One Year Later
Academy Training Complex – Morning
The discharge was perfect.
Too perfect.
Kurogane watched from the observation platform as the student—Kira Veylis, sixteen years old, lightning affinity—executed a precision strike that should've been impossible for her skill level.
Blue-white arc traced through air.
Connected with target.
Dispersed.
Clean. Controlled. Textbook.
But wrong.
Something about the resonance felt off.
Lightning hummed inside Kurogane.
Not alarmed.
Curious.
Did you feel that?
Yes.
The discharge was—
Too efficient.
Like it bypassed normal resistance.
Like reality bent slightly to accommodate it.
Kira landed gracefully.
Smiled.
Proud of herself.
The other students applauded.
Twelve of them.
All lightning-aligned.
All born in the past eighteen months.
The modification's children.
Kurogane descended to the arena floor.
"Good form," he said. "But excessive power."
Kira's smile faltered.
"Excessive? I used exactly the amount you taught—"
"You used correct intention," Kurogane interrupted. "But output exceeded input. By approximately forty percent."
The students exchanged glances.
"That's... impossible," one said. "Energy can't be created—"
"It wasn't created," Kurogane replied. "It was drawn from somewhere else."
He looked at Kira.
"Show me your hands."
She extended them.
Palms up.
Nothing unusual visible.
But when Kurogane placed his hand near hers—not touching, just proximity—
Lightning responded.
His and hers.
Resonating.
Amplifying.
Creating feedback loop.
He withdrew quickly.
That's new, lightning said.
Very new.
"Have you noticed," Kurogane asked Kira, "that your discharges feel easier recently?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"For about three weeks," she admitted. "I thought I was just improving—"
"You are improving," Kurogane said. "But not through training. Through resonance. You're unconsciously drawing power from the modified Seal."
Silence.
"Is that... bad?" another student asked.
"I don't know yet," Kurogane replied honestly.
His slate chimed.
Priority alert.
He checked it.
URGENT: NORTHERN PILLAR ANOMALY DETECTED
STABILITY FLUCTUATION: 87% → 81%
REQUESTING IMMEDIATE ASSESSMENT
Lightning coiled.
That's not coincidence.
No.
Kurogane looked at the students.
"Training suspended," he said. "Return to quarters. Practice meditation only—no active discharge until further notice."
"What's wrong?" Kira asked.
"I don't know," Kurogane replied. "But I'm going to find out."
He left quickly.
Students murmuring behind him.
Worried. Uncertain.
He didn't blame them.
He felt the same.
Council Chamber – 1100 Hours
All five representatives present.
Emergency session.
No preamble.
Masako activated the display.
Northern Pillar projection appeared.
The five-element integration—visible as braided streams of power—showed disruption.
Lightning thread pulsing irregularly.
Not failing.
Fluctuating.
"Started six hours ago," Masako reported. "Initially minor. Now accelerating."
"Cause?" Irian asked.
"Unknown," she replied. "No external attacks. No environmental changes. No physical damage to the Pillar site."
"Internal degradation?" Raien suggested.
"Possible," Masako admitted. "But projected degradation timeline was decades. Not one year."
Seris leaned forward.
"What about increased usage?" she asked. "Lightning affinity births are up 340% since modification. Active users increased proportionally. Could collective draw be stressing the system?"
Kurogane felt cold.
"How many lightning users currently active?" he asked.
An analyst responded.
"Two hundred seventeen confirmed. Sixty-three in advanced training. One hundred fifty-four in basic development. Average discharge frequency: 4.7 times per day."
Kurogane did the math.
217 users × 4.7 discharges × 365 days = ~372,000 annual lightning manifestations.
Before modification: maybe 50 users total. Most suppressed. Discharge frequency near zero.
"We've increased lightning usage by three orders of magnitude," he said quietly. "In one year."
"Is that a problem?" Valen asked from his observation position.
"It might be," Kurogane replied. "The modification integrated lightning into the Seal. But we didn't account for exponential usage increase. The system might not be designed for this load."
"Then we reduce usage," Akihiko said. "Restrict training. Limit discharges—"
"That's suppression," Seris interrupted. "We spent 12,000 years suppressing lightning. We're not going back."
"Then what do you propose?" Akihiko challenged. "Watch the Pillar destabilize?"
