The morning light spilled into the courtyard, scattering faint motes across the stone. Vale stood among the practitioners of the Sound Clan, his eyes fixed on the small, circular rings suspended in the air before him. They floated silently, almost breathing, their edges shimmering with faint currents of unseen energy.
"These are Aether Rings," the elder said, voice calm and precise. "Each vibration within them carries potential. Do not be fooled by their simplicity. Observe, sense, and only then act."
Vale stepped closer, letting his fingers hover just above the smallest ring. The air around it quivered in response, though subtly, almost imperceptibly. He realized then that the rings were not objects—they were tests. Not of strength, but of perception.
Hours passed in silence. Vale repeated the motions of the older students, adjusting his posture, attuning his breath, listening to the faint pulse that ran through the rings. Sweat dampened his brow, but not a single outward shout or explosion of power occurred. Only focus, only subtle motion. Only the tiniest resonance within him, like a whisper of wind he could not yet name.
"Do not rush," the elder's voice came again, gentle but firm. "The Aether Rings will teach those who wait. Force will break them; patience will unlock them."
Vale's fingers trembled as a faint ring of light danced along the smallest ring. It was not mastery—not yet—but recognition. A connection. He felt the air shift, not around him, but within him. A thread had been caught, a single note in a vast symphony of potential.
That night, as the courtyard emptied and silence fell, Vale traced the motion of the rings in his mind. He understood, finally, that power was not to be claimed—it was to be earned through awareness, restraint, and timing. And somewhere deep within that awareness, the faintest echo of wind stirred.
Not yet strength. Not yet revelation. Only awakening.