Reborn as the Archmage's Rival
Chapter 33: Winds of Intention

Chapter 33: Winds of Intention

Darius stood barefoot on the mist-soft cloud platform, morning light filtering through the haze and illuminating the air in warm golds and grays. The scent of damp sky and fresh ozone filled his lungs. He drew in a deep breath—filling his chest with the same energy that hummed under his skin.

Across from him, Professor Ignatius watched with an unreadable calm. "Why wind, Wycliffe?" he asked, his voice even and gentle, yet carrying the weight of serious intent.

Darius glanced downward, focusing on the subtle rise and fall of the cloud beneath his feet. "Because it... feels right," he began slowly. "I tried fire and water, and they had moments." He looked up. "Wind just... fits better. It moves with me."

Ignatius nodded, stepping closer, his robe trailing like living mist. "Versatile," he murmured. "Light. Responsive." He paused. "Do you want to specialize?"

Darius stiffened. "I—I don’t know, sir. I mean, wind is... easy to say yes to—but I’m still learning everything else, too. I want to explore. I don’t want to lock myself in a single magic type yet."

The professor smiled—slightly, warmly. He held out his hand—palm up. A single droplet of water formed there and rolled off, disappearing before it even touched the cloud. "A wise answer," he said. "But know this: sometimes a gift chooses you before you’re ready to accept it."

He crossed his arms. "One day, Wycliffe... you might become the Wind Visionary."

Darius stood rooted in place, trying not to let his heart panic. A Visionary? It wasn’t a term he was unfamiliar with—he’d heard it mentioned by the director just yesterday and wrote about it himself. But now, coming from the mouth of Professor Ignatius, it felt different and carried weight. It meant higher expectations and maybe even destiny.

"I.... sir?" he managed, voice hoarse. "You... you really think that?"

Ignatius watched him carefully, arms still crossed. The soft morning light flickered through his robes, shifting between flame gold, ocean blue, and drifting wind patterns. But his demeanor was all seriousness now.

"I do," he said quietly, the quiet echoing through the empty corridor. "You came here a week ago and could barely cast a proper spell. Two days ago, you were better and somehow maintaining your mana flow better than a lot of my other students. Today, you’ve somehow mastered an elemental technique."

He sighed, a deep and contemplative sound. "I admit, I thought you were just another cocky first-year. But I was wrong." He paused and placed his hands gently on Darius’s shoulders. "You surprised me. And I want to see how far that surprise can go."

Darius looked up at him, unsure. His chest pounded with nerves. "Sir, I... I still don’t feel ready for a title like that. And... I don’t want to limit myself to wind alone. There’s so much magic I’ve yet to learn."

Ignatius gave a small, appreciative smile, almost amused. "That’s good. Very good, actually." He stepped back. "It’s fine. Plenty of mages specialize in multiple types. They form new schools, break boundaries. Maybe—if you grow at this rate—you’ll find your own."

Darius let out a shaky breath. His mind raced with hope, but also fear. Founding a new school of magic wasn’t just academic—it was revolutionary. It carried risk, responsibility.

Ignatius turned and gestured out across the swirling white expanse. "Come. We’ll begin by welcoming what work comes next. You’ll need to apply what you learned today."

Darius sucked in a ragged breath. His legs tingled as the cloud stone trembled beneath his feet, but he squared his shoulders. "Yes... sir." The words felt weak in his own ears, but he meant them—fully, finally.

The professor nodded once, then floated forward over the cloud’s edge. The space beneath was endless—immeasurable sky. Darius swallowed again and followed close behind, mindful of each step. The platform shook and rippled with their weight, but held steady. Today, he would trust it.

Without a word, Ignatius lifted one hand. A gentle current spiraled into being around his palm, coalescing into a perfect sphere of condensed mist. It hovered there, crystal clear in the pale sky. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he nudged it—and opened a fist of wind that sent it spinning in a perfect circle around him.

"Observe," Ignatius said. "The swirl itself is the defense. It doesn’t stop motion—it channels it." He guided the sphere to move faster, then slowed. "You felt that earlier—how you tried to hold it still. That’s the key."

Darius watched, enthralled. "Yes, sir." He shifted his feet slightly, finding the right footing.

Ignatius pointed to the swirling shield of mist. "Now imagine that around your body. Imagine the wind pushing against you—but instead of resisting, you yield then guide. Do not stop it. Let the pressure balance you."

The sphere collapsed in on itself and vanished. He stepped closer to Darius and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "What you held earlier was good. But it lacked subtlety. It was a dome of static—unmoving. Now you need a dome that breathes, responds, adapts."

