Silver has been exploring dungeons his entire life. He liked to think he was good at it by now. He was nearly at the end of this one, and he hoped the treasure waiting for him would justify the risk.

  His torch flickered, casting long, restless shadows across damp stone walls. He had seen it all, or so he believed, but this dungeon felt different. The carvings lining the corridor were unfamiliar, their shapes twisting in ways that made his eyes linger too long. The air hummed with a faint energy he couldn't name. He shrugged it off and pressed forward.

  The final door loomed before him, massive and ornate. Swirling patterns crawled across its surface, seeming almost to shift in the torchlight. A shiver traced down his spine, and it was not from the cold. He braced himself and pushed. Ancient stone groaned as the slab swung inward.

  Silver stepped through, torch raised high. The chamber beyond was old and worn, its walls split with cracks and overgrown with moss. At its center sat the treasure: a stone coffin. He grinned faintly. Coffins usually meant good loot. Maybe a skeleton, maybe not. Either way, if it meant he would be eating well tomorrow, he would dig through a hundred bones.

  He approached carefully, watching for traps. Finding none, he set his torch aside and gripped the heavy lid with both hands. It crashed to the floor with a thunderous thud. Silver leaned over the edge, expecting a corpse.

  Instead, a boy lay inside

  Not a skeleton. Not decay. A boy of perhaps fourteen cycles, skin pale as moonlight and hair black as a crow's feather. His features were calm and untouched by time, as if he slept rather than lay in a tomb. He wore a tunic so dark it seemed to swallow the torchlight, its surface shimmering with the same fluid patterns carved into the door.

  Silver almost forgot how to breathe. This was impossible.

  The torch sputtered on the floor, its glow suddenly small against the stillness of the chamber. Slowly, he reached out, his hand hovering above the boy's cheek. Something inside him screamed not to touch, that this was not treasure and not a grave.

  The boy's eyelids fluttered open. Dark pupils focused on Silver with quiet, innocent awareness.

  Silver stumbled back, his heel catching a crack in the stone. He flailed, arms pinwheeling, but gravity won. his torch rolled from his grasp, its flame causing shadows to dance wildly across the chamber walls. He scrambled backward on hands and feet, breath ragged, and snatched the torch before it could gutter out.

  A soft rustle of fabric made him freeze

  The boy was sitting up, his thin silhouette lit by the weakened flame. He swung his legs over the coffin's edge, the black tunic shifting around him like liquid night. There was no stiffness in his movements, no confusion at waking in a tomb. He simply stood and looked at Silver.

  "Hey...My head's all fuzzy."

  Silver yanked his dagger free and pointed it with a shaking hand. "Don't try to trick me. You're some kind of demon or something, aren't you?"

  The boy squinted faintly toward the blade. "Some kind of what? You're not making sense." He paused, brow furrowing. "I can't remember my own name."

  He tilted his head, studying Silver with open curiosity, then stepped forward. Bare feet made no sound against the stone. "That's a knife," he said slowly. "It's for cutting". I remember that. Why do I remember that, but not my name?"

  Another step closer. The air seemed to hum around him, the same faint energy Silver had felt deeper in the dungeon now thick and concentrated. "I'm hungry," the boy added simply, glancing toward the archway. "Is that the way out? I don't see any other doors."

  He walked past Silver into the corridor.

  For several heartbeats, Silver could only stare. Then the memory of the traps snapped him into motion. "Oh no, kid!" He scrambled up and ran after him, nearly colliding with the archway pillars. When he rounded the corner, he stopped short. The boy stood unharmed in the center of the trapped hallway.

  "Why are you yelling?" the boy asked. "Did something happen?"

  Silver stared at the pressure plates and hidden triggers he had carefully avoided minutes earlier. There was no way the boy had crossed them blindly. "Hold on," he said, stepping precisely along the safe path. "Did you just walk through here without a light and still manage not to set off any traps?"

  "What? Are there traps?" The boy rubbed the back of his head. "Where?"

  "I'll lead. Stay behind me."

  They continued until they reached the chasm near the dungeon's entrance, a wide gulf cutting through the stone. Silver pulled free his rope and scanned the far wall. "Watch carefully. If you don't, you'll fall." He hooked the grappling line onto a sturdy outcropping with a practiced throw. The metal caught with a clean clink. After testing the rope, he wrapped it around his waist and leapt. Wind rushed past his ears as he swung across and landed in a controlled roll.

