The days in the warehouse began to take on a rhythm, a pattern that Rod found oddly comforting. Mornings were spent sparring with Albus—if not physically, then in grueling mental exercises. Afternoons were for practice, with Rod honing his ability to manipulate the wind. Nights were his own, a quiet time to think about the road he'd left behind and the one he now found himself walking.
But the newfound comfort did little to dull the hunger for answers.
One afternoon, Rod stood in the middle of the warehouse, his arms outstretched. The air around him shimmered with energy, dust particles caught in a swirling vortex that circled his frame. His concentration was intense, his brow furrowed as he tried to direct the flow into a precise column.
"Not bad," Albus said from the corner, his arms crossed. "But you're still trying too hard to make it perfect. The wind isn't about perfection. It's about movement."
Rod exhaled sharply, the vortex collapsing into a faint breeze. "Easy for you to say. You make it look like child's play."
"That's because I've been at it longer than you've been alive," Albus replied with a smirk.
Rod rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He knew Albus was right, even if the man's cryptic advice grated on his nerves.
Later that day, Albus handed Rod a wooden staff, its surface worn smooth by time.
"What's this for?" Rod asked, turning it over in his hands.
"Control," Albus said simply. "The staff will help you focus your power, give it a direction. Think of it as an extension of yourself."
Rod frowned but took the staff to the center of the warehouse. He planted it firmly in the ground, closing his eyes as he focused on the feel of the wood beneath his palms.
The wind came easily this time, a soft, steady current that grew stronger with each passing second. Rod directed it with the staff, guiding the flow toward a pile of empty crates. With a flick of his wrist, the wind lashed out, sending the crates tumbling across the floor.
A grin spread across Rod's face. "Now we're talking."
As the days turned into weeks, Rod's confidence grew. He began experimenting with his abilities, testing their limits and finding creative ways to use them.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Rod stood at the edge of the railyard, the staff in his hand. He watched as a train rumbled into the station, its massive engine belching smoke into the fading light.
With a deep breath, he raised the staff and focused on the air around him. The wind responded instantly, swirling around his body before rushing toward the train. The plume of smoke scattered in all directions, dissipating into the evening sky.
Rod laughed, the sound echoing through the empty railyard. For the first time in years, he felt powerful—not just physically, but in a way that transcended the streets and alleys of Dustvale.
But the euphoria was short-lived.
Rod returned to the warehouse to find Albus waiting for him, his expression grim.
"You've been practicing outside," Albus said, his tone more a statement than a question.
Rod hesitated but nodded. "I thought it'd be safe. No one was around."
"No one you saw," Albus countered. "You can't take chances like that, Rod. The more you use your power, the more attention you'll attract. And not all attention is good."
Rod frowned. "What are you talking about? The Vipers already know about me."
Albus shook his head. "The Vipers are small-time. I'm talking about people like me. People who can do what you do—and worse."
"Worse?"
Albus sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not everyone with power uses it responsibly. Some use it to hurt, to control, to destroy. And if they find out about you, they'll come for you. Either to recruit you or to eliminate you."
Rod swallowed hard, the weight of Albus's words sinking in.
"So what do I do?" he asked quietly.
"You keep training," Albus said. "And you stay out of sight. At least until you're strong enough to defend yourself."
But staying out of sight was easier said than done.
Rod's experiments grew bolder as his control improved. He practiced in the alleys, the railyards, and even the rooftops of Dustvale, always careful to stay hidden but unable to resist the thrill of pushing his limits.
One night, he created a whirlwind so powerful that it lifted him several feet off the ground. For a brief, exhilarating moment, he felt untouchable, as if he could rise above the chaos of the city and leave it all behind.
But the moment passed, and Rod landed hard, the impact jarring his knees. He winced, leaning on the staff for support.
"You're getting reckless," a voice said behind him.
Rod turned to see Li standing in the shadows, her arms crossed.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone defensive.
"I could ask you the same thing," Li shot back. "You're playing with fire, Rod. Or wind, I guess. Whatever it is, it's dangerous."
Rod looked away, his grip tightening on the staff. "I can handle it."
"Can you?" Li stepped closer, her expression softening. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're about to lose control."
Rod didn't respond, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy cloak.
The next morning, Rod returned to the warehouse to find Albus waiting for him with a new challenge.
"I think it's time we moved beyond wind," Albus said, tossing Rod a small, smooth stone.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Rod asked, turning it over in his hands.
"Earth is the foundation of everything," Albus said. "If you can control it, you can control the very ground you stand on."
Rod frowned but nodded, holding the stone tightly as he focused on the ground beneath his feet. He felt the familiar tingling sensation, but this time it was deeper, more rooted.
The stone in his hand began to tremble, and the ground beneath him shifted, a small crack forming in the dirt.
Rod grinned, the flicker of power sparking something new inside him.
For the first time, he realized just how much potential he had—and just how much danger came with it.