"We investigate," Kurogane said. "Before panicking. One Pillar showing fluctuation doesn't mean system failure. Could be localized. Could be temporary. Could be... adaptation."
"Adaptation to what?" Masako asked.
"To increased usage," Kurogane replied. "Systems under stress either break or evolve. We need to determine which is happening."
Irian nodded.
"I agree. Investigate before reacting. We have time—81% stability is still viable."
"For how long?" Valen pressed.
"Unknown," Masako admitted. "But degradation rate suggests... weeks. Maybe less if it accelerates."
Kurogane stood.
"I'll go to Northern Pillar," he said. "Assess directly. If it's resonance issue, I can regulate it. If it's structural—"
"If it's structural," Masako finished, "we have bigger problems."
"Yes."
The Council exchanged glances.
"Approved," Valen said. "Depart immediately. Take support team. Report every six hours."
"And if stability drops below 70%?" Raien asked.
Silence.
No one had answer.
Because below 70%, the modified Seal entered unknown territory.
Might stabilize.
Might cascade.
Might fail completely.
"Then we reconvene," Valen said finally. "And make hard decisions. Again."
The meeting adjourned.
Kurogane moved toward the exit.
Masako intercepted him.
"Be careful," she said quietly. "The Pillars are different now. Modified. We don't fully understand what we created."
"I know."
"And if this is the beginning of systemic failure—"
"Then we find solution," Kurogane interrupted. "Like before. We don't give up because it's hard."
Masako almost smiled.
"You've become optimistic," she said.
"I've become responsible," Kurogane corrected. "For what we created. All of us."
He left.
Lightning hummed anxiously.
Northern Pillar.
Where it all started.
Where Brann held the line.
Where modification began.
Now potentially where it fails.
Are we worried?
Kurogane didn't answer.
Because honest answer was—
Yes.
Very worried.
But worry didn't prevent action.
It informed it.
Transport Bay – 1200 Hours
The transport prep was fast.
Priority deployment.
Minimal crew.
Kurogane. Raishin. Three specialists.
One earth-aligned. One water-aligned. One monitoring technician.
They lifted within thirty minutes.
Smooth ascent.
Clear skies.
Kurogane sat in silence.
Reviewing data.
Northern Pillar stability logs.
Something caught his attention.
The fluctuations weren't random.
They pulsed.
Rhythmically.
Like heartbeat.
Or breathing.
Or—
"It's communicating," he said aloud.
Everyone turned.
"What?" Raishin asked.
"The Pillar," Kurogane explained. "The fluctuations. They're not degradation. They're... signal."
He showed them the pattern.
Regular pulses. Consistent intervals. Too organized to be decay.
"Signal from whom?" the water specialist asked.
Kurogane looked at the data.
At the pattern.
At the rhythm that felt familiar somehow.
"I don't know," he said.
But lightning stirred.
And deep inside—
In the place where modification had connected him to all four Pillars—
Where five elements had briefly merged—
Where consciousness had touched something ancient—
He felt it.
Awareness.
Not his.
Not the Seal's.
Something else.
Something that had been waiting.
For exactly this moment.
The Darkness Emperor, lightning whispered.
He's awake.
And he wants to talk.
Kurogane closed his eyes.
Of course.
The old revolutionary had warned.
The Emperor had allowed modification.
Permitted integration.
Waited patiently.
And now—
One year later—
With two hundred new lightning users—
With five-element integration established—
With the world dependent on modified Seal—
He was making his move.
Not dramatic.
Not violent.
Just... present.
Patient.
Inevitable.
The transport continued toward Northern Pillar.
Toward fluctuating stability.
Toward answers.
Toward conversation Kurogane had been avoiding.
For one year.
Since the modification.
Since the voice that said:
Well done, descendant.
I'll be watching.
Now apparently—
Watching wasn't enough.
"ETA forty minutes," the pilot announced.
Kurogane exhaled slowly.
Forty minutes.
Until he learned what the Emperor wanted.
What the fluctuations meant.
What price modification actually carried.
Because nothing was free.
Especially not transformation.
Especially not when it involved something imprisoned for 12,000 years.
Lightning coiled tighter.
Are we ready?
Kurogane didn't know.
But ready or not—
They were about to find out.
What they'd actually created.
When they'd modified the Seal.
And whether salvation—
Had just been delayed apocalypse.