From Art's POV
Lately, Father has become somehow too calm.
He would simply lie outside every now and then. On the clearing. On the mountain. And look at the clouds.
He might not return home at all if not called. He could lie like that for days. And there was no one to eat at home without him.
I went to look for him. It was already evening. The sun had almost set.
"Father! Father! Father!" I called.
This seems to be his favorite spot... He is just sleeping again.
"Father, wake up," I told him.
He opened both eyes so sharply that I almost flinched.
Father has such blue eyes. It seems as if you could drown in them.
He stood up. I took his hand, and we went home.
On the way, he suddenly said:
"Mount Slick... how did I end up here? Ah, yes... exactly. How could I forget..."
Then Father abruptly froze. I stopped too.
He said quietly:
"Shhh..."
Father began to lower himself very slowly, and then bam—he sharply lowered his hand and grabbed something.
"Amazing. Looks like merchants brought them," he said.
"What is it, Father?" I asked with interest.
"A grasshopper," he said.
He slightly opened his palm, holding it, and then passed it to me.
I began to examine the grasshopper. So small. But its back legs are so strong. I could feel it trying to get out.
Father began to speak:
"It's so small. Fragile. What will happen if we crush it? It seems to be alive... Probably has little children. Or does it even understand that it has them? Maybe it doesn't understand what it's doing at all? And for what it lives? Do we have the right to kill it? If we kill it, nothing will happen. The world won't change. So what will stop us?"
He said this questioningly, as if he really expected an answer.
"No, Father, you can't kill it. Mama says that all living things must be respected."
Father looked at the grasshopper long and thoughtfully.
Then asked:
"So, if I really, really want to crush it, I'm not allowed to?"
"Yes," I said.
"Why?"
"Because it's alive. If you were in its place, you would feel unpleasant."
Father stood up and ruffled my hair.
"How kind and smart you are. Let's go," he said.
I tossed the grasshopper far away and took a step.
And then Father stopped and said:
"Like, I killed some bug. But, Art, you don't care that you killed it. You didn't feel anything."
I looked at him.
"Father, you are acting kind of strange."
"Yes, yes, yes. You are right. Let's go home quickly."
Father had started saying strange things lately.
From Art's POV
It's almost autumn. Another year—and I will become stronger. And I'll be in the same rank as Naya.
On the way, I saw Mama.
Noticing me, she immediately began to smile and ruffle my hair.
"Oh, you are my golden boy, my sweet little thing, I could just eat you."
"Mama, you can't eat me."
"Oh, really?" she laughed. Then she said: "By the way, your dad will be substituting for me today."
"Yeah?"
"Uh-huh. Make sure dad doesn't say anything stupid, okay?"
"Yes, I will."
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"You are my hero."
She hugged me, and I went on.
Today the hall was full. Sparring.
"Father???"
Usually, the teachers themselves don't enter the ring. There was a circle about ten meters in diameter, and the task was simple: push the opponent over the edge.
Father stood at the very edge of the circle.
Such a crowd had gathered around that I didn't even see Naya right away.
"Art! Art! Art! Over here!" she shouted.
I squeezed through to her. We sat right on the floor and began to watch.
"See?" Naya began. "Another teacher is standing against Father. He didn't like how Father was behaving, and he challenged him to a sparring match."
"Wow," I said. "First time I'm seeing this, probably. Do you think Father will win?"
Naya didn't even answer. Simply ignored me and didn't take her eyes off the fight.
That means everything is already clear.
"So you are..." Father began to say to the opponent, "saying that the teaching of the Northern Wind is ineffective?"
A mug with a straw teleported into Father's hands. He sipped and answered:
"I said no such thing. I simply said that your technique is ineffective. It is limited. You make too many unnecessary movements. This is all from the last century, man. It's kind of why mages almost disappeared. Couldn't adapt to weapons. If you sharpen a stone for thousands of years, it still won't become better than an iron one."
The opponent took a fighting stance. Looks like the dialogue had ended.
Naya still didn't take her eyes off.
The man started to spin, swirling the air with his legs and gathering speed in them.
Father only lazily turned his head and said slowly:
"Too long."
He moved his palm slightly.
The opponent was tossed almost to the ceiling, but he landed softly.
Father began to speak again, as if this wasn't a fight at all:
"A person with a musket would have aimed and killed you long ago. Why did you swirl it for so long? Unnecessary movements. Smart people have long since invented effective methods for you. Why do you cling so much to the old?"
The opponent calmly inhaled the air.
Father immediately said:
"There is already too little air here for two, and you are inhaling it all. Leave some for me too."
The crowd laughed.
The opponent took a sharp step to the left, flying almost a meter, then to the right, still gathering air.
