The mornings came harsher now. Before the dawn even broke, the seniors dragged Bolt into the courtyard. His body was still battered from the day before, bruises covering his ribs, blood crusting his lips, muscles screaming with every step. He hadn't slept more than an hour, but none of that mattered. Raizen's voice rang through the air like a hammer against steel.
"On your feet, Warborn!"
Bolt rose. His legs buckled beneath him, but he forced them to stand. His lightning crackled faintly, sluggish, tired. The air was cold, biting against his skin, and yet the faint shimmer of frost around his hands never faded. It reminded him that something deep inside him had awakened, and if he could survive this training, he might finally learn to control it.
The first strike came without warning. One of the seniors, a broad-shouldered fighter named Veylan, slammed his palm into Bolt's chest with enough force to send him flying into the stone wall. Pain erupted through his body as the wall cracked around him, dust falling like rain.
"Too slow!" Veylan barked.
Bolt coughed blood and forced himself upright. Sparks jumped across his arms, flickering weakly. He took one step, then another, charging forward. He ducked under the next strike and swung his fist, lightning lacing his knuckles, connecting with Veylan's ribs. The blow barely made the man flinch.
"Better," Veylan muttered, before bringing his elbow down across Bolt's shoulder. Bone cracked, and Bolt collapsed to his knees, biting back a scream.
Raizen's voice cut through the haze of pain. "You think lightning alone will save you? You think fire alone will protect you? You carry more inside you, Vega—prove it!"
Bolt gasped, pressing his palm to the ground. The earth was cold. The air around him shimmered. He forced himself to focus, to reach deeper, past the pain, past the exhaustion. The frost spread from his fingertips, creeping along the ground in jagged shards. Steam hissed as water condensed around him, droplets swirling with the sparks of lightning.
The seniors stepped back slightly, watching.
Bolt's eyes burned as he rose again. The pain hadn't left—his ribs screamed, his shoulder throbbed—but his body no longer moved only with instinct. The frost on the ground followed his steps, his fists sparking with lightning wrapped in water's flowing current, edged with shards of ice.
He lunged forward again. This time, when Veylan struck, Bolt caught his arm, lightning surging down to numb the muscles, ice crawling across the man's skin. Veylan grunted in surprise as frost spread over his forearm, slowing him for just an instant. Bolt twisted, driving his knee upward, sparks and frost exploding together in a burst that forced the senior back a step.
It wasn't victory, but it was progress.
"Good!" Raizen's voice boomed, though his eyes were merciless. "Again!"
The drills continued. They slammed Bolt into the dirt, shattered his defenses, pushed him until his vision blurred and his body felt like lead. Every time he fell, they demanded he rise. Every time he faltered, they struck harder. The training was not designed to teach—it was designed to break. And yet, Bolt refused to break.
Hours bled together. The sun climbed high and sank again, but Bolt was still in the courtyard. Sweat drenched his body, mingled with blood, his breaths ragged and uneven. His team—Akane, Aether, Ren, Valea, Sylva, Damian, Darian, Kaori—watched from the edge of the yard, unable to interfere. Their fists were clenched, their faces pale, but none of them spoke. They knew this was Bolt's path.
Finally, Raizen stepped forward. His iron body gleamed in the fading sunlight, his fists wrapped in aura so dense it rippled the air around him. "Your lightning burns. Your fire rages. But power without control is nothing but noise. Show me you can bind them."
Bolt's legs trembled as he raised his fists. Sparks surged down one arm, frost crystallized across the other. He tried to pull them together, but the elements clashed violently, the fire sparking uncontrollably, the ice cracking apart. His body jolted as the backlash burned across his skin, searing pain lancing through his chest.
He dropped to his knees, gasping, smoke rising from his arms.
"Pathetic," one senior spat. "He'll tear himself apart before he learns."
Raizen didn't move. His voice was steady, cold. "Again."
Bolt's head lifted, his eyes burning with defiance. He clenched his fists and tried once more. Lightning and frost crackled together, unstable, surging wildly. He gritted his teeth, focusing harder, pressing deeper into the storm inside him. For a brief moment, the sparks softened, the frost steadied, and the two danced together.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't stable. But it was progress.
He staggered forward, fists raised, and swung at Raizen. The iron-bodied master blocked the blow easily, but his eyes flickered with faint approval as a thin sheen of frost clung to his arm where Bolt struck.
"You're learning," Raizen said.
Bolt collapsed again, his body unable to endure more. His chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged gasps. His fists bled from the strain, his bones ached, his vision swam. And yet, even lying broken on the ground, his eyes still burned with the fire of resolve.
Raizen looked down at him for a long moment before finally speaking. "You're still weak. But you're not wasting my time. Come back tomorrow. Earlier."
Bolt's lips curved into the faintest grin, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. "…I'll be here."
The seniors left him on the courtyard floor, too battered to move. Celestial Tempest rushed to his side, Akane dropping to her knees and grabbing his arm. "Idiot," she hissed, her voice sharp but her eyes wet. "You'll kill yourself at this rate."
"Maybe," Bolt rasped, lightning flickering faintly across his chest as frost crackled at his fingertips. "But if that's the price to protect you all… then it's worth it."
Silence fell among them. The team looked at him—bruised, bloody, and grinning through pain—and something shifted. His words weren't just a vow anymore. They were proof. Proof that Bolt Vega would endure anything, even death itself, if it meant keeping them alive.
The night air grew colder as the moon rose above the academy ruins. Bolt lay there, staring at the stars, his body shattered but his spirit unyielding. For the first time, he felt the faint hum of harmony between his lightning and frost, a whisper of what he might one day achieve.
It wasn't enough yet. But it was the beg
inning.
And beginnings, he thought, were always born from pain.