The training grounds were silent. Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the kind that made the air feel heavy, suffocating. Every student present had frozen in place, their eyes locked onto Bolt Ashborn and the cloaked figure standing before him.
But Bolt barely noticed them.
"I've finally found you, Warborn."
The words hit him like a lightning strike.
His body stiffened, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Only the War God had ever called him that.
A murmur rippled through the gathered students.
"Did he just say… Warborn?"
"No way. That's just a myth."
"He must be mistaken… right?"
For years, the Legend of the Warborn had been nothing more than a story—a tale whispered in history classes, a rumor passed down in hushed voices. A being of immense power, chosen by the gods, said to wield the force of every element.
But no one actually believed it was real.
Until now.
Akane, Darian, Aether, Sylva, and Kairos stood behind Bolt, their postures tense.
"Who the hell are you?" Akane demanded, her crimson flames flickering to life in her palms.
The cloaked figure chuckled softly. "Ah… you've surrounded yourself with allies. That won't change your fate, Warborn."
Bolt clenched his fists. Who was this person? How did they know about him?
Darian took a step forward, his fists wrapped in hardened rock. "Listen, buddy, you just wrecked our training grounds, and that's gonna cost you. So unless you wanna get your ass kicked, start talking."
The figure tilted their head slightly. "You don't even understand, do you?"
Before anyone could react, the figure vanished.
And reappeared inches from Bolt.
A gasp rippled through the students.
Bolt barely had time to react before a hand gripped his throat.
He was lifted off the ground, his vision spinning.
"You're still incomplete," the figure murmured. "A mere fragment of what you were meant to be."
With a flick of their wrist, they hurled Bolt through the air.
Bolt smashed through three stone walls, his body skidding across the courtyard floor. The crowd gasped in shock.
The strongest factions in the academy had tried to recruit Bolt—everyone knew he was powerful. But this… this was on a different level.
Yet, Bolt was already getting back up, lightning crackling in his fingertips.
"You're gonna regret that," he growled.
The cloaked figure remained unimpressed. "Then show me. Show me the power of the Warborn."
The murmurs around them grew louder.
"He's really the Warborn…?"
"Is that even possible?"
"What if it's true?"
Bolt ignored them. He surged forward, his body becoming a blur. He snapped his fingers, sending a bolt of pure lightning streaking through the air.
But the figure was gone.
Before Bolt could react, a hand slammed into his chest.
The impact sent him flying again, but this time, he twisted midair, slamming his foot into the ground to stop his momentum.
The figure appeared in front of him again.
"You're wasting your potential."
Then, before Bolt could react, they pressed a palm against his forehead.
The world shifted.
A Vision of the Past
Bolt gasped as the world around him melted away.
The academy was gone. His friends were gone.
Instead, he stood in the middle of a battlefield.
Mountains of bodies stretched as far as the eye could see. The ground was drenched in rivers of blood. And at the center of it all…
A warrior stood alone.
His armor was obsidian-black with golden engravings that pulsed with power. His face was obscured by a helmet, but his eyes burned with divine fury.
And in his hand, he wielded a blade that glowed with the combined force of every element.
The warrior raised his sword.
With a single swing, the sky was torn apart.
Storms raged, fire swallowed the heavens, and the earth itself shook beneath his power.
He was unstoppable.
A voice echoed across the battlefield.
"The Warborn is the champion of destruction and rebirth. A being chosen by the gods to bring the world to its knees… or save it from ruin."
Bolt's breath hitched.
He had seen powerful people before. He had even fought some. But this?
This was something beyond mortal comprehension.
And then… the warrior turned.
For the first time, Bolt saw his face beneath the helmet.
It was him.
The vision shattered.
The Awakening
Bolt gasped as reality snapped back into place. He stumbled forward, barely staying on his feet. His head throbbed like it had been split open.
The cloaked figure watched him with cold amusement.
"Do you understand now?"
Bolt's fists trembled. "That was me?"
The figure nodded. "Or at least… what you're meant to become."
The watching students were silent—too stunned to speak.
The Legend of the Warborn wasn't just a myth.
It was real.
And Bolt Ashborn was living proof.
"You were chosen by the War God for a reason," the figure continued. "You are not just an elemental wielder. You are something far greater."
Bolt's mind spun.
He had always felt different. He had always wondered why.
Now he knew.
He gritted his teeth. "Then tell me… why did I lose all of that power?"
The figure finally lowered their hood.
Beneath it was a face lined with scars, eyes burning with an ancient light.
"Because power like yours isn't given freely," they said. "It must be reclaimed."
Bolt stared at them, his heart pounding.
And then, the figure took a step closer, their voice dropping to a whisper.
"If
you do not reclaim it, Warborn… this world will not survive what's coming."
The academy fell into absolute silence.
The legend was real.
And the world was in danger.