  He turned, expecting hesitation. Instead, the boy was already airborne. For a split second, Silver's heart dropped, but the boy landed beside him without making a sound, as though he had simply jumped. No running start. No rope. Light from the dungeon's entrance spilled down the corridor. The boy walked past him, shielding his eyes. "Finally. Sunlight. Let's go. I'm starving."

  He broke into a run toward the exit.

  Silver stood frozen, rope still in hand, watching the small figure vanish into the glare of the outside world. The scent of old stone and disturbed dust lingered in the air. He shook himself. He could not leave that thing alone out there. With a weary sigh, he followed.

  The forest outside the dungeon exploded with color, a violent contrast to the gray stone they had left behind. The boy stood in a clearing with his head tilted back, eyes closed, bathing in the sunlight as if he had never felt it before. His black tunic no longer swallowed the light. Instead, faint iridescent patterns shimmered across its surface like oil on water. He crouched to touch a flower, pale fingers brushing gently over its petals. "It's soft," he murmured, wonder filling his voice.

  Silver tapped his shoulder. "Come on, kid. The town isn't far. I'll get you something to eat, and you'll tell me everything you know. Sound fair?"

  The boy blinked up at him. A slow, almost shy smile spread across his face. "Yep."

  They walked in silence for a while. The boy seemed absorbed in everything around him, the rustle of leaves, the birdsong overhead, the damp earth under his bare feet. Silver, meanwhile, felt his nerves tightening. What exactly had he brought out of that dungeon? Whatever it was, the Guild would know what to do. They had to.

  They reached the dirt road leading to Alderbrook, the small valley town just beyond the trees. Faint voices drifted toward them.

  "More people?" the boy asked, something uncertain flickering in his tone.

  "Yes. More people." Silver crouched to meet his eyes. "Listen carefully. Don't do anything strange. No scenes. Just act normal. Got it?"

  The boy nodded, concentrating. "Got it."

  "Good. My name's Silver, by the way. What should I call you?"

  The boy looked down at the bluebell still clutched in his hand. After a moment, he said, "Air. I can feel the wind flowing through me."

  Silver hesitated. The name stirred an old memory, one he wasn't ready to revisit. Still, he nodded. "Air it is."

  They crested a hill, and the town came into view. Wooden buildings clustered around a lively market square. The scent of bread and roasted meat drifted through the air. Air's stomach growled loudly.

  "Smells nice," he whispered.

  "Air, over here." Silver waved from outside a tavern with a painted sign of a lopsided boar. The Gilded Tacca.

  Inside, warmth and chatter wrapped around them. Tankards clinked. Laughter rose and fell in waves. Behind the counter stood a broad man with a magnificent mustache.

  "Silver! I thought a monster finally ate you!" he boomed.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Only gone a little longer than usual," Silver replied, tossing a pouch of coins onto the bar. "Two Tacca sandwiches. An ale for me. Juice for him."

  The bartender raised a brow at Air but nodded. Silver guided the boy to a corner table away from wandering ears. Air stared at the wooden surfaces, the lanterns, the people, as though each was a marvel.

  He sipped the juice and froze. "What is this? It's amazing."

  "Melo juice made from Melo fruit. Now eat before your food gets cold."

  Air obeyed with alarming focus, devouring the sandwich like someone who had not eaten in cycles. When the bartender passed by again, he studied the boy closely.

  "Now wait a second, Silver. Don't tell me you and Pyre—"

  "No. Absolutely not. He's my cousin's...nephew," Silver cut in quickly.

  The bartender chuckled and moved on. Silver leaned across the table. "All right. Close your eyes. Think back. Before the coffin. What do you see?"

  Air shut his eyes, fists clenching slightly. The tavern noise seemed distant. "Light," he said softly. "People. Voices. I can't see faces. The voices are... mixed together."

  " Mixed how?"

  "I don't know." He opened his eyes. "Do you have more juice?"

  Silver grimaced. No treasure, and now this. And he could not tell just anyone about the coffin. The wrong person would see opportunity, not danger. Maybe one of the doctors. Maybe the Guild archives in Aurelios.

  "Stay here," Silver said finally. "Don't talk to anyone. If something happens, tell Barnaby." Air nodded in response, already watching the bar again. Silver crossed to the back of the tavern and knocked on the door marked Private, a short, sharp rhythm. It opened to reveal a cluttered office and a woman leaning back in her chair, polishing spectacles. A scar cut down the left side of her face.

  "You look like you've seen a ghost," she said.

  "Worse. I'm taking care of a kid"

  Her expression sharpened. "Hold on, does that mean you and Py-."

  "No! No. He was sleeping inside a coffin I found inside one of the sprouting dungeons. No memory. Calls himself Air. Jumped a chasm like it was nothing."

