The wind howled through the clearing, the trees bending under the force of the gusts as Bolt stood in the center, drenched in sweat. His body was trembling, his arms shaking with the effort to control the elements that surged within him. Fire flickered in one hand while water splashed in the other, a delicate balance he could barely maintain. Every movement felt like a struggle, as though the powers were alive and determined to escape his grasp.
Valeon stood nearby, watching with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "You're too tense," he said. "Relax. The elements can't be controlled through force alone."
"I'm trying!" Bolt grunted, frustration evident in his voice. His body ached, and the weight of his powers felt unbearable. He didn't understand how everyone else seemed to handle their abilities with ease. They had a single element to control, something manageable. But for him, it was every element. Fire. Water. Earth. Lightning. Wind. He couldn't find his center, couldn't find balance. The power threatened to overwhelm him.
"Try harder." Valeon's voice was cold but not unkind. "Or we'll never get anywhere."
Bolt clenched his jaw and willed the elements to settle, but the moment he did, his hands exploded with lightning, sending a surge of energy through the ground. The air crackled, the charge from the storm cloud above searing through his body. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath as the energy coursed through him uncontrollably. The storm was wild, uncontrollable, as though his very soul was at war with itself.
Valeon's face tightened with concern. "Control, Bolt. It's all about control."
"How do you expect me to control this?" Bolt snapped, his voice tinged with panic. "How do you expect me to be ready for—"
"Ready for what?" Valeon interrupted, stepping closer. His eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze almost burning. "For a world that's falling apart? For power you didn't ask for but now must wield? For your destiny as the Warborn?"
Bolt's breath hitched at the name. It was a title that haunted him, one he couldn't shake off no matter how hard he tried. The Warborn. The chosen. The one marked by the elements themselves. A curse or a gift, depending on how you looked at it.
Valeon's words struck a chord, but instead of soothing him, they only deepened the unease in his gut. Was he truly ready for this? Was he ready to wield a power that had been forced upon him?
Bolt stood up slowly, wiping sweat from his brow. The raw energy of the storm hung in the air, still crackling with untamed force. He clenched his fists, the fire and water swirling in his hands. "I'm not ready," he muttered to himself, but he knew it wasn't true. He wasn't ready, but he would be. For his faction. For the people who were relying on him. He had to be.
"Not ready for what?" Valeon asked again, his voice calm but sharp. "The truth?"
Bolt's eyes shot to Valeon's, narrowing. "The truth about what?"
Valeon's gaze shifted to the sky, as if contemplating how much to reveal. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. "That power isn't just given. It's taken."
Bolt blinked. "Taken?"
Valeon's eyes flickered with a strange, unreadable light. "You think the Warborn are born by chance? You think your power comes from nothing? No, Bolt. You are the result of something far older than any of us. A prophecy. A bloodline cursed and blessed by the gods."
Bolt's pulse quickened. This was the first time Valeon had spoken like this, like he knew more than he was letting on. His heart pounded in his chest as he demanded, "What do you mean? What bloodline? Who are you?"
Valeon remained silent, his gaze distant. Then he shook his head slowly. "You're not ready for all of it. Not yet." He turned and started walking back toward the trees, leaving Bolt standing in the center of the clearing, struggling to make sense of his words.
---
As the days passed, Bolt's mind wandered back to that moment. Valeon's cryptic words, his insistence that Bolt wasn't ready for the truth, gnawed at him. What was the truth? What bloodline? What prophecy? And why was he the one burdened with all of this power?
His training with Valeon continued, but it felt like a distraction. A diversion. Valeon would make him practice controlling one element at a time, forcing him to focus on fire, then water, then wind. But each time Bolt gained control over one, another element would slip beyond his reach.
In the evenings, Bolt found himself alone, sitting by the window in his quarters, staring out at the moonlit sky. His thoughts drifted to the past, to memories of his family. The ones who abandoned him without a second thought.
---
The first memory was a soft, peaceful one—his mother combing his hair, smiling down at him as he played with his sibling in their old home. Life had been normal, or at least it seemed that way. But then the tension had begun to build. His powers, dormant at the time, had begun to surface. At first, it was nothing—small bursts of energy, barely noticeable. But then, when the Great Surge had happened, everything had changed. And with that change came fear.
His parents had told him they were scared. They said he was dangerous, that the power he harbored was too much for anyone to handle. And one day, without warning, they had disappeared, leaving only a note and an empty house. Bolt had never seen them again.
He had been alone in the world, a child with powers he didn't understand, abandoned by the ones who were supposed to protect him.
---
The sound of footsteps in the hall broke him from his thoughts. Bolt stood, wiping away the tear that had escaped his eye. He didn't let himself be weak. He wouldn't let himself be weak.
He turned to see Valeon standing in the doorway, his face unreadable. "We're starting again tomorrow. And this time, it's different," Valeon said.
Bolt nodded, but his mind was still on the past. The weight of the truth, whatever it was, hung over him. He was the Warborn. But what did that really mean? Why had his family abandoned him? And why did Valeon seem to know more than he was telling?
---
Later that night, Bolt's mind wandered back to the vision he had during his last training session with Valeon. The vision of his family kneeling before a mysterious figure. The figure's face had been hidden, but the voice… the voice had been unmistakable.
"The Warborn will come to pass, and your bloodline will pay the price."
The words echoed in his mind, haunting him. What did this mean? Why was his family involved in this prophecy? And who was that figure in his vision?
As Bolt lay in his bed, the weight of it all threatened to crush him. There was more at play than just his powers. More than just the title of Warborn. Something deeper. Something darker. And the closer he got to the truth, the more he realized that no matter how hard he tried, there would always be one
question he couldn't answer:
Who was pulling the strings behind it all?