You ever wonder why air mages can’t make their magic solid? Like, water mages get ice, earth mages have their rocks, fire mages can make those neat little flame crystals everyone pretends don’t exist. But air? Always just… air.
Turns out, everyone was asking the wrong question.
Meet Jin, the most annoying cadet in Zephyrgale Skyhost history. Not because she’s bad at air magic – kid can call up a cyclone that’ll ruin your whole week. No, she’s annoying because she won’t. Stop. Asking. Questions.
“But why can’t we see air magic?” she’d ask during training.
“Because it’s air,” her instructors would answer.
“But we can see wind affecting things,” she’d push.
“That’s different,” they’d say.
“Is it though?”
(You can see why they stuck her on night patrol.)
So there she is, pulling another graveyard shift on the eastern towers, watching her birthmark (classic swirling cloud pattern, nothing special) glow against the dark. And because Jin’s brain doesn’t know when to quit, she’s thinking about light.
See, you can’t see air, but you can see light bending through it. Like mirages in the desert. Like starlight through the atmosphere.
Like maybe…
Now, smart air mages don’t try to bend light. That’s not their thing. But Jin’s never been accused of being smart (brilliant, yes; smart, no). So she reaches out with her magic, grabs hold of the starlight passing through her air currents, and…
The sky starts writing.
Not metaphorically. Actually writing. Letters of light hanging in the air, formed by starlight bending through precisely controlled air currents. Jin’s standing there, mouth open, watching her casual violation of about eight different magical principles write “well this is new” in glowing letters above the city.
Then she notices her birthmark’s changed. Still swirling clouds, but now they’re outlined in what looks suspiciously like script from those ancient texts nobody can read anymore.
Before she can panic properly, a messenger hawk lands on her tower. Message from the Maralyd Abyssal Cities: “Stop showing off. We need to talk.”
Another hawk, this one from the Fangrock Clans: “The mountains saw that. They’re impressed.”
And because the universe loves chaos, a third hawk, from a group of nomads and merchants calling themselves “element dancers”: “Finally! Someone else who gets it!”
Jin’s never been great at politics. But even she can figure out that when three different groups from three different elements all notice your light-bending trick at the same time, something big is happening.
The real kicker? While everyone’s focused on her fancy light show, nobody’s noticed that the air currents around Zephyrgale have started humming. Actually humming. In harmony.
Almost like they’re trying to sing.
The Skyhost council’s called an emergency meeting. They want to know how an untested cadet managed to create a new form of air magic. They want to know why her birthmark’s changing. They want to know what she did.
Jin’s got a better question: What if air magic was never just about controlling the wind?
What if it was about conducting the symphony that’s been playing above their heads this whole time?
Too bad that meeting’s going to have to wait. Because right now, there’s a water mage named Reyna, an earth scout named Gard, and a whole bunch of excited element dancers heading for Zephyrgale.
Turns out, the elements have been waiting for their conductor.
And Jin? She’s just figured out how to raise her baton.