The sun rose over the battered grounds of the Academy, its light spilling across broken walls and shattered courtyards. The once-proud heart of learning and power was now a scarred battlefield, half of its towers reduced to rubble by Kairos's final act of cruelty. Students and teachers alike moved through the ruins with grim faces, carrying stone, timber, and hope in trembling hands. Rebuilding had begun, but the weight of loss hung over everyone.
Celestial Tempest stood apart, gathered near the edge of the training yard where the stones were still scorched black. They were silent, each one carrying the burden of failure in their own way. Bolt's lightning flickered faintly around his arms, restless, unstable, echoing the turmoil inside his chest. His mind had not rested since that day. He had seen Kairos's corrupted form, had felt the overwhelming despair of facing something beyond their power. He had sworn to protect the Academy even in death, but those words gnawed at him now. What good was a vow if his strength was not enough to fulfill it?
He clenched his fists so tightly that blood ran down his palms. Akane noticed first, stepping closer, her fiery eyes narrowing. "You're hurting yourself again," she said softly, the usual blaze in her voice replaced with concern. "What are you planning, Bolt?"
Her question made the others look up. Aether tilted his head, his calm eyes sharp, waiting. Ren rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, silent but ready to speak if Bolt hesitated. Even Kaori, who had only recently joined their ranks, could feel the storm in his spirit energy, restless and burning.
Bolt finally exhaled, sparks jumping between his fingers. "We're not enough," he admitted, his voice low but steady. "Not as we are now. If we face Kairos again… if we face anything like that again… we'll be crushed." His eyes burned as he raised his head. "So I've decided. I'm going to the seniors. I'll ask them to train me."
The words fell like thunder. Damian scowled, stepping forward, his shadow curling uneasily around his feet. "You'd really go to them? After everything they said? After they mocked us when the academy burned?" His tone was sharp, but beneath it lay the sting of pride.
"Yes," Bolt said, the lightning in his voice sharper than steel. "I don't care what they said. I don't care if I have to crawl or bleed. Pride won't save the Academy. Strength will."
Ren nodded slowly, though his knuckles whitened on his blade. "Then go. If that's what it takes, go. We'll stand behind you."
Bolt turned toward the training courtyard where the senior factions drilled. They were older, seasoned warriors who had been away when the Abyssal Warborn struck. Their eyes followed Bolt as he walked, some cold, some curious, others openly disdainful. Murmurs rippled among them as he stopped before Raizen—the leader of one of the most respected factions, known for his mastery of martial discipline and the iron body technique that made him nearly untouchable in combat.
Raizen's towering frame cast a shadow over him as he crossed his arms. His voice rumbled like a hammer against stone. "What do you want, boy?"
Bolt met his gaze head-on. His body trembled, whether from exhaustion or tension he wasn't sure, but his eyes burned with unyielding fire. "I want you to train me. Push me. Break me if you have to. I need to be stronger. Because next time Kairos comes, I have to be ready."
The courtyard fell silent. Every senior warrior paused to watch. Some smirked, some shook their heads. A few even laughed under their breath. But Raizen studied him with narrowed eyes, measuring not just the words but the weight behind them.
"You want me to train you," he said at last, his tone sharp. "You—who could barely stand before a corrupted Warborn."
Bolt's fists tightened, sparks snapping in the air. "Yes."
"You're willing to die under our fists?"
"Yes."
"You're willing to throw away pride, to let those you lead see you broken?"
Bolt's jaw locked. "If it means I can protect them… then yes."
For a long moment Raizen said nothing. Then he raised a hand. "Test him."
Three senior warriors moved without hesitation. One lunged forward with a spear, its tip whistling as it cut the air. Bolt barely twisted aside, the wind of the strike grazing his cheek. A second came with fists wrapped in burning aura, slamming into his ribs. Pain exploded in his side and blood sprayed from his lips. A third's kick struck his chest, sending him sprawling onto the ground with a sickening crack.
The crowd didn't cheer or jeer—they simply watched. Bolt coughed, his chest heaving, sparks crawling across his skin like restless serpents. Slowly, he forced himself to his feet.
"Again," he rasped.
They didn't hold back. The spear flashed, the fists struck, the kick returned. Each blow left him more battered, his body crying out for rest. He staggered, swayed, bled. But he never stayed down. Every time he fell, he dragged himself back up, his lightning flickering brighter with each return.
Finally, Raizen himself stepped forward. His iron fist collided with Bolt's lightning shield, shattering it in a storm of sparks. The shockwave threw Bolt across the courtyard. He crashed into the stone, the air leaving his lungs in a violent gasp. For a moment he lay there, his vision spinning.
But then something strange happened. The air around him chilled. Frost spread across the ground beneath his fingertips. Shards of jagged ice cracked into being, glowing faintly with unstable power. Droplets of water condensed in the air, swirling in chaotic patterns, mingling with the sparks of blue lightning still dancing across his arms.
The seniors froze. "Ice?" one whispered.
"No—water and ice," another muttered.
"Impossible…"
Celestial Tempest watched in awe. Valea's eyes widened as the light around her shimmered. "He's awakening… more of his true power."
Bolt pushed himself to his feet, ice and lightning coiling together across his arms, his body trembling but his spirit unbroken. His eyes burned with fury and resolve as he faced Raizen once more.
"I won't stop," he said hoarsely, his voice laced with storm and frost. "I can't stop. If you want me dead, you'll have to kill me."
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, slowly, Raizen's stern face cracked into something rare—a faint smile.
"Good," he said, lowering his iron fists. "You're not just a boy anymore. You're a warrior." He extended his massive hand and pulled Bolt to his feet. "From today forward, you'll train with us. But hear me well, Vega—our training does not break the weak. It kills them."
Bolt's lips curved into a faint grin, blood dripping down his chin as sparks and frost curled around his fingers. "Then I'll live."
The courtyard shifted. The seniors who once sneered no longer mocked. Instead, heads dipped in acknowledgment. For the first time, Celestial Tempest was no longer dismissed as children playing at war. They were seen as comrades—warriors with a leader who would bleed, crawl, and rise again no matter how many times he was struck down.
As Bolt returned to his team, every inch of his body bruised and bloodied, he felt something new ignite within him. Not just power, not just ice and water stirring awake inside him, but recognition. A promise that his vow to protect the Academy, even in death, had not been empty.
Because now, he wasn't training alone. He was being forged.