The Border Command Center was a place built to withstand war itself—thick steel walls reinforced by layers of mana-weaved barriers, control panels blinking furiously under the command of tense officers.
Dozens of soldiers in dark uniform bustled about, hurried voices overlapping with the constant hum of communication devices. Outside the thick glass walls, the wasteland stretched endlessly, broken only by the ruined hills and blackened skies.
"An anomaly detected two clicks east," barked a young commander, eyes darting across the holographic map. "Squads Delta and Charlie dispatched. Awaiting visual confirmation!"
Murmurs filled the room—everyone had heard it. A storm unlike anything they had seen had torn through patrol units just an hour ago. No survivor reports. Only shredded armor and torn ground, as if nature itself had awakened and grown claws.
Tension was razor-sharp, the air heavy.
And then—
The wind shifted. Inside the fortified bunker, where no natural breeze should exist, the air twisted unnaturally, the lights above flickering under an invisible pressure.
A suffocating, chilling force swept through the room.
Suddenly, the reinforced steel doors groaned—a sound like the earth itself protesting—and without warning, they burst open.
She entered.
Zephyra of House Caelis—Monarch of Wind.
She didn't walk.
She floated.
Her figure was barely human in that moment: hair streaming like living silver threads that cracked the air like whipcords of lightning, eyes colder and vaster than the endless sky. Each beat of her presence shattered the illusion of safety the bunker gave. It was as if a living hurricane had condensed itself into a single, slender being.
Chairs toppled. Tables shuddered. Officers instinctively straightened, their eyes wide with awe.
And then, as if choreographed by instinct, every single soldier and officer dropped into a respectful bow.
"Honor to the Winds, Monarch Zephyra," they spoke in unison, their voices steady, reverent.
Their respect was not forced by fear.
It was ingrained, deep as blood and bone.
Zephyra's boots barely grazed the ground as she hovered forward, the gale around her softening into a low, continuous hum. She paused only once her gaze swept across the room.
And when she spoke, her voice was both beautiful and terrible—an endless echo of storms across an infinite sky.
"Report," she commanded.
It was not the younger officers who stepped forward.
It was General Caldus Varrek.
An iron-willed veteran, clad not in ceremonial armor but in weathered battle gear marked by countless campaigns. His reputation stretched beyond the border—an unyielding wall of discipline and violence.
In a world of political rot and false ranks, Varrek had earned his stars with blood, strategy, and sheer brutality.Even Zephyra, Monarch of Wind herself, allowed a flicker of acknowledgment to flash in her stormy eyes when she saw him.She trusted him.One of the very few.
Caldus stood tall, his posture like a blade drawn but unshaken by the howling storm that was Zephyra's presence.
He spoke clearly, voice firm enough to cut through the very winds themselves.
"Monarch Zephyra. Anomaly detected near Sector C-9. Border units engaged… and were eradicated."
Zephyra's gaze sharpened, her pupils contracting like a hawk locking onto prey.
"Eradicated," she repeated quietly, and the mere whisper made the wind shriek against the walls.
"Yes," Caldus continued without hesitation. "All units lost within minutes. No distress calls. No resistance recorded."
Another officer, younger but bolder, tried to add, "We've pulled all remaining squads from nearby sectors. Reinforcements are en route, but—" he hesitated, feeling the weight of Zephyra's cold gaze.
Zephyra tilted her head slightly, strands of her silver hair brushing against the unnatural current surrounding her. "You believe reinforcements will matter?"
The officer froze, mouth opening uselessly. Caldus shot him a single glance that silenced him better than any shout.
Without waiting for further response, Zephyra turned her gaze to the glowing map displayed across the far wall. Red markers blinked angrily around Sector C-9—the area where Klaus had been teleported.
Her lips curled slightly, an unreadable expression flickering across her face.
"This entity..." she murmured to herself.
Several commanders glanced nervously at one another. Zephyra's voice was barely a whisper, but every word hit like a physical blow.
"Send reconnaissance," she ordered sharply. "No more platoons. Only eyes. I want everything tracked—breath, heartbeat, even the wind currents themselves."
General Caldus simply nodded once—a sharp, disciplined motion—and motioned to his aides.
"And if they find the entity?" a cautious lieutenant dared to ask.
Zephyra's expression didn't change. Not even a ripple of mercy crossed her face.
"If they survive... report back."
The silence that followed was deafening.
No one in that room doubted it.