  Anya listened without interruption, fingers steepled. "A coffin," she repeated slowly. "I've heard of this. Rare cases. People found sealed in coffins, memories gone."

  She leaned back. "And the wind comment. That sounds familiar." Silver stiffened but said nothing. "We can discuss that later," she continued. "I know someone in Aurelios who's gathering information on these coffins. Young, but brilliant."

  "Aurelios? That's a long trip."

  "Send a letter. My fastest avian is upstairs, you can hand him the letter and I'll make sure it gets to the right place. My friend will want to meet you in person. If this is what I think it is, he'll arrange transport."

  Silver exhaled slowly. Whatever Air was, this was already bigger than a dungeon find.

  Before he made his leave, Anya called out to Silver." Hey! I get why you're so invested in this...it's nice to see. You might not have realized it, but you've been a bit of a downer since you got here."

  Silver rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs.

  Silver wrote a quick letter detailing the impossible events of the day, sealed it, and climbed the tavern's rickety stairs to the loft. The bird perched there watched him with an impatient, intelligent gaze, feathers the color of storm clouds. Silver tied the letter to its leg.

  "Don't lose that," he muttered.

  The bird gave a sharp cry before Silver hurried back down. The tavern was still loud and warm. He scanned the corner table.

  It was empty.

  A cold dread washed over him. "Oh what the hell, kid."

  Outside, Air wandered through the busy street, still holding his glass cup. A large armored man barreled into him, knocking him to the ground.

  "Watch where you're going, street rat," the knight barked without turning.

  Air sat there, staring at the man's back. His cup had shattered beside him.

  "Aw. My cup."

  The knight stopped. Slowly, he turned and strode back, irritation written across his face. "What was that, runt?" He grabbed Air by the arm and hauled him up. "Say it again."

  Air blinked. "I think you're confused."

  The knight's face darkened. "Are you mocking me?" He raised his gauntleted fist.

  "If you hurt him, you're banned from the Holloway!" A voice cut through the tension. A green-haired boy stepped forward, no older than Air. The knight hesitated, scowled, then released his grip.

  "Tch. You're not even worth it." He stalked away.

  Air landed lightly on his feet and looked at his rescuer. The boy had messy green hair, bright eyes, and simple patched clothes. The scent of herbs clung to him.

  "Are you okay? Sir Borin's a jerk," the boy said, offering a hand.

  Air took it. "I'm fine. My arm doesn't hurt."

  "I'm Garret," the boy said brightly. "What's your name?"

  "Air."

  Garret grinned. "Weird name. Cool, though. Visiting?"

  "I think so. My friend is here too."

  "You should come to my house. Even if your arm's fine, my parents are doctors."

  Air hesitated, then nodded. "Alright."

  They walked through town while Garret chattered, pointing out shops and landmarks. Because it was sprouting season, adventurers filled the streets. Air absorbed everything: the baker secretly in love with the seamstress, the widow who fed stray cats, the hum of lives woven together. Garret led him to a cozy building at the town's edge, a vibrant garden blooming out front.

  "Mom! Dad! I brought a friend!"

  A woman with kind green eyes stepped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Garret, don't tell me you've dragged another stranger here." She stopped when she saw Air. His clothes were dirtied. "Oh, you poor dear. What happened?"

  "Sir Borin pushed him. I had to help him out," Garret said proudly.

  "That man has more brawn than brains," she muttered, gently taking Air's arm. A soft green glow radiated from her hands. She began drawing a series of shining symbols in front of Air. For a moment, Air was enveloped by a radiant glow.

  Air stared. "Wow."

  "It's just a simple healing and appraisal spell," she said warmly. "I'm Linnea. That's my husband, Faelan."

  Faelan, seated near the hearth carving a wooden bird, nodded in greeting.

  "Do your parents know you're here?" Linnea questioned. Air responded with a simple shrug.

  "What about that friend you mentioned earlier?" Garret asked.

  "He's in a loud place. With lots of people."

  Linnea smiled faintly. "That narrows it down very little. This time of cycle, The Quingrove trees are blooming, so dungeons are sprouting up everywhere."

  "Is that bad?" Air asked.

  "It can be troublesome, but profitable. A lot of interesting folk make their way here hoping to find treasure in the dungeons."

  "Oh. Am I interesting folk?"

  Linnea laughed softly. "I'd say so. You're probably the healthiest boy i've met in years. Now, how about cookies?"

  Air's stomach answered for him. She returned with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies. He devoured the first in two bites.

  Across town, Silver was sweating. "Have you seen a boy? Black hair, pale, about this tall?" he asked frantically. No one had.

