On the morning following the events of the first chapter, Riam Walker Payuhakrit stood before the gates of Payuhakrit Academy, his heart a mix of excitement and apprehension.
This school was not merely a place of learning—it was a battleground where magic and martial arts of each nation clashed and flourished.
As Riam gazed upon the large wooden building, its roof adorned with the sacred "Nine Peaks Yantra," he allowed a faint smile to touch his lips.
The sacred symbol atop the school's guardian Buddha statue reminded him that he was not alone.
Years of training in the "Ling Lom" scrolls, along with the presence of his protective yantra, continued to strengthen his resolve.
The bell signaling the start of assembly rang.
Riam swallowed hard and walked into the building, his expression tense but steady.
Students in colorful uniforms, representing various nations, streamed past him.
As he looked around, he caught the curious, measuring glances of others.
Some whispered, some snickered under their breath.
Riam clenched his fists, calming his breathing as he had been taught in the Ling Lom discipline.
Though his heart raced wildly in his chest, his face remained as stoic as carved marble.
During the morning classes, conversations buzzed among students about ancient martial arts tomes.
Riam sat quietly as whispers about him floated across the room.
"I heard he trained under the full Ling Lom tradition. But no one's seen him fight yet!"
The laughter that followed made Riam grit his teeth.
Still, he forced a slight smile, closed his eyes for a moment, and let the comments pass over him like a breeze, refusing to reveal any inner turmoil.
At lunchtime, Riam descended the stone steps into the school's open courtyard, a shaded sanctuary beneath towering trees.
Across the field, groups of students laughed and exchanged stories about their martial arts training.
Riam observed them with a detached air, feeling more isolated with each passing second.
The Nine Peaks Yantra and his Ling Lom heritage gave him strength, but they also made him different—an outsider.
Sitting quietly on a wooden bench, Riam pulled out a small sketchbook and a silver-inked pen.
Carefully, he traced the sacred yantra onto a blank page.
The energy within him, cultivated over years of training, flowed slowly from his core to his fingertips.
The symbol glimmered faintly under the afternoon sun.
Riam closed his eyes, inhaling deeply in the Ling Lom style, feeling the calming power of the wind elemental energy weaving within him once more.
A mocking voice pierced the air:
"Will monsters like this even find a place among us?"
A tall, muscular boy called out from a nearby group.
Riam opened his eyes to see two boys—one stocky and broad-shouldered, the other lean and sneering—staring at him mockingly.
They laughed and made gestures, trying to bait him.
"I heard everyone from Payuhakrit village worships their tattoos," the taller boy sneered, raising his voice so others could hear.
"Show us what that magic ink of yours can really do!"
Laughter spread across the courtyard like a cold breeze rustling through dry leaves.
Riam felt a jolt of anger in his chest, but he kept his gaze calm and unfazed.
Inside, however, humiliation dripped slowly into his heart like cold rain.
"Come on, show us!" shouted the stocky boy, waving mockingly.
Both boys stood up and removed their dark jackets, revealing their chests, challenging Riam to react.
Students nearby began circling, sensing a fight.
The taller boy smirked and nudged his friend, whispering loud enough for Riam to hear.
Still seated, Riam tightened his grip on the sleeve of his shirt but remained silent.
A faint, bitter smile played on his lips.
He steadied his breathing and grounded his body firmly, mentally running through the Ling Lom techniques he'd practiced that morning.
Just then, the school bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.
The two bullies exchanged glances, shrugged, and laughed uproariously.
They hadn't provoked Riam into fighting—but in their eyes, even that was a victory.
Their mocking voices faded as the crowd dispersed.
Riam exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed away.
But deep inside, anger still burned.
He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, remembering the restraint his master had taught him.
As he sat alone again, the wind stirred gently around him.
He practiced breathing with the wind, allowing it to soothe the anger inside him.
A small smile returned to his face—those mocking words could not shake the faith rooted deep within him.
A gentle voice called out, breaking his meditation.
"Riam, the next class is starting. Let's go."
It was a long-haired girl from his village, smiling warmly at him.
"You handled that well," she added kindly. "I heard them teasing you about the Ling Lom. I'm proud you didn't lose your temper."
Riam nodded and offered her a grateful smile.
"It's nothing," he said calmly. "You practice Ling Lom too? We should train together sometime."
Her presence eased the tension in his heart.
As they returned to the classroom together, Riam took his seat by the window and gazed outside.
For the first time, he tasted the bitterness of hatred.
Yet as the soft wind caressed his face, he found strength again.
He picked up his
diary and scribbled a simple line:
"Whenever the wind blows, I will remain still."