Darius nodded, focusing inward. The cloud beneath felt cold against his bare feet; he felt every breath of wind that passed. He drew a deep one himself, then exhaled in slow, controlled rhythm.

Ignatius stepped back, eyes steady. "Begin."

Darius closed his eyes and reached inward. The wind gathered in a bubble around him—thin, almost invisible—but he could feel its pressure, soft against his chest. He guided his senses outward and found imperfections: an overconcentration on his arms, none on his legs; a collapse at his core, a hollow where the flow was weak.

He shifted weight. Adjusted shoulders. Curled his fingers lightly.

A second sphere formed. It sat around his torso, shimmering faintly. The cloud trembled. Without shifting his shape, he allowed it to breathe with him—expand on inhale, soften on exhale. He stepped forward just once.

"Feel that?" Ignatius asked quietly.

Darius opened his eyes for a moment. "It... moved with me." His heart beat fast, but the wind remained steady.

"Good." Ignatius nodded and swept a hand upward—now thicker currents rattled the platform. The wind began to push inward, side to side, press and release again.

"Resist the urge to collapse," the professor said. His voice was calm, but the wind pressed hard enough now to carry a faint roar. "Can you guide it?"

Darius tightened core. Held the posture. Let the bubble move with him. It didn’t break. He didn’t fall.

"Strong," Ignatius said—and then he shifted. The wind ceased instantly, the platform stilled. The hush felt like a question.

"That," the professor began, voice measured, "was not me. That was your bubble. Do you understand?"

Darius nodded once, slowly. "I... I think so."

Ignatius stepped away. "Now—breathing with it, guiding it, apply pressure. Gently push outward. Feel boundaries." He held out a sphere of dense mist again. It pulsed and condensing, a living shield in flux.

Darius swallowed. He raised his hands slowly, constructing his own. He didn’t push. He guided. He whispered through each breath, "Hold..."

The sphere built in response, nerves humming. He felt the edges press outward, then relax. The platform underfoot fluttered with controlled motion. He felt weightless—but grounded by his own discipline.

Ignatius watched closely, expression keen. "Yes. Balanced. See how the sphere becomes stronger when you step away from fighting it?"

Darius nodded, then drew back a step—just a breath-space off balance. The sphere shrank slightly before expanding again. It faltered—but held.

"Good." Ignatius crossed his arms. "Control and reserve... now learn this."

He unknowingly whispered a chant. The cloud-shield around Darius glowed and thickened—for a moment—then thinned once more.

"What did you just do?" Darius asked, eyes wide.

"I reinforced your form," Ignatius said. "A little push to train your core response. A test."

Darius swallowed. "I... felt it. But I held."

The professor smiled thinly. "Indeed. And that’s the difference between power and mastery."

He stepped away to create another sphere, this one larger and denser. He tosses a splash of water into it—instant crystallization—and spoke aloud: "This teaches you that each element can shape your shield. Wind morpheme is airy, but you could weave water or stone into it. Today is wind, yes—but tomorrow you may pull your Elemental Body into other forms."

Darius glared at the sphere, contemplating.

He whispered, "I want to learn that someday... but first, control." He drew in breath. "So much control."

Ignatius nodded. "Good. You are still on day one of properly learning, but your progress is fast. Let me demonstrate one more exercise."

He threw the sphere outward across the cloud rim. It tumbled through empty space—disappearing. Then he called it back with a burst of light wind wave and hailed it into being. Darius watched amazed.

"Recall the shape, the feeling," Ignatius said. "When given distance, the shield moves with your intention."

He came to Darius’s side. The wind dissipated. Then, gently, he pressed at Darius’s ribs—testing his posture. The bubble hesitated at that momentary pressure—but it did not break.

"Excellent. Now walk off the platform’s edge, carrying only your shield and your breath." He pointed to the leading edge of the cloud platform—the place where wisps drifted downward.

Darius paused, chest tight. He looked at the empty sky beneath. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

He moved forward. One foot fell off... then he caught himself. The shield held—a ring of wind pressing up under him ever so slightly. For a heartbeat, he felt suspended in open air. The world glinted with sunlight and distant buildings, dizzyingly far below.

He blinked, summoned focus, steadied his breath. He stepped back onto more stable ground.

Ignatius beamed. "That is balance. That is elemental control in its simplest form. It is quite similar to the basic skill of the anchor step."

Darius dropped to his knees, sweat dampening his hair. He drew in and released air through shaking lungs. The cloud platform vibrated as if in applause.

