The void around Bolt pulsed with stillness. He could feel every breath echo in his chest, every beat of his heart amplified by the silence. The War God's towering form radiated light, a brilliance both divine and terrifying.
Bolt's throat went dry. "W–what news?" His own voice sounded small, like a whisper swallowed by eternity.
The War God's eyes narrowed, unreadable. "Both good and bad. You must listen well, Warborn."
Bolt's fists clenched at the title, his gut tightening. Good and bad? His body trembled—fear of what he was about to hear, dread of what it might cost.
The War God finally spoke.
"The good news first. When you next face Kairos—no, what he has become—you will awaken 25% of your true power."
Bolt's eyes widened. Twenty-five percent? That was beyond anything he could imagine. He had struggled to wield even eight percent, and already the strain was enough to break his body. To leap that far…
"Twenty-five…?" Bolt whispered. "That would make me—"
The War God's voice thundered. "Far stronger. Strong enough to stand against his corrupted form, to wound the Abyssal Monarch's handpicked right arm. It is a power you will not reach by choice. It will only unlock in the fire of battle. When death surrounds you. When hope has all but vanished."
The words filled Bolt with both relief and dread. Relief that he would grow stronger. Dread at the cost of unlocking that strength.
Bolt swallowed hard. "And the bad news…?"
The War God's gaze darkened, shadows rippling behind the glow of his armor. His words were slow, heavy, and merciless.
"You cannot win without loss. Celestial Tempest will not survive this whole."
Bolt's blood turned to ice.
The War God continued: "At least one of your comrades must fall, perhaps more. If fortune favors you, you will remain five. If fortune deserts you, you may remain only four."
Bolt's chest constricted, the breath leaving his lungs. "What? No… no! They're my friends! My family! They trusted me—"
"—And they will die for you."
The words cut like a blade.
Bolt staggered back, shaking his head violently. "No! I won't let it happen! I'll protect them, all of them. Akane, Aether, Sylva, Darian, Damian, Ren, Valea, Kaori—they've fought, bled, and risked everything. They don't deserve this fate!"
The War God's gaze softened only slightly, but his voice remained absolute. "Deserving has nothing to do with fate. The Abyssal Monarch is not an enemy who allows victories without sacrifice. To fight him is to pay in blood."
Bolt's knees buckled, his body trembling under the weight of inevitability. He felt sick, his stomach twisting. The idea of seeing one of his friends die—worse, knowing it had to happen—was unbearable.
He clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. "There has to be another way. There has to be—"
"There is none."
The War God's words struck like thunder. The void around them cracked with his voice, stars flickering in and out as if reality itself bent under his truth.
Then the War God took a step closer, his radiance burning so bright that Bolt could hardly look at him.
"But listen well, Bolt. Amidst this trial, you will grow. Before that day comes, your training will raise you to fifteen percent mastery. It will not be easy. You will bleed. You will break. But you must endure."
Bolt's eyes lifted, glassy with unshed tears. "Fifteen… and then twenty-five in battle."
"Yes."
The War God's expression shifted—no longer purely stern, but almost… proud. "Know this: every percent of your growth is not just power. It is destiny clawing its way through your veins. You are not merely the Elemental Warborn. You are the balance that will tip the scales."
The void trembled, lightning crackling in the distance. Bolt's heart raced at the words, but his stomach still churned at the looming cost.
The War God's tone lowered, almost solemn. "At some time, I may reward you—should you prove yourself worthy. But know this, Bolt: a reward from me is never without burden. For each gift you claim , you will carry its weight until death."
Bolt inhaled sharply, unsure if it was a promise or a warning.
The War God raised a hand, and for a moment the void illuminated with flashes of memory—Bolt's first clash with Kairos, the storm at the Academy, the fractured ruins where the Abyssal Monarch had stirred.
"You must realize where it all started," the War God said, his voice low but piercing. "The answers you seek, the truth of this madness, lies there. The beginning will guide the end."
Bolt's brow furrowed. "Where it all started…? You mean—?"
But the War God did not answer. His image began to fracture, fragments of light breaking away into the void. The ground rumbled beneath Bolt's feet as the presence began to fade.
"Prepare yourself, Warborn," the War God's voice echoed, softer now but still absolute. "Prepare your heart. Prepare your blade. And prepare to sacrifice."
Bolt reached out desperately. "Wait! Tell me—who will die? Please—if I know, I can stop it, I can—"
But the War God was already gone.
The void collapsed.
Darkness consumed him.
Bolt shot up from the academy bed where he had collapsed after the battle, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his face. His heart thundered like a drum.
Fifteen percent through training. Twenty-five percent in battle.And one of them… one of them would die.
He looked at the faces of his comrades—Akane sleeping in a chair beside him, Aether sharpening his blade in silence, Sylva watching the ruined skyline through the window.
His throat tightened.
Which one will it be?
He buried his face in his hands, the War God's words echoing in his mind like chains tightening around his soul.
Bolt stares at his sleeping team, his heart sinking with dread as the War God's voice reverberates in his skull:
"At least one must fall. At most… four."