The orange lightning struck with the force of a god’s wrath, its blinding brilliance swallowing Grey whole.

From beyond the indigo barrier, Tear’s scream pierced the night—a raw, desperate sound that seemed to cut through even the roar of the storm. Serene collapsed to her knees beside her, her trembling hands clutching at the snow-dusted earth as tears carved hot paths down her cheeks.

It was over.

The world went silent, save for the faint crackle of fading static in the air.

Behind them, the sharp crunch of boots against frostbitten ground signaled the arrival of Keen, Brawl, and Shot. They skidded to a halt, their wide eyes locked on the storm’s aftermath. Keen’s breath caught in his throat; Brawl’s hulking frame seemed to deflate slightly as if the weight of failure had fallen upon him. Shot’s sharp gaze flicked between the glowing embers of the lightning strike and the motionless silhouette at its center.

But then… Grey moved.

He was still standing.

His ash-gray hair was wild and crackling with faint static. His silver eyes glowed with a light not entirely his own, sharp and steady beneath a layer of ash and sweat.

Serene’s tear-filled gaze locked onto him, her breath hitching as realization dawned. Some of his wounds… they’re fading. The deep puncture in his arm no longer gaped; instead, it was closing, faint threads of lightning knitting the torn flesh back together. Even the shallower cuts across his torso and face looked less raw, less severe.

Grey’s breathing was steady—almost too steady, considering what had just happened. His chest rose and fell in smooth rhythms, as if he hadn’t just been struck by the heavens themselves.

But inside, Grey understood.

The knives of green light had been unnatural—they fought against the current, pushing, twisting, forcing their paths against the natural order of the river of Will. Each attack caused ripples, disruptions he could see and predict.

But the lightning…

The lightning had flowed with the current. It wasn’t fighting the Will—it was part of it. It swam through the river like a serpent gliding through its native waters, effortless and sure.

Grey realized something profound in that moment:

Even if I had wanted to dodge it, I wouldn’t have been able to.

It wasn’t a weapon—it was a channel, a force of raw purpose, unclouded by malice or intent.

And when it struck him, it hadn’t brought agony—it had brought warmth.

The energy had surged through his body, not tearing him apart, but renewing him. His burned hand, his slashed shoulder, the deep puncture wound—all were closing, faint trails of light tracing over the damaged flesh like golden threads through a tapestry.

But there was something else.

Deep within him, past the renewed energy in his limbs and the clarity in his mind, something rumbled.

It wasn’t loud—it was faint, distant, but heavy. Like the low growl of thunder rolling across distant mountains.

The green blades still circled him, their humming chorus vibrating in the cold air.

Grey didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his arms in defense. He stood, breathing in, letting the rhythm of the current flood his senses.

When the blades dove toward him again—sharp, relentless, and hungry—he moved only slightly.

A tilt of his head.

A subtle shift of his torso.

A single step to the side.

Each movement minimized the damage, letting the blades carve shallow lines across his skin rather than tearing him apart.

And when the final blade surged at him, Grey’s hand shot out.

His palm closed around the glowing blade of Will, and once again, pain—molten and electric—flooded his senses. His fingers trembled, smoke curling from the edges of his palm as the light seared his flesh.

But Grey didn’t let go.

With a snarl torn from deep within his chest, he squeezed.

The blade fractured, light bursting from between his clenched fingers like glass under pressure. The fragments scattered, dissolving into the current and fading away into the eternal flow of the world’s Will.

Above him, the orange lightning coiled again, the storm clouds writhing in anticipation.

The crackle of energy made his hair stand on end once more. The faint glow beneath his skin intensified as his body seemed to respond to the storm itself.

Grey’s heart pounded in his chest—not from fear, but from something deeper.

His blood felt… hot.

No, not hot—violent. It surged within him like a tempest barely contained, each beat echoing with the same faint growl he had felt before.

Another bolt fell.

It struck him dead center, a blinding surge of light swallowing him whole.

Warmth flooded his chest, spreading outward to every corner of his being. His puncture wound closed further. The burns on his palm smoothed over, faint cracks of orange light glowing beneath the healing skin before fading into normalcy.

But the rumbling grew louder.

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Something was awakening inside him, something old, something vast—something that felt hungry.

Grey staggered for just a moment before planting his boots firmly against the ground.

Grey’s silver eyes flicked upward, staring into the remnants of the storm above.

The green blades continued their relentless descent, one after another. Each time, Grey caught them, shattered them, and let their light dissolve into the current of Will. His body burned with fatigue, but each strike of orange lightning renewed him, knitting together torn flesh and sealing deep wounds.

The sky began to change. The storm clouds thinned, their turbulent depths fading as though consumed, devoured by their own energy.

Only one blade remained.

The heavens trembled one last time, and the sky seemed to split open.

The Voice returned, its deep resonance shaking the air.

“You—how could a Giant control Will?!”

But something had changed. The Voice was no longer cold and omnipotent; it was enraged, its words crackling with fury. And beneath that fury lay something else—desperation.

“I will never allow you to rise. Wait until you break through again. I was arrogant today, but next time—”

The Voice wavered, fading into the wind, leaving only silence in its wake.

The final blade of green light dove toward Grey, humming with sharp intent. He caught it mid-flight, his fist closing around its blinding edge, and with a final roar, he shattered it.

The sky erupted. A final bolt of orange lightning—brighter, sharper, heavier than the ones before—descended and struck him dead center.

