The assignment came as a surprise to everyone, including Aetos.
"You want me to teach?" He stared at Master Zephyrus in disbelief. "But I'm only eleven!"
"And already performing techniques that challenge twenty-year-olds," Zephyrus replied calmly. "The beginning students need instruction in basic breathing forms. Your unconventional understanding might reach students who struggle with traditional methods."
"But what if I teach them wrong?"
"Then Brother Anemoi will correct you quite forcefully, I'm sure. Consider it part of your education—we learn by teaching."
Which was how Aetos found himself standing before eight nervous seven-year-olds, feeling more intimidated than when facing Master Zephyrus's most challenging techniques.
"Um, hello," he began awkwardly. "I'm Aetos. I'll be helping with breathing exercises today."
"You're just a kid," one boy said skeptically. "Why should we listen to you?"
Fair question. Aetos thought for a moment, then smiled. "Want to see something cool?"
Without waiting for an answer, he took a deep breath. The air in the room responded immediately, creating a visible spiral that lifted papers, ruffled hair, and set wind chimes singing without touching them. He held it for a moment, then let it dissipate gently.
"I'm a kid who can do that," he said simply. "Want to learn how?"
Eight pairs of eyes went wide. Suddenly, he had their complete attention.
"Breathing is talking," Aetos began, settling into a more comfortable teaching rhythm. "Every breath is words to your element. But most people just scream—" he demonstrated with a harsh, forced exhale, "—when elements prefer whispers."
He showed them the basic pattern, but instead of the formal counting method Brother Anemoi used, he created a story.
"Breathe in like you're smelling your favourite food—slow, deep, appreciating. Hold it like you're keeping a secret—gentle but secure. Release like you're telling that secret to your best friend—steady, controlled, complete."
"That's not how Brother Anemoi teaches it," a girl named Elena pointed out.
"Brother Anemoi is excellent," Aetos agreed. "But not everyone learns the same way. He counts beats—one, two, three, four. I feel rhythms—hunger, secret, sharing. Both work. You find what works for you."
He moved among them as they practiced, offering individual guidance. Where traditional instructors might correct posture or hand position first, Aetos went straight to the essence.
"Tomas, you're trying too hard. Elements are friends, not servants. You don't order friends around."
"But how do I make it work without forcing?"
Aetos considered. "When you want to play with friends, do you grab them and drag them? Or do you invite them?"
"Invite," Tomas said slowly.
"So invite the air. Be interesting enough that it wants to play with you."
It was unorthodox. Brother Anemoi, observing from the doorway, winced at the casual anthropomorphism of elemental forces. But he couldn't argue with results. Students who had struggled for weeks suddenly showed improvement.
"My air came!" Elena squealed as a tiny breeze ruffled her hair. "It actually responded!"
"Of course it did," Aetos grinned. "You asked nicely."
Over the following weeks, his teaching assignment expanded. Word spread among struggling students that the young prodigy had different ways of explaining things. Soon, he was holding informal sessions outside regular classes.
"The earth doesn't care about your strength," he told a frustrated earth-affinity student. "It's been here millions of years. You think your muscles impress it? But it respects patience. Be more patient than stone, and stone listens."
"Fire isn't angry," he explained to another. "It's enthusiastic. Match its enthusiasm, don't try to dominate it. You ever try to control an excited puppy? Doesn't work. But play with it? Different story."
His methods drove traditional instructors to distraction. Elements weren't sentient beings with personalities. They were forces governed by natural laws and pneuma principles. But Aetos's approach worked, especially for younger students who found formal theory dry and intimidating.
"How do you know these things?" Daphne asked one evening. She'd started attending his sessions, curious about his teaching style.
"The wind tells me," Aetos said simply. "Not in words. In... feelings? Impressions? Like how you know your friend is sad without them saying anything."
"That's empathy."
"Exactly! Element empathy. Feel what they feel, want what they want, and suddenly you're not forcing anything. You're cooperating."
His greatest teaching triumph came with a student named Petra, a nine-year-old earth-affinity girl who'd made no progress in six months. She sat through classes with tears of frustration, watched others advance while she remained stuck at the most basic level.
"I'm broken," she told Aetos miserably. "Everyone else can at least make pebbles twitch. I can't even feel the earth pneuma."
"Show me how you try," Aetos requested.
Petra demonstrated—perfect posture, precise breathing, textbook hand positions. And absolutely no connection to her element.
"There's your problem," Aetos said. "You're performing a dance the earth doesn't know. Look—" He sat directly on the ground, abandoning proper meditation posture entirely. "Earth is low, heavy, patient. You're sitting like air, all straight and lifted. Try this."
He guided her to lie flat on the ground, full body contact with the stone. "Now don't breathe the formal pattern. Breathe like the mountain—slow, deep, ancient. Feel how old these stones are. They've been here since before humans existed. Match that patience."
"But Brother Anemoi says—"
"Brother Anemoi is teaching you to be a proper pneuma user. I'm teaching you to make friends with dirt. Different goals. Try it."
Petra lay on the ground, initially embarrassed by the undignified position. But as minutes passed, something shifted. Her breathing naturally slowed to match the mountain's geological patience. And for the first time, she felt it—the deep, slow pulse of earth pneuma.
A pebble rolled toward her hand without conscious command.
"I did it," she whispered, afraid to break the connection. "I actually did it!"
"You did," Aetos confirmed. "Because you stopped trying to make earth act like air and started acting like earth yourself."
Brother Anemoi confronted him after that session. "You're teaching unorthodox methods that contradict centuries of refined technique."
"I'm teaching what works," Aetos replied, trying not to sound defensive. "Petra made more progress in one session than six months of traditional instruction."
"Because you taught her shortcuts that will limit her later development. Proper posture exists for reasons—energy circulation, pneuma channel alignment, mental discipline."
"Then maybe," Aetos suggested carefully, "we teach connection first, refinement second? What good is perfect posture if you never touch your element?"
Anemoi stared at the eleven-year-old boy lecturing him on pedagogical theory. Then, surprising them both, he laughed.
"You may have a point. Discuss this with Master Zephyrus. Perhaps... perhaps some integration of methods is warranted."
That evening, Zephyrus called Aetos to his study.
"Brother Anemoi says you're revolutionising our teaching methods."
"I'm just sharing what works for me," Aetos said quickly. "I don't mean to challenge tradition—"
"Good. Because tradition exists for excellent reasons. But so does innovation. Tell me, why do you think your methods work?"
Aetos thought carefully. "Because I remember what it felt like to not understand. Masters have been doing this so long, they forget what it's like to be confused. I'm still close enough to confusion to bridge the gap."
"Wise observation. Continue your teaching, but work with Brother Anemoi to ensure your innovations complement rather than replace traditional methods. And Aetos?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Well done. A teacher who can't reach struggling students is no teacher at all. You're helping us remember that."
Walking back to his room, Aetos felt a warm glow that had nothing to do with pneuma. He'd found something unexpected in teaching—a joy different from mastering techniques or pushing limits. When Elena created her first controlled breeze, when Petra finally touched earth pneuma, when Tomas stopped fighting air and started dancing with it... their victories felt like his own.
"Maybe," he murmured to the evening wind, "this is another kind of strength. Building others up instead of just building myself up."
The wind swirled agreement, carrying the laughter of students finally understanding what had always been just out of reach. And Aetos understood something new himself—power shared multiplied rather than diminished.
He was still the storm-child, still the prodigy racing up progress charts at unprecedented speed. But now he was also a bridge, helping others find their own connections to the forces that shaped their world.
It was, he decided, a good addition to his growing collection of selves.