Sora woke again to find the Wind Spirit had procured a large fruit-laden branch for him.
In the forest below the clouds, fierce winds had raged through, toppling trees. Fruit trees were sliced by wind blades, their branches carried aloft into the cloud.
Sora helped himself without ceremony. Some were juicy and sweet, others bitter and astringent—but at least they filled his stomach.
"More Gomoku?" Sora asked.
"No more. I keep winning—it's boring," the Wind Spirit said proudly. "What else can we play, Gandálfr?"
"Gandálfr's just a title. My name's Sora."
"Sora? Got it. Let's play something else, Sora."
"Fine. But calling you 'Wind Spirit' all the time is awkward. Want me to give you a name?" Sora asked tentatively.
"Why? I am the Wind Spirit."
"A name makes it easier to talk, and shows we're friends," Sora explained.
"Hmm. Okay—you name me. If it's bad, I'll spin you a thousand times in the air," the spirit warned after thinking.
"Uh…" Sora dismissed childish options like "Little Wind" or "Bluey" and racked his brain.
Wind spirits loved freedom, after all.
"Fred. It means 'free' in my homeland's tongue. Your name's Fred," Sora declared, pointing at the spirit's avatar.
"Free? Fred… Fred." The spirit repeated it, then burst into laughter. Surrounding air surged in response.
"I'm Fred! I'm Fred!" The Wind Spirit clearly loved it.
Sora exhaled in relief. "Alright, Fred. Let me teach you chess."
"Chess?" Fred tilted its head.
Sora gestured, and Fred conjured the board and pieces.
It took an hour of trial and error, but Fred finally produced them: wind stones of perfect size, sliced into board and pieces by precise wind blades, lines and labels etched with fine control.
Sora explained the rules. Complex at first, but Fred grasped it halfway through.
They played several games, Sora easing Fred into the strategy's depth.
He handicapped at first—rooks and knights, then two pieces, then one. Fred's progress was astonishing; by day's end, Sora had to try hard not to lose.
Fred, thrilled, dragged Sora into game after game.
"Cough, cough… Lord Sora," a voice called faintly from the darkness.
Sora paused mid-game and looked around.
On the distant wrecked airship, a ragged woman leaned against a bulkhead, calling out.
"Someone survived?" Fred sounded surprised—and annoyed. Air around the ship churned; hundreds of wind blades materialized, aimed at her. One twitch, and she'd be shredded.
"Lord Sora, it's your loyal servant Fouquet," the figure cried.
Fouquet—still alive?
"Fred, she's with me. Don't kill her," Sora said.
"Hmm. Since you say so… fine." Fred relented; the blades dissipated. Fouquet slumped, saved.
"Can you send her some food, Fred?" Sora asked.
"After this game," Fred grumbled.
Sora refocused and clinched the win. Then he asked Fred to feed her.
With a wave, uneaten fish and fruit rained down on Fouquet like manna. Starving, she devoured them, pulling back from death's edge.
Sora glanced, then ignored her. To him, Fouquet was merely useful—a strong subordinate if he escaped.
"Clack, clack…" Sora and Fred battled fiercely across the board, evenly matched.
Sora slept again, trading ten solid games upon waking. Fred, in high spirits, conjured another wind bed.
Watching the weary Sora slumber, the spirit mused.
Humans need so much sleep. If he slept less—or not at all like us spirits—he could play longer.
Approaching the sleeping Sora, Fred's avatar placed a hand on his forehead. Surging cyan light linked avatar, core, and Sora. Vast wind magic washed through him, steadily enhancing his physique at their first meeting spot.
"Next year, I'll come fetch you, Sora. I'll beat you for sure," Fred said, cloud air trembling.
"Yeah. See you next year—I'll win again," Sora replied. Gentle winds from Fred carried him down, landing lightly at the continent's edge.
As for Sora's subordinate Fouquet, Fred grew impatient and discarded her. Gale winds swept her from the cloud interior, slamming her into nearby woods.
"Goodbye, Fred," Sora called, waving from the edge.
The clouds turned slowly. Fred craved freedom and new vistas. See you next year.
Sora first sought Fouquet in her crater.
"Don't breathe a word about the Wind Spirit. Understood?"
"Yes, Lord Sora," Fouquet knelt, head bowed.
"We split up. Rendezvous at Prince Wales. Before Wardes moves, play it by ear."
"Yes."
"Go." Sora waved; Fouquet vanished into the grass.
With her gone, Sora patted the sword at his waist.
"Just us now. Time to find Louise."
"That's what you're thinking about, partner? Heh heh," Delflinger chuckled.
"Yeah, partly. Three days is too long."
"She'll be fine—I'm sure, Louise," Sora murmured, striding from the edge into the continent's depths.