The world of Malan once believed the wind to be the gentlest of all elements.
It had no weight, no color, no fixed form.
It neither burned nor crushed, neither illuminated nor devoured.
And yet—
On that day, every race learned the truth.
---
High above the clouds, where the atmosphere thinned and the sky darkened into an endless blue, a lone figure stood suspended in midair.
There was no platform beneath his feet.
No wings on his back.
No spell circle glowing around him.
He stood there simply because the wind allowed it.
Gale Aerindel.
The King of Humanity.
The Sovereign of Wind.
His hair drifted gently, not stirred by air currents, but followed by them—as if every breeze in the world acknowledged his presence. Around him, the wind did not howl or rage. It was silent, reverent, restrained.
The wind did not obey him.
It was him.
Below the floating summit, six thrones formed a perfect ring, each carved from a different element. Fire smoldered. Earth stood firm. Light shimmered. Darkness swallowed. Mana churned and intertwined, forming a grand seal that covered the entire sky.
This was a summit of kings.
A meeting meant to discuss balance.
That was the excuse.
Gale's gaze swept across the figures below—beings who ruled races older than humanity itself. Dragons, demons, elves, dwarves… each one possessed power that should have dwarfed a single-element human.
Yet none of them met his eyes for long.
They feared him.
Not because Gale sought conquest.
Not because he desired dominion.
But because he had mastered what could not be combined.
Wind, when perfected, did not clash with other elements.
It bypassed them.
Fire could not burn it.
Earth could not stop it.
Light could not lock it.
Darkness could not swallow it.
Even breath—life itself—was at his mercy.
If Gale wished it, a king could suffocate without a single wound on their body.
That was why they called him dangerous.
That was why they had decided—
He could not be allowed to exist.
---
The seal activated without warning.
The first to move was the Dragon Queen.
Flames descended from the heavens, not toward Gale, but around him, forming a prison of compressed heat. Immediately after, earth surged upward, locking space itself into place. Light froze the surroundings, dark devoured escape routes.
A perfect cage.
Gale did not struggle.
He only looked down.
"So this is your decision," he said calmly.
There was no anger in his voice.
Only understanding.
The Demon King, Asmodeus Noctyrr, finally spoke.
"For the sake of the world."
Gale smiled faintly.
"The world," he repeated.
At that moment, a figure stepped forward from the shadows behind the thrones.
His presence felt wrong.
Mana recoiled from him.
Elements fell silent.
He wore black robes devoid of ornament, as if decay itself clung to his body. Where he stood, even concepts seemed to erode.
Noir Mortem Caligo.
The King of Decay.
Or rather—
The King of Anti-Magic.
"The Wind Sovereign," Noir said softly, raising a hand. "Your era ends here."
A sigil unlike any other manifested in the air—colorless, soundless, empty.
Void Edict.
With a single command, it severed the interaction between mana and reality.
For the first time since Gale's birth—
The wind did not respond.
Chains formed, not of elements, but of negation itself, binding Gale's limbs and piercing into his soul. His connection to the sky was forcibly cut, his body dragged downward, slammed onto the floating stone.
Still, he did not scream.
Still, he did not beg.
Instead, he laughed quietly.
"So you feared me enough to erase magic itself."
Noir did not reply.
The blade descended.
---
There was no grand explosion.
No storm.
No final cry.
When Gale Aerindel died, the world did not tremble.
The wind simply… stopped.
Across Malan, breezes faded. Leaves fell straight down. Clouds froze in place for a single, impossible moment.
And then—
Everything resumed.
As if nothing had happened.
---
History was rewritten.
The Wind King's name was erased.
His bloodline was slaughtered.
Human wind magic was declared a myth.
And the world moved on.
---
But far beyond sight, beyond time, beyond mana—
Something stirred.
The wind remembered.