intricate ornate details and cleared his throat loudly.

  "A charge of high treason. Conspiring with foreign rebels. Harboring fugitives. Inciting unrest on Sha soil. Take your pick."

  Gahlaen exhaled. His brows creased. "And they believed you."

  "They wanted to," Hu Lao's voice was smooth. "The Sha empire is unity. Freedom is a cancerous tumor that has no place here." He stroked his long beard with theatrical grace. "For such dangerous ideologies that threaten the empire's stability, you have to pull out its roots. And make sure it never grows again. No matter the price."

  As if on cue, the soldiers drew their blades. Gahlaen tightened his grip on his staff. There no talking his way out of this when they had no ears to listen. Gahlaen had seen the aftermath of Hu Lao's plots and schemes. Death, destruction, slavery. He shuddered to think what would happen to Haixiu, his friends, his home. His child. He will not let Hu Lao's fangs ravage his town.

  With deep breath in, the air around Gahlaen shimmered - then roared. A wall of rushing wind exploded outward, lifting dust and loose cloth, shaking banners and unsettling Hu Lao's soldiers.

  "You will turn back," Gahlaen repeated himself, more firmly this time. "Not a single body shall pass, as long as I still stand."

  Hu Lao only watched. Not surprised. Not impressed. Only… calculating.

  Finally, he said, "Tang Ke, do something about this."

  A tall, slender spearman bowed slightly, then stepped forward. Calm. Unhurried. He lowered into a stance - low, angled, poised - as his spear began to hum in his hands, its silver tip gleaming. He whispered to it.

  "The wind dances. So shall I."

  A blur of motion - a blur so fast even the wind staggered. His form twisted mid-air, spear coiling around his body as he struck the wind wall with blinding speed. A flash of silver, a crack of air parting. The wind let out a high pitched whistle, reforming the invisible barrier immediately. In that fraction of a second, almost too quick for even Gahlaen's eyes to follow, Tang Ke had subdued his nigh impenetrable wind wall. Gahlaen steadied his stance. A wispy white aura extended from his staff.

  "Ghost Spear… I've heard of your deeds, that you now stand at the pinnacle of Enhancement types," Gahlaen said.

  Tang Ke's eyes, golden and sharp, stared into Gahlaen's.

  "Likewise, legend of Aerun. The rumors of you being a dual forger seems to be true. Now, allow me to confirm if you are also as skilled as they say, or if you are just another Cayan myth."

  And then, for a moment -

  They moved together, clashing at the boundary of wind and steel. The rest of Hu Lao's retinue could only watch from beyond the wind wall as two monstrous forces collided. Though the Ghost Spear's martial prowess was dazzling to the eye, it slowly became clear that his speed and power were no match for Gahlaen's everchanging attack combinations.

  Controlled streams of air danced in unison with Gahlaen's staff. They struck in rhythm - one to bait, one to strike, one to block escape. Tang Ke felt in that moment that he was not fighting one man, but a storm given shape. The extended aura from the staff coiled and struck like a snake, retreating only to hammer again from above. One strike smashed his pauldron; another forced him to his knee. His enhanced durability was holding - but just barely.

  "Anderson. Make way for Rei." Hu Lao's voice cut through the sounds of battle. Cold. Dispassionate. He had anticipated Gahlaen was not going to go down easily. Anderson was the weapon he prepared against Gahlaen. If anyone could stop Gahlaen's ungodly gusts, it was the Guardian Wall of Sha.

  Anderson, silent up to this point, clenched his jaw. His eyes - haunted, stern - watched the fight without moving.

  Hu Lao's tone sharpened. "I said - Anderson. Tear it down."

  Anderson exhaled slowly, but his broad, boulderlike shoulders tensed. His boots stepped forward with quiet weight and stopped just before the howling wall of air. A deep golden glow burst from his forearms, flaring into existence as two colossal aura gauntlets formed around them. With a heave, he shoved his aura gauntlets into the wind wall. His aura collided with the wind with a roar, anchoring themselves into the flow and splitting the barrier. The fierce winds screamed in protest but twisted away as its momentum stopped.

  Gahlaen pried his focus away from the wounded Tang Ke, sensing his barrier had been breached. He could count on his fingers, the individuals in the Known World who could stop his wind wall. His eyes met with Anderson's. His stance, firm and rooted moments ago, softened - just slightly. The storm-gray cloak hanging from his shoulder fluttered against the dying winds, as if uncertain whether to rise or fall.

  A soft smile cracked on his lips.

  Not the grin of a warrior eager for challenge, nor the smirk of a man who saw victory near - but a quiet, weathered crescent. Melancholy flickered behind his brown eyes - gone in an instant, buried beneath his battle-worn mask.

  The staff in his hand lengthened with a smooth hum, emitting a white aura. Wind gathered at his back once more, howling as it rose.

  Their gazes held - one steady, one unreadable - as the storm returned.

  In a flash of red and white, the distance between them vanished - along with everything they used to be.