They would not survive.
Zephyra lingered a moment longer, her gaze distant, as if hearing something no one else could. Then, with a flex of invisible force, the room's gravity seemed to snap back to normal.
The soldiers stayed bowed a few moments longer, out of respect for the living tempest that had come among them.
And then, with a final glance toward the horizon displayed on the map,Zephyra rose into the air, vanishing like mist drawn into the heavens.
Only a whisper of her presence remained—a chilling reminder that a Monarch of Wind had touched this place.
---
And somewhere beyond the wastelands...
The storm she'd sensed was already on the move.
The world stretched endlessly before him—ruins, scorched plains, a sky heavy with dying light.
Klaus Aetherion moved forward without hesitation.Each step was slow, steady, deliberate.The battered earth crumbled quietly underfoot, as if even the land itself feared to resist him.
He wasn't sure where the wind had carried him this time.
But it didn't matter.
—"Where are you now, Sofie?"
Her face flickered through his mind.
The memory of her laughter, the stubborn tilt of her head when she argued, the soft gratitude in her eyes when he shielded her from the worst of the world.
All of it burned inside him like a quiet fire that would never die.
I'll find you.I swear it.
The wind tugged at his hair, whispering around him like an old friend.
Klaus said nothing. He didn't need to.
The storm had already heard him.
---
"Move your asses!" barked Sergeant Heller, his voice slicing through the tense silence.
The recon squad fanned out behind him, boots thudding against the cracked wasteland. Their combat suits whirred softly with every movement, faint glimmers of mana energy running across their plating.
"Entity my ass," Briggs muttered under his breath, shouldering his rifle. "Probably another lost drifter. Bet I could take it down with a butter knife."
The others snickered.
"Right," snapped Private Vance. "Tell that to the last guy who 'just wandered off.' They still haven't found all the pieces."
That shut Briggs up real quick.
Sergeant Heller kept his focus dead ahead. His hand hovered near his sidearm, a subtle move none of the others missed.
"You jokers better tighten up," he said coldly. " General doesn't mobilize squads unless it's serious. Whatever's out here... it's something we aren't ready for."
The light banter died on their tongues.
The wasteland around them seemed even emptier now—silent, watching, waiting.
Then—
"Movement!" shouted Private Kern, lifting his visor.
All rifles snapped up in unison.
There, walking straight toward them through the shimmering waves of heat, was a lone figure.
Steady. Silent.
Unbothered by the sight of armed soldiers blocking his path.
"Identify yourself!" Sergeant Heller barked, aiming down his sights.
No answer.
"Stop right there!" another soldier shouted.
Still, the figure kept moving, the breeze swirling lazily around him like an invisible cloak.
The tension skyrocketed.
Every instinct screamed that this was no scavenger.
No mutant.
No man.
This was something else.
Something dangerous.
---
Klaus slowed his stride slightly as he caught sight of the squad.
Their weapons glinted sharply under the blood-red light of the dying sun.
Their shouts barely registered to him—mere background noise against the roar of the wind within.
He exhaled softly, his expression cold, unyielding.
There was no fear.
No hesitation.
Only that old, carved-in-bone certainty:
If they block my path... they will fall.
His brown eyes narrowed, glinting with an almost animalistic calm.
The wind stirred again at his heels, gathering around him in silent anticipation, whispering through the cracks of the ruined earth like a blade being unsheathed.
Still, he said nothing.
No threats.
No warnings.
Only that quiet, crushing gaze that spoke louder than words ever could.
The soldiers hesitated.
They didn't know why.
But in that single moment, every instinct they had—their training, their discipline, their years of experience—screamed one thing:
Do not fight that.
The squad stiffened as a lone figure emerged through the dusk haze.
No orders needed.
Weapons raised instinctively—rifles aimed dead center at the approaching silhouette.
Boots slammed against the dry earth as the lieutenant at their head barked:
"Formation! Shields up! Engage on my mark!"
The soldiers snapped into line, shields flaring to life—hexagonal walls humming with desperate energy.
Klaus didn't flinch.
Didn't hurry.
Didn't even blink.
The wind curled lazily around him, playing at the edges of his tattered clothes like a living thing.
"Mark!"
Muzzle flashes erupted—
A chorus of death whistling through the air toward him.
Klaus shifted his stance—calm, precise.
The first bullet never reached him.
A gust—silent and sudden—bent its path away.
Then the second.