Something broke deep within Grey.

It wasn’t physical—it wasn’t something he could see or touch—but he felt it.

Like a dam shattering.

Energy flooded every pore, every muscle fiber, every fragment of his being. His chest heaved, his limbs trembled, but his body didn’t buckle under the pressure—it absorbed it.

If Grey could see himself through his ability, he would have recognized the glow—the same familiar orange aura that radiated from Keen and Brawl.

But this wasn’t just energy—it was something more.

Something deep within his blood stirred, as though ancient chains had broken free. He couldn’t name it, couldn’t describe it, but he felt it—a trickle of energy, faint yet steady, constantly seeping into his body from somewhere within.

His first thought was of Brawl’s orb—the strange energy it contained, how it could spare its excess, how it seemed to generate force on its own.

Now, he felt something similar.

It wasn’t just energy granted to him—it was energy created by him.

And it wasn’t stopping.

The faint rumble he had felt earlier wasn’t distant anymore. It was inside him, woven into the fabric of his very being, a low growl of power waiting to be unleashed.

The storm above had vanished. The blades were gone. The barrier had dimmed.

But Grey stood at the center of it all, his silver eyes glowing faintly in the quiet aftermath, his body trembling not with weakness, but with something new.

Something awakened.

For a long moment, no one moved. The snow settled softly over the scorched ground, and the air carried only the faint hiss of dying static. Then Serene stumbled to her feet, her breath hitching as she took a hesitant step forward. Her wide emerald eyes locked onto Grey, taking in his battered form, the faint glow still clinging to his skin, and the quiet rise and fall of his chest.

She didn’t hesitate any longer. With a sharp gasp, Serene ran toward him.

“Grey!” Her voice cracked as she crossed the distance, boots kicking up snow and ash with every hurried step.

Before Grey could react, Serene collided with him, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso.

“You idiot… You reckless, stubborn idiot!” Her voice trembled as her fingers dug into the scorched remnants of his clothing.

Her voice broke, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs. Grey’s arms hovered awkwardly for a moment before he let out a faint sigh, placing one trembling hand gently on her back.

“Serene… I’m fine.”

“Fine? Fine?” Serene pulled back, her tear-streaked face tilted up to meet his glowing silver eyes. “You stood there while lightning came down on you! While—while those knives were tearing you apart! Do you have any idea what it felt like to watch that?!”

Her voice cracked again as she buried her face back into his chest, clutching him even tighter.

A soft voice broke the silence behind them.

“Serene… Grey’s… um… clothes.”

It was Tear, standing a few steps away, clutching the edge of her coat with small, trembling fingers.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then a faint snort escaped Shot as she approached, followed closely by Keen and Brawl.

“Oh, don’t mind us, Serene,” Shot said, her sharp grin spreading wide as her golden eyes glinted with mischief. “You two take your time. Really soak in the moment. We’ll just… wait.”

Keen cleared his throat, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Very emotional. Very… vulnerable.”

Brawl’s deep rumbling laugh cut through the thinning air. “The boy withstands lightning itself, but modesty is the thing that finally takes him down!”

Serene froze. Her head snapped up, her emerald eyes darting downward.

Grey’s expression remained blank as he followed her gaze. His clothes—if they could even still be called that—hung in charred tatters. Scorched fur and leather clung to him in uneven patches, and much of it had simply been reduced to ash.

Serene’s face went crimson in an instant. She shoved herself away from Grey, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.

“Y-You! Why didn’t you say something?!”

Grey let out a tired breath, lifting one charred hand slightly. “I was… a bit distracted.”

Tear, still watching with wide pine-green eyes, tilted her head. “Grey… are you cold?”

Shot doubled over, clutching her sides as laughter erupted from her. Keen covered his mouth with one hand, failing to stifle a chuckle, while Brawl threw his head back and let out another booming laugh.

Serene pulled her hood over her head, her voice muffled beneath the thick pelt. “Stop laughing! All of you!”

Shot wiped a tear from her eye as she pointed a finger at Serene. “Oh, we’ll never let you live this down. Never.”

Grey, despite the exhaustion pulling at every fiber of his being, allowed a faint smile to tug at the corner of his mouth.

The laughter eventually faded into softer chuckles as the group gathered around. Tear took a hesitant step closer, her small hands clasped together. Then, without a word, she threw her arms around Grey’s waist, pressing her cheek against his side.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Grey.” Her voice was soft, barely audible.

Grey rested a hand lightly on her head, his fingers brushing through her turquoise hair. “I’m glad you’re okay too, Tear.”

Brawl approached next, his massive hand landing on Grey’s shoulder with enough force to nearly knock him off balance. “Stubborn, reckless kid. But you did it. Guess I have to treat you like an equal now, or maybe more, you didn’t get any help after all.”

Shot grinned, her usual sharp edge softened slightly. “Yeah, and you did it naked. Well done.”

Keen nodded, his gaze steady and serious despite the faint glimmer of humor in his eyes. “We’ll need to talk about this—about what happened in there. But first, let’s get you somewhere warm and find you something to wear.”

Grey exhaled slowly, nodding. “That… sounds good.”

The indigo glow had faded entirely, leaving behind only faint traces of light on the snow-dappled ground. Grey’s sight into will had faded with his trails as well. The storm had passed. The blades were gone. The air was still.

But deep within Grey’s chest, beneath the surface of calm, the faint growl of something ancient and restless remained.