Charles (in memory): "Even swordfighters rely on others, son."

  Virno walked with his head low, hood drawn tight over his face.

  Charles: "Do you want to spend your time scouting tournaments, repairing your blades, or hauling your gear from town to town? No, you'll need allies."

  His father's words echoed in his mind.

  Charles: "Some will care for you; others will only care for your money. Knowing how to navigate those relationships is as important as knowing how to hold a blade."

  Virno exhaled through his nose.

  A half-smile hidden beneath his mask.

  Virno (thinking): "Hope that scar healed well... Guess I'll find out for myself."

  Months had passed since Virno left the slums behind. Hunger and filth gnawed at his mind, wearing him thin, but he had found ways to survive. Street performances, construction work, and even stealing -- whatever put coin in his hand. Each time, he honed his powers further, incorporating them into the smallest, most mundane of tasks. He had learned not just to wield them, but to live with them, until they became second nature.

  Now, at long last, he had arrived.

  Virno: "Finally..."

  Before him stood a great manor, abandoned yet not forgotten. Over the years, it had fallen into slow decay. Anya's garden, once a place of immaculate beauty, had grown wild and untamed, strangled by weeds. The training courtyard, where he had once spent his days perfecting footwork and technique, was now overrun with ivy and cracked stone. Time had crept over the house like a patient, inevitable force.

  He tried the front doors. Locked. At least someone had made the effort to keep the place secure. Though, as he scanned the building, it was clear they hadn't been thorough enough.

  Virno: "There...!"

  A window on the upper floor had been left slightly open. Too high for an ordinary person to reach, but for Virno, it was the perfect opportunity.

  Crouching slightly, he focused on his feet, allowing the wind to coil beneath them. A current of air spiraled outward, stirring dust across the overgrown courtyard. Then, in a sudden burst, the wind expanded -- launching him upward with force. His hand caught the windowsill effortlessly, his body weightless in the air for just a moment before he pulled himself up.

  He landed inside without a sound.

  Virno: "Dad's office... Not a bad place to start."

  Dust covered the desks, the bookshelves, the floor. Papers lay strewn across the room, evidence that someone else had searched through it before him. The mess told a story -- others had come, rifled through his father's belongings, looking for something worth taking. His father's fortune, most likely.

  Virno didn't care about that.

  He searched for something far less extravagant.

  Virno: "This is the part where it hurts."

  Surrounded by shelves, overturned books and scattered papers, any common blind person would manage to discover next to nothing in such a setting.

  Of course... Virno was anything but common.

  He took a deep breath...

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  ... Then out came an explosive burst of wind.

  In the blink of an eye, his body lit up with sigils, as countless wind currents dispersed from his skin. Flipping through old pages filled with contracts and business dealings, the wind brushed against every piece of paper, every trace of ink.

  His veins bulged and he winced, the sensory overload overwhelming him and rapidly draining his energy...

  But he could feel them.

  Feel the words, the slightest of rough variations in the otherwise smooth surface of each page.

  Countless letters. Numbers. Concepts.

  All being transmitted to his mind at once.

  None matched what he was looking for.

  Then --

  Virno: "Here...!"

  Among a pile of discarded books, a journal.

  Each entry within contained names, addresses, records of servants and workers -- some who had lived within the manor's walls, others who had served only on occasion...

  ... It was the address of one such person that he sought.

  Virno (thinking): "Hope you still live here..."

  Tearing out the page, he folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket.

  The search was over and the sigils waned.

  Countless documents fell to the floor, the divine air that was suspending them dissipating as quickly as it had blown forth -- Virno had ceased the spell.

  He sat on a nearby chair, exhausted...

  ... Still, a grin was etched on his face.

  He was slowly but surely mastering his abilities.

  As the sun began to set, he visited Anya's garden. The touch of the flowers stirred within him something deeper than nostalgia -- a sense of loss too great to name. He had expected it to feel like coming home. Instead, it felt like standing at a grave.

  Even though the house still stood, untouched for now, it wouldn't remain abandoned forever. One day, another family would take it. Another child might play in the courtyard, another mother might tend the garden, another father might sit by the fire and call it home.

  Would the garden still be here?

  Would anything be the same?

  Or would it be unrecognizable, rebuilt and reshaped, belonging to someone else entirely?

  Virno: "No. None of this belongs here anymore... Not I. Not what we've built. Not what we've left behind."

  That night, Virno slept in his childhood bed for the last time.

  By the time the first rays of dawn crept over the ruined manor, he was already standing in the centermost courtyard. His body was glowing.

  From head to toe, sigils blazed across his skin, shifting erratically, struggling to arrange themselves into a stable form. The power inside him -- restless, coiled like a storm.

  He wore no mask for this.

  Virno: "Mother... Father... What belongs to us, we shall carry ourselves. Everything else..."

  A sudden burst of wind erupted from his core, expanding outward in a violent gale. The glyphs pulsed, twisting, flickering wildly until -- at last -- they stabilized. The sphere of wind around him grew.

  Became something else.

  Became a tornado.

  Virno: "... Will turn to dust."

  The sky darkened as the cyclone rose higher and higher, stretching into the heavens. Thunder cracked through the air as the spiraling vortex consumed the remains of the manor. Wood, stone, glass -- everything his family had built -- was torn from the ground, swallowed by the storm. The wind howled like a mourning cry, yet within its eye, Virno stood still, unshaken.

  The storm did not control him.

  He controlled the storm.

  As the tornado reached its full height, large enough to engulf entire buildings, it raged against the heavens, a divine force set loose upon the earth. But it did not spread beyond the land that once belonged to house Virtus. It remained contained, a storm of selective ruin, bound by Virno's will.

  Virno: "As your bodies return to dirt, never to return... so, too, should the shadows they used to cast."

  For several minutes, the tempest howled. And then -- silence.

  The vortex vanished in an instant, as if it had never existed.

  All that remained was destruction. Not a single structure left standing.

  Virno fell to his knees, the last of his energy drained from his body. His vision blurred, his limbs numb, and then -- darkness.

  It was impossible to tell how long he was unconscious. Hours? Days? He woke beneath the pale light of the moon, the air still and heavy with dust.

  A perfect circle surrounded him -- untouched. A small, almost laughable patch of ground, left unmarred while the world around it lay in ruin.

  Virno: "Hn-hngh..."

  He pushed himself to his feet, body aching, lungs burning.

  Then -- he climbed.

  Over broken stone, past shattered wood beams, through the remnants of a life that no longer existed.

  At the edge of the ruins, he pulled the folded paper from his pocket. The address was still there. Still waiting for him.

  He clenched it tight in his palm.

  Wore the dirty, bloodied lion mask over his face once more.

  And walked away.

  Several more days passed.

  Virno stood before a small, unassuming house, worn but sturdy. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden door.

  A shuffle from inside.

  A voice -- deep, familiar.

  Man from behind the door: "I'm coming...!"

  Virno couldn't help but grin, a sharp, amused smile stretching beneath the mask.

  He knew that voice. He knew it instantly.

  The door creaked open.

  Virno: "... How's that eye doing, Pocna?"