It was just another lovely day in the Merrin household.
In a quiet home full of warmth, laughter, and the ever-present rush of air, we see someone important.
Zylus's first human friend. Ren Merrin.
A year had passed since he last saw Zylus, but Ren had changed.
His once short, wild hair now fell to his shoulders in spiky, untamed waves. The colour of bright red. His eyes, a glowing crimson, had narrowed. Not with coldness, but with focus. At fourteen, he stood taller, leaner, sharper. But more than that, his movements held meaning. Measured steps. Purposeful strikes. He was a boy who had learned to hold the wind in his chest and wield it like a blade.
He trained every morning in the backyard of his family's home, surrounded by battered dummies and broken training posts. The scars on the yard matched the ones on his heart. Marks left by the promise he made. To Zylus. To himself.
"Again," he muttered, swinging his dull training blade. A ring of wind circled his feet, rising with each strike, sharper and cleaner than the last.
Ren wanted to learn how to fight with fists. Just as Zylus did against the Skivven, so, he didn't primarily use his Amora of wind.
Then came a voice, calm and teasing.
"You're going to scare the birds away."
Ren spun around. His older brother stood nearby, still in sleep clothes, holding a chipped cup of tea. His hair was a neater, darker red, and his eyes carried the same fire, but it burned quietly. His lean frame stood balanced and ready, his posture effortless. His name was Cael Merrin.
Amora in the Merrin household had always taken the form of wind.
Not gentle wind, but living wind. Loud. Rushing. Fierce.
They called it the Amora of Uncontrollable Love. As mentioned before, dependent on the type of love, your family bonds with you is the element that you will take on. Make it your own.
Although... Wind was...
The kind that surged when your mother cried while bandaging your scraped knees.
The kind that raged when your sibling was in danger.
The kind that could tear through walls or wrap around you like a hug.
Inside, a new scent filled the house. Roasted root vegetables and honey-glazed bread.
Their mother stood in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, humming to herself as she cooked. Her hair, tied in a thick bun, bounced slightly when she turned toward the window. Their mother, Alira Merrin. She was tall for a woman, elegant with a strength that didn't need to shout. Her hair was a soft chestnut red, pulled back in a thick braid wrapped like a crown. Her eyes were a gentle rose-brown that seemed to know everything before you spoke it. Alira wasn't a fighter, but her presence alone could still be a storm. Her wind moved differently. It healed, it comforted, it whispered lullabies into your bones.
"Boys! You better not break each other before breakfast!"
Ren smiled. She wasn't a fighter, but her Amora was strong. The kind of wind that cleaned your wounds before you noticed them. That stayed up all night when you were sick. That always knew what you needed before you could say it.
Their father, Galen Merrin, stood over the stove. Broad-shouldered and deep-voiced, Galen had a quiet command in the way he moved. His short beard was peppered with gray, and his short red hair was swept back with a headband. His arms were muscular, his clothes simple, and his aura. Strong but nurturing. His wind was like a mountain breeze: heavy when angry, refreshing when calm.
Galen chuckled from the stove. "Let them knock each other around a little. Builds appetite."
Ren glanced at his brother, then back at his blade. "Spar with me."
His brother raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
Ren nodded.
They stepped into the center of the yard. The breeze shifted.
His brother held no blade, just raised his hand, and the wind coiled into shape, forming a thin, gleaming strand of wind like a curved whip. Ren exhaled, grounding his stance.
The match began with a silent gust. Ren lunged forward, blade low. His brother sidestepped, wind bursting beneath his feet. He moved like he was dancing. Graceful, easy.
Ren attacked again, this time spinning mid-strike, using wind to push himself faster. His blade came close, but his brother blocked it with a wave of his hand. Wind clashed against wind. The air popped.
"You're getting faster," his brother said, breathing steadily. "But too predictable."
Ren gritted his teeth. He ducked, then sent a surge of wind into the ground, lifting dust into the air. He vanished in the cloud.
His brother's smile widened. "Clever."
Then came Ren… Blade striking from above.
CLANG!
This time, his brother caught it with both hands, wind swirling like a shield. For a moment, they held still. Then they both laughed, breathless.
Ren stepped back. "Again?"
His brother shook his head, lowering his hands. "After breakfast."
A gust ruffled Ren's hair, not from his doing. It was gentle. Playful.
Ren's brother placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've got strength, Ren. But never forget where it comes from."
Ren looked down. The wind quieted.
"I haven't," he said. "That's why I keep pushing."
From the kitchen window, their little brother appeared. Their youngest sibling, Finn Merrin, stood with a wooden spoon, copying Ren's movements. He was maybe six or seven, short with wild curls and oversized pyjamas that trailed on the floor. His eyes were the brightest red of all, big and full of wonder.
"Hyaah!" he shouted, copying Ren's moves with a big grin.
Ren grinned back. "Future champion."
As the family gathered at the table. Windows open wide, sun pouring in, dishes steaming with love. The wind passed softly through the house. It lifted napkins, tugged curtains, and brushed cheeks like a living memory.
After eating, Ren wandered outside alone. He looked up at the sky, the clouds scattered and soft.
"Where are you, Zylus?" he whispered.
The wind answered with a quiet rustle in the leaves.
Meanwhile, back in the safe zone…
A land hidden from the chaos of Amora. Trees of silver branches whispered over a glowing spring. The grass shimmered like starlight underfoot. The dome overhead was nearly invisible, yet its presence could be felt. Like the moment before walking from a dream.
Sorei sat on a curved rock beneath the largest tree, legs crossed, head tilted slightly as she rested. Her cloak pooled around her like a dew-drenched ivy. Her short, silver hair fluttered as a gentle wind circled the clearing. Not hers, just the world breathing.
In her lap, Lucky slept soundly.
One paw twitched in a dream. Sorei hummed a soft tune, voice low and almost inaudible like a memory— a lullaby from an older time.
"Sleep now, little spark… The stars will guard your bark… No fire, no fear, no fight tonight… Just wind to guide you right…"
She stroked Lucky's back absently.
"You wouldn't know it," she said aloud to no one, "but I was once an assassin."
Lucky let out a sleepy huff.
Sorei chuckled. "Yeah. Hard to believe, huh?"
Then, her head snapped up.
Wind moved unnaturally. Carried intent.
Not a threat.
But something… Returning.
She rose to her feet, gently setting Lucky in the crook of her cloak where it hung like a cradle between two roots.
Light shimmered at the edge of the clearing.
And in that moment.
Before we see who it is…
Earlier…
"Do you want to see him again? Lucky…?"
Zylus blinked.
The wind was cold where they stood. Outside the Cabin, at the very edge of the fifty-meter barrier. The same invisible dome that had sheltered him all year. Mist danced along the forest floor, curling around Medrus's boots. His face was unreadable. Not stern. Not kind. Just honest.
"You told me he'd be safe," Zylus whispered.
"And he is," Medrus said. "But safe doesn't mean forgotten."
Zylus's hands clenched. The year of training, of isolation, of aching nights and sharpened days. It all led to this question—this moment.
Lucky.
Whether Zylus can grow strong enough to protect him.
Lucky that he never stopped wagging his tail, no matter how cruel the world became. The only warmth left from before everything changed.
Zylus stepped forward.
Medrus held out a hand. "Then come. I'll take us there. Just hold your palm out. But be warned. This place doesn't open for long. It opens for resolve."
Zylus said nothing. Slowly held his palm out in distrust, and Medrus connected his.
They stood.
Hummingly.
And the wind parted.