The wind never slept.
Across the black ridges west of Draconis, it screamed between fissures, carrying dust, ash, and the scent of molten rock. Hunnt stood at the edge of a narrow plateau, bare-footed, hair whipped sideways, eyes half-closed against the sting. His body was worn but still, shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath.
For the first time in months, there was no monster before him. Only the world itself.
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself on the hot stone. "Balance first," he murmured. "Everything starts there."
He stepped forward — then immediately stumbled as a sudden gust shoved against his back. He caught himself before falling, digging his toes into the ground.
"Anchor Step," he said aloud, testing the words. A name for a feeling he was still chasing.
---
Day 1
Failure.
The storm had no mercy for beginners.
Every stance he took collapsed. Every breath broke rhythm. The wind struck from every direction, throwing him off-center again and again until his knees bled from hitting stone.
At dusk he sat cross-legged, staring at the red horizon, sweat dripping into the ash. His chest ached, but his eyes were calm. "If the ground can't hold me," he said quietly, "then I'll learn to hold myself."
---
Day 2
Hunnt changed his approach. Instead of bracing against the gusts, he began to listen to them.
He closed his eyes and extended his Observation Haki. The air came alive around him — each current a shifting thread, invisible but clear. He felt the brief pause before a gust turned, the subtle draw before it struck. When the pressure built to his left, he shifted his right foot forward. The blast passed harmlessly by.
Another gust, another adjustment.
He moved less like a wall and more like a reed.
By sundown he could stand a full minute without losing balance. The plateau was silent except for the rasp of his breathing and the whisper of the wind flowing around him instead of through him.
---
Day 4
He took to the air.
Hunnt bent his knees and kicked off — Geppo! — the sound like a hammer striking water. The air compressed beneath his soles, lifting him several meters. But mid-rise, the wind twisted; he spun out of control and fell, catching himself at the last instant with another kick.
He landed roughly, panting but grinning. "So even the air has ground," he said.
He tried again.
This time his eyes stayed open.
He felt the currents tugging at his legs and adjusted in micro-movements — ankles rotating, weight centered through the hips. He rose higher.
Three seconds. Then five. Then ten.
Each time he fell, he rose again, until night swallowed the ridge and the stars shimmered above the volcanoes like shards of glass.
---
Day 7
The wind still roared, but Hunnt's body no longer fought it.
He moved with it, his feet making subtle half-steps across the rock as though the world itself was breathing beneath him. He kicked upward — Geppo! — and held position, legs steady, fists raised. The air shook but did not claim him.
His focus narrowed to a single truth: balance was not the absence of movement; it was control within it.
He punched once through empty space. The motion was smooth, no recoil, no loss of footing. The strike felt effortless, clean.
Hunnt lowered his hand, exhaling. "Anchor Step… complete."
He stayed standing as the first light of dawn spread over the cliffs. The heat of the sun met the chill of the wind, and for a moment the two balanced — like him.
He looked toward the horizon, where darker storms waited. "Next comes Redirect," he whispered, and started down the slope, steps light, posture firm.
---
The Night of Still Air
The slope carried him down into a basin of stone and shadow. The storm had moved on, leaving the world drenched in silence. The air was thin and dry now, tasting faintly of iron and ash. Hunnt walked until the ground leveled into a small hollow surrounded by broken pillars of basalt — old foundations, perhaps, remnants of a place long erased.
He sat among them, cross-legged, the heat of the earth seeping through his legs. Above, the night rolled open: a wide stretch of indigo sky, full of shifting clouds and thin silver stars. The wind that had once howled now murmured softly, brushing his shoulders like a familiar hand.
Hunnt closed his eyes. Every bruise, every cut throbbed with the same rhythm as the wind's breath. He let it in, following the currents with his senses. Each direction carried a sound: the whistle between rocks, the low hum across the ridge, the faint echo of sand rolling in the distance.
Observation Haki flared — not as sight, but as presence. The world unfolded around him in invisible threads. For the first time, he felt no divide between motion and stillness.
He remembered Ravenshire — the quiet river behind his grandfather's forge, the way the water bent around every obstacle without losing its path. Back then he had thought strength was the ability to strike harder. Now he understood: strength was the art of staying upright when the world refused to hold still.
He exhaled slowly.
"Anchor Step isn't just footing," he whispered. "It's trust."
The air shifted. Tiny pebbles rattled at his feet. A stray gust rolled through the hollow and circled him once — not violent, but curious. He opened his eyes and watched dust spiral upward, tracing faint rings around his seated form.
He smiled. "You're listening now."
The gust swirled again, then dissipated into the dark.
He rose and stretched, joints cracking softly. The fatigue in his legs was a steady burn — not pain, but proof. He took a step forward, bare feet sinking slightly into the warm dust, and began to move.
Slow at first. A pivot of the hips. A light kick. The air rippled under his heel.
He spun with it, redirecting the small current that came back at him.
Again. And again.
Each motion called another breeze until the hollow hummed with gentle wind. His body flowed in rhythm — fists, feet, breath — all answering the invisible pulse that surrounded him.
When he stopped, the air didn't. It continued to circle him in a slow spiral, faint but steady. His heartbeat matched its pace.
He looked up at the stars, chest rising and falling. "I see it now," he murmured. "Anchor Step holds me to the world… but Redirect will let me move with it."
A single meteor crossed the sky, vanishing beyond the eastern peaks — the direction of his next trial.
Hunnt gathered his pack, slung it over his shoulder, and turned toward the faint glow of dawn breaking behind the mountains. His shadow stretched long across the rocks, then disappeared into the mist.
The wind rose again, following him — no longer hostile, no longer testing.
It carried his steps, whispering with each one.
"Move with the world, and the world will move with you."