Beyond the ruins of Future Pride, where the neon haze no longer reached, Ronak built a sanctuary out of silence. No machines. No media. No voices to remind him of what he'd lost. Only the whisper of wind, the pulse of the earth beneath him, and the flicker of flame that still dared to burn.
He no longer sought to control the elements — he sought to understand them.
Each day began before dawn. Barefoot, he would stand beneath waterfalls that roared like thunder, letting the icy torrents strike his skin until his thoughts went still. Water taught him calm — how even relentless force could bring peace if it learned to flow.
By noon, he would kneel in the dust of the old plains, hands pressed to the soil. He listened to the hum of roots beneath, the heartbeat of a living world he had nearly destroyed. Earth taught him patience — how power without grounding crumbles like sand.
At dusk, he meditated before the horizon, watching the last rays of sunlight scatter across the clouds. Light taught him purpose — it shone not to boast, but to guide.
And when night fell, he faced his oldest teacher: Fire.
He sat in the dark, surrounded by flames that danced around him in a perfect circle. Once, they would've raged uncontrollably, mirroring his pain. But now, they moved in harmony — quiet, rhythmic, alive but not consuming. He stared into the heart of one small flame, seeing himself reflected in its glow.
In that moment, something within him shifted.
He whispered softly to the darkness,
"The flame was never my curse... it was my mirror."
It wasn't the power that had corrupted him — it was the chaos inside. The fire had always shown him who he truly was. Broken when he doubted, wild when he raged, bright when he hoped.
For the first time since the plasma storm, Ronak smiled — not with pride, but with peace.
He breathed deeply, his aura steadying. A soft golden-white light began to radiate from his skin, not searing but serene. The energy pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat — the ALL IN ONE now harmonized within him, not warring for control.
The water no longer resisted him. The earth welcomed his steps. The air carried his presence like a song. And the fire bowed — not to fear, but to respect.
When he opened his eyes, they glowed with a calm brilliance — light and flame interwoven.
He rose, the night bending softly to his presence. The stars reflected in his aura, and for the first time, the energy around him didn't rage — it sang.
Ignis was no longer a weapon, no longer a fallen hero.
He was balance — the meeting point of every element, every emotion, every purpose he'd once lost.
As he stepped forward into the wind, a single spark of golden fire trailed behind him, forming a faint symbol in the night sky — the phoenix reborn, wings wide, glowing like dawn.
The world didn't yet know it...
But the flame had returned.
And this time, it would not burn for destruction — it would light the path to redemption.