The third.
Metal howled past harmlessly, as if the world itself refused to touch him.
A cold breeze whispered in the air as Klaus stepped forward, a wall of force and silence that cut through the chaos. He didn't speak, didn't give any sign that he noticed the volley of fire. He simply moved.
The lieutenant cursed under his breath.
"Flank him! Suppression fire! Move!"
The squad split—half circling wide, trying to trap Klaus.
Klaus simply stepped forward once.
The wind followed.
A sharp crack split the night as compressed air sheared through a soldier's shield like wet paper, sending the man sprawling with a scream.
The next man didn't even get a chance to scream.
Klaus flicked two fingers outward.
The air pulsed—a concussive burst that hurled two soldiers backwards, smashing them into a ridge with bone-breaking force.
Klaus said nothing.
His movements were slow.
Calculated.
Unstoppable.
"Suppress him!" the lieutenant shouted, voice tightening with panic.
A pair of shock troopers lunged from opposite sides, trying to pin him.
Klaus turned slightly—
And the world seemed to slow.
One wave of his hand, and a sudden vortex of wind yanked the troopers mid-leap, twisting their bodies unnaturally before slamming them into the ground with sickening thuds.
Another soldier fired a desperate shot—
Klaus tilted his head and let the wind peel the bullet harmlessly away from him.
Then he moved.
One heartbeat—
Two—
And he was inside their ranks.
A sweeping kick, enhanced by compressed air, shattered a soldier's ribcage.
A palm strike, light as a whisper, launched another into a crumbled wall.
Their screams filled the night.
Orders dissolved into chaos.
Morale collapsed like sandcastles before a hurricane.
Klaus showed no sign of emotion—
No frustration.
No satisfaction.
Just cold, absolute purpose.
Klaus did not speak. His eyes, dark and unfeeling, scanned the remaining few soldiers, who hesitated as they realized the futility of their assault.
In under a minute, the skirmish ended.
The wind fell quiet.Dust and blood drifted lazily across the broken field.
All but one man lay motionless—
Private Vance.
He staggered, shield shattered, weapon discarded, gasping like a drowning man.
Klaus approached him slowly, deliberate and silent.
Vance froze under his gaze—paralyzed by something deeper than fear.
Klaus stopped a few feet away.
He didn't need to say a word. The air itself seemed to press in on Vance, suffocating him under an invisible weight.
Klaus simply stared. His silence was louder than any words.
Private Vance stumbled back, eyes wide with terror, but Klaus didn't move. Didn't speak. He just watched.
Finally, Vance, driven by pure instinct, turned and ran, desperate to escape the nightmare that had just unfolded before him.
Klaus watched him go, unmoving.
The battlefield was silent again.The only sound was the faint rustling of wind across the ruined field.
For a moment, Klaus stood still, taking in the broken remnants of the soldiers, his expression unreadable. He didn't flinch, didn't flounder. He simply existed, an unstoppable force of nature, his very presence turning the air oppressive.
Without another glance, Klaus turned toward the horizon, his figure receding into the distance.
A storm was coming.
And it would be unrelenting.
The air was still, unnervingly so.
The soldiers in the command room remained focused on the monitors, the tension in the air palpable as they observed the scattered remnants of the previous engagement. Their faces were tight with unease, the failures of the last mission still lingering in their minds.
Suddenly, the temperature dropped. The stillness in the room thickened. Before anyone could react, a gust of wind swept through the room—swift, silent, and violent. It was as if the wind itself had become sentient, its force like a whisper from the very breath of the earth.
And then, she was there.
Zephyra.
Her presence erased the air around her, a force that commanded attention without needing to speak a word. One moment, there was nothing. The next, she was standing in the midst of them—behind General Caldus—an unstoppable force, as though the wind had manifested in her form. She moved like the storm itself, silent yet undeniable, her gaze cutting through the room with an intensity that made even the hardiest soldiers stiffen.
The general didn't flinch, but the room held its breath.
"General," Zephyra's voice broke the stillness, cold and sharp.
General Caldus turned slightly, his eyes meeting hers, but his body remained rigid. He knew the weight of her presence, and he knew what was coming.
"You know why I'm here," Zephyra said, her voice barely a whisper yet carrying the weight of a hundred battles.
The general nodded, keeping his composure.
"Yes, my lady. The mission failed. The entity proved more formidable than we anticipated."
He didn't need to explain further. She already knew.