  Anya approached, expression tight. " Any luck?"

  Silver ran a hand through his hair. "No. What if someone took him?"

  "Don't panic," Anya said evenly. "Just keep looking and I'm sure you'll find him, he couldn't have gone too far."

  Silver sprinted through the streets, scanning for any flash of black fabric in the crowd. Then a thought struck him. The doctors might know a sensory spell. Even a basic one should be enough to track someone like Air, and they were old friends. They would help. He shoved through the doors of the medical wing and hurried down the hall, boots thudding against polished stone. He stopped short at the sound of a familiar voice.

  Silver pushed into the private quarters and froze. Air sat at a wooden table, swinging his legs idly as he ate a cookie, crumbs dusting his fingers. Across from him sat a green-haired boy, listening intently. In the adjoining kitchen, Linnea hummed to herself while stirring a pot, the scent of something warm and sweet drifting through the room.

  "Silver!" Air beamed. "Look, they have cookies."

  Relief surged through Silver, quickly replaced by irritation. "I told you to stay put."

  Air scratched his chin. "Oh. Right."

  "Come on. I need to book us a room."

  Air glanced at Garret, then at the cookies. "But..."

  "You can have more later," Silver said.

  "Can he stay a bit longer?" Garret asked.

  Linnea stepped forward calmly. "Silver! What's the rush? Don't you know you're always welcome to stay here? Just like last cycle, you and air can sleep in one of the empty rooms upstairs."

  Silver hesitated. He saw the disappointment in Air's eyes. "Fine. Probably safer than the inn anyway."

  "I'm sorry," Air said quietly.

  Garret brightened instantly. "I'll show you my room! I've got stuff all the way from Aurelios!" They rushed upstairs.

  Silver dropped into a chair and let out a sigh. His hat's brim drooped over his eyes. "Is Garret still struggling to make friends?"

  Linnea nodded. "He means well, but you know always been a bit too talkative. Most of the other children avoid him. He took Pyre not visiting especially hard. Air seems more than willing to listen to what he has to say, so I'm grateful for that"

  Faelan spoke without looking up from his carving. "Where exactly did that boy come from, Silver?"

  Silver was silent for a long moment. "I think he may be an elemental. The elemental of wind, to be exact."

  Linnea covered her mouth. "Really? When I appraised him earlier, I suppose his magical energy did seem a bit strange."

  Faelan's expression darkened. "Since he's with you, it's only a matter of time before Pyre meets him. And when the elementals begin to converge, calamity usually follows. That's what my father always said."

  Silver exhaled. "Then I hope I'm wrong."

  That night, warmth filled the house. Eventually, the lights dimmed. Silver lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He could not keep the boy forever. Maybe he should leave him here. Let him have a normal life, But if Air truly was an elemental, someone would probably come looking to take advantage of his power. Silver promised himself he wouldn't sit idly by while something like that happened ever again.

  Eventually, Silver closed his eyes.

  ----------

  Elsewhere, in a rented room at the inn, three hooded figures sat around a narrow table. "How come Rumus and I have to share a room?" the shortest asked, her voice soft and high-pitched.

  The largest one scoffed. "How come you couldn't afford another room yourself? Oh, that's right. Your position's lower than mine." He leaned back in his chair. "What are you complaining about? You're siblings. I'm sure you've shared a bed before. Or were you two beggars huddling by garbage bins instead?"

  The hooded girl gasped. "Is that your idea of a joke? It's not the same now that we're older. Rumus takes up half the bed!"

  "Bah. You're exaggerating. The boy's skinny as a twig."

  Rumus stood by the window, arms crossed, moonlight tracing his silhouette. "I'm not skinny, Kelar. You're just huge. And regardless of rank, as heralds working under Emel's guiding hands, Elara and I should have been given enough funds to afford another room."

  Kelar rose, chair scraping against wood. "After this mission, you can afford whatever you like. We've discussed everything we needed to, so be ready when the titan rises." He moved toward the door. "I'm taking my leave." The door shut behind him.

  Elara's foot tapped rapidly against the floor. When Kelar's footsteps faded down the hall, she raised her thumb to her mouth and bit down. "Who does he think he is? We've served the church longer than him. I should sneak into that pig's room and slit his throat while he sleeps."

  "Calm down, El," Rumus said. "I'll take the floor. You can have the bed."

  Her eyes softened. She lowered her now-bloodied thumb. "Really? Aw, I'm so lucky to have a little brother like you."

  "Yeah. I know."

  Outside, moonlight washed over the silent town, the last quiet it would know for some time.