Father continued to comment:
"That is the whole style of the Northern Wind. You accelerate the air for so long. That's why you almost disappeared before the southern style. It was much more dynamic."
He deliberately said this with a smirk at the end. Clearly to make him angry.
And suddenly a mask appeared in Father's hands. All hung with bells, like shamans have.
"That is exactly why the northern style had to be reborn. And it can also be combined with the southern one. And who will forbid me?" Father said and put on the mask.
The opponent finally stopped sharply and released a powerful stream of air. So big that my ears even popped.
Father seemed to disappear.
"Teleportation again?" I whispered.
But no. Where he had just been standing, another gust of wind burst out with a deafening sound. Father himself was already almost at the ceiling. Then he jumped towards the opponent, raised his leg, as if preparing to strike from above. The other dodged.
At the spot where Father landed, such a vortex swept across the floor that I almost fell.
And then Father began to twirl and spin. Flips over himself, turns, slides. At first, I didn't even understand what he was doing.
"What is he doing?" I asked Naya.
She was tapping out a rhythm on the floor with her fingers and watching without blinking.
"Father... he's not fighting. He's dancing. Dancing to a very fast rhythm."
And indeed.
As soon as his foot or hand touched the floor, he immediately spun around and released gusts of air spears at the opponent. The latter was almost not attacking anymore—only evading, evading, and evading.
Before this, Father had always landed on one leg and struck with wind using the other. Now he incorporated his arms as well.
Three air spears at once flew at the opponent.
Naya was smiling. It was obvious how much she admired it.
When the opponent was already very tired and had almost lost, Father jumped into the air and began:
"But a true air mage does not need a support in the form of the ground or the floor, because the air is everywhere..."
It seemed he wanted to do something beautiful. And powerful.
But suddenly stopped. Simply landed back on the floor and took off the mask.
The whole crowd around began to whisper. And Naya and I heard Father mutter very quietly under his breath:
"What am I doing? Mocking him... drew such a crowd... disgraced him. For what? To flatter my ego? So that I would be admired? How will people look at him now..."
After that, Father walked up to the opponent, shook his hand, and told him that he still had room to grow, that he had potential, and wished him luck.
I watched all this and suddenly felt heavy inside.
I have a very long way to go to reach Father. It seems he is a peak I will never climb.
I almost despaired.
But Naya next to me was all glowing.
"I want! I want! I want the same! The same power! I want it the same as Father! I can do it! I can!"
I looked at her.
Where does she get so much confidence? And for some reason, I immediately thought: If she can do it, then I can too.
From Zenkhald's and Naya's POV
The sun had almost set. Naya and I were playing in the room.
"Father, will you give me a ride?"
"Yes, of course."
I snapped my fingers, and Naya was lifted into the air. She landed softly right on my shoulders.
"Papa."
"What?"
"Why do you snap your fingers? Is that all your magic?"
"Nah. I just snap so that everyone understands that it's me casting. That it's happening specifically because of me. Otherwise, if I don't snap, they will start thinking that everything happens by itself. And I will be offended."
"Papa."
"What?"
"Do you think Art will become strong? I'm worried. He has started training more now and plays with me less because of training."
"Then let's go," Zenkhald said, "and get him. Steer the ship."
I started pulling his hair in the right direction.
"Papa, you didn't answer the question."
"Naya, when anyone is born, they are already destined to become someone and have a certain power. Someone is talented from childhood, and someone is not. Everyone has their own path. But we can all determine for ourselves what we want. Society imposes on us what we do not want. They make us believe that we are all equal. That the weak and the strong are also equal."
"Father, enough."
"Oops. Sorry. I got carried away again."
"Yes, Father."
Naya's Thoughts
Unlike everyone else, Father doesn't stink at all.
When people lie, a terrible stench comes from them. And it's with them all the time. I see who lies and when. Sometimes it's even disgusting. Adults lie a lot. It seems sometimes they don't even understand themselves when they are lying.
But lately, Art has also started to smell. Or rather—to stink. Why did he start lying?
I hope he stops.
"AAAA!"
Father tilted dangerously, and I almost fell.
"What are you thinking about?" Father said.
"Problems."
"Problems never existed and do not exist," Father said.
"And Mama says that you are just indifferent."
"Wow. Do you know what the word 'indifferent' means?"
"I can guess."
"And what do you think about this word?"
"It's, it seems, someone who doesn't care. Something like that, as I understand it."
Father laughed.
"What a smart girl you are. I don't know, Naya, as for me, you shouldn't worry at all. And feelings, emotions—what is all this for? Everything is for survival, deception..."
"FATHER."
"Alright, alright."
I grabbed onto his hair tighter.
"Father, and maybe you could stop walking on the ceiling? I'm going to feel sick right now."
"Oh, man. What a capricious lady you are," Father said, laughing at the end.