Ignatius crouched beside him. "Rest. Reflect on what you felt. That sensation—floating between sky and stone—is what you control. Keep it."

Darius bowed his head. "Yes, sir." After a long moment, he lifted his head. "Thank you."

He gazed up at the sky above their floating practice space. That dizzying sense would stay with him for hours.

Ignatius stood. "You’ve earned your rest. Take the knowledge I’ve given you today and return to your room. Eat. Sleep. Tomorrow, we begin something new."

Darius blinked up at Ignatius, uncertain. His chest was still tingling from the fall test. Then he caught himself fumbling. "Sir—thank you. I’ll... I’ll rest up. Ready tomorrow."

Ignatius gave a small nod and grin. "Good. Don’t worry: there’s no maze of staircases to climb." He tapped Darius’s shoulder lightly, eyes twinkling.

Darius hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "But—how do we get down? Is there a teleportation spell or—?"

A low rumble rippled through the platform as Ignatius laughed gently. "Teleportation here would be quite the project," he replied. "No, the descent is simpler than you think."

Darius frowned. "Simpler?"

"I’ll show you." With that, the professor turned on his heel and bounded toward the platform’s edge. Darius scrambled after him—heart thumping.

"Sir, wait—" he began, but Ignatius grabbed his arm. "Trust me."

Darius froze, then watched as Ignatius stepped off the dome-like edge. One moment they were standing; the next they were free-falling into nothing. Panic shot through Darius’s veins and he yelped.

"What—what are you—"

Ignatius’s laughing voice broke through. "Gravity—useful teacher, recall?"

Darius swallowed hard. A gust of wind whipped around them. Suddenly, Ignatius raised his hands above his head, eyes glaring upward—just as the clouds above them blackened and condensed.

A great, inky sphere of storm-cloud formed overhead, swirling with energy. Darius’s stomach dropped as static arced between its eddies. He felt tiny prickles across his skin: like droplets of electricity dancing in his bones.

Ignatius shouted, something like "Storm’s embrace—descend!" He slapped his palms together. The thundercloud burst as if he’d punched it; lightning arced downward in great arcs, striking all around them. The cloud itself roared apart like a broken drum. Then the world tilted and rushed upward towards them.

In every direction, storm-cloud noise, the taste of ozone, and swirling wind formed a sudden barrier against the fall.

They dropped—with control.

The wind roared loud and sweet. Darius’s robes and hair lifted and flipped. The world blurred. The ground rushed toward him.

And then—crunch.

They landed on soft grass, the storm-cloud overhead dissipating instantly as if it were never there. Darius staggered, his heart racing, adrenaline roaring. Ignatius was already steady on his feet, arms spread like he’d just stood on stage for an ovation.

Chaos had become safety, but the sky remained silent again.

Darius blinked. "That was... unbelievable."

Ignatius smiled and pressed a teasing hand to his chest. "A bit dramatic?"

"I—sir," Darius gasped, still breathing hard. "That... was brilliant!"

Ignatius chuckled. "Storm magic is about controlled chaos." He waved an arm, sending a tiny static charge through the air, soft enough to raise goosebumps. "It’s fun. And it reminds you: gravity will always try to kill you, but magic gives you a chance to fly."

Darius looked up at the sky, now clear and pale. His heart felt a mix of terror and exhilaration. "I’ll... remember to stay open to chaos."

Ignatius raised an eyebrow, grinning at the pun. "Good. Now... come on, I’m hungry. We’ll pretend the fall was all part of the curriculum."

They walked together, boots crunching through morning grass and a remnant of mist on the field. Each step held an echo of their time in the sky.

Ignatius pivoted to give Darius a side glance. "You handled that rather well, by the way."

Darius let out a breathy laugh, brushing hair from his face. "I thought I was about to die."

"Death tends to bring clarity," Ignatius replied evenly. "But so does landing on your feet."

Darius chuckled. "Your lessons are never boring."

The professor dropped into a casual stance. "Magic shouldn’t be a chore. It should make you laugh sometimes—and surprise you. Remember that."

Darius nodded, feeling his legs settle back into gravity. "Yes, sir."

Ignatius glanced down at the damp grass. "Come on. You’ve earned your lunch, then your rest. You’ll need that energy tomorrow."

They turned and headed across the field toward the dorm wing, afternoon sunlight chasing away the storm shadows.

Darius matched his steps to Ignatius’s pace. And though his lungs were still buzzing, his heart felt something new—confidence in chaos, trust in his own footing, and a thrilled eagerness for what came next.