Applause echoed through the Eastern Coliseum long after the Celestial Bell's final reverberation faded.
Cheers. Whistles. Chants.
Celestial Tempest stood at the center of it all, battered and bruised, their clothes torn and scorched, their auras unstable—but standing. For many of the watching students, this was the first time they had seen newcomers endure the Gauntlet without collapse, evacuation, or humiliation.
For others, it was something far more unsettling.
Bolt barely registered the noise.
His gaze remained fixed on the sky above the open coliseum dome, his senses stretched thin, searching for the disturbance he'd felt when the bell rang. That ripple of darkness had been faint—too faint to confirm—but unmistakably wrong.
It wasn't Abyssal energy.
It was something older.
Something patient.
"Bolt."
He snapped back to reality as Kaori's voice reached him. She stood beside him, breathing heavily, frost still clinging to the edges of her sleeves.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
Bolt nodded, though his jaw tightened. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
Damian limped closer, rubbing his shoulder. "If you're thinking about how badly that maze hated me, same."
Akane flopped onto the stone floor with a groan. "I punched a wall that punched me back."
Sylva laughed weakly, collapsing onto her knees. "I screamed at least six times."
Valea smiled faintly, light flickering around her palms as she healed small cuts along her arms. "But we survived."
That word carried weight.
Survived.
High above them, Headmaster Altair watched in silence. His golden eyes scanned Celestial Tempest, measuring more than just their physical condition. He saw potential. Fractures. Fault lines waiting to become breaking points.
Or weapons.
He raised his hand.
The crowd fell silent instantly.
"Celestial Tempest," Altair said, his voice echoing cleanly across the arena. "You have passed the first trial."
The statement carried no praise—only acknowledgment.
"However," he continued, "do not mistake survival for superiority."
A murmur rippled through the stands.
"You have proven that you belong here," Altair said. "Nothing more."
Bolt met his gaze without flinching.
Good, Altair thought. He doesn't shrink.
"From this moment forward," the headmaster continued, "you will be subject to Aether Academy's full evaluation protocols."
Damian leaned toward Kaori and whispered, "That sounds expensive."
Altair's eyes flicked in Damian's direction.
"And exhausting."
Damian immediately shut up.
Altair lowered his hand.
"You are dismissed. Rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
THE HALL OF RANKS
Celestial Tempest was escorted through Aether Academy's inner district shortly after—past towering spires and suspended walkways humming with mana, deeper into the academy than ordinary students were allowed.
Bolt felt it immediately.
The pressure.
Here, the mana density was oppressive. Every step felt like walking beneath a stormcloud about to burst.
"Where are we going?" Akane asked, craning her neck.
"The Hall of Ranks," Valea answered softly. "I've read about it."
Damian raised a brow. "Sounds intimidating."
"It's where power is measured," Valea continued. "And remembered."
The doors alone were massive—etched with names that glowed faintly, layered atop one another like generations of conquest.
When they opened, the air inside felt… heavy.
The hall was circular, its walls lined with floating sigils, each one representing a student or squad that had reached a notable rank within Aether Academy. Some burned bright. Others flickered faintly. A few were cracked—shattered remnants of those who hadn't survived.
Bolt's eyes lingered on those broken sigils.
Altair stepped forward.
"Power here is not defined by titles," he said. "It is defined by impact."
He gestured, and seven new sigils materialized in the center of the hall—one for each member of Celestial Tempest.
They were dim. Small.
Insignificant compared to the blazing symbols around them.
Damian frowned. "That's it?"
"For now," Altair replied.
Bolt studied his own sigil. Lightning flickered faintly within it, unstable, constantly shifting.
"So we're at the bottom," Bolt said.
Altair met his eyes. "No."
He snapped his fingers.
One sigil—far above them—burned brighter than the rest. Crimson and gold, wrapped in rotating glyphs.
Leon Vandros.
"That," Altair said, "is what the peak of the student generation looks like."
Bolt felt something stir.
Not envy.
Not fear.
Challenge.
"Leon stands near the summit," Altair continued. "But above him…"
The hall darkened slightly.
Another sigil glowed—this one silver-black, calm, terrifyingly still.
Rei Tsukihara.
Head of the Disciplinary Committee.
The strongest student in Aether Academy.
Damian swallowed. "He's… quiet."
Altair nodded. "Power refined to silence."
Bolt clenched his fist.
"I want to fight him."
The hall went still.
Kaori turned sharply. "Bolt—!"
Altair studied him carefully.
"Not yet," the headmaster said. "If you fought Rei now, you would lose."
Bolt didn't argue.
He already knew.
WHISPERS OF WAR
Later that night, Celestial Tempest gathered in their dorm common room. No jokes. No bragging. Just quiet exhaustion.
Akane lay sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling. "Why does it feel like the more powerful we get… the smaller we are?"
Sylva hugged her knees. "Because the enemies keep getting worse."
Valea hesitated. "And because… we're being watched."
Everyone turned to her.
"I felt it during the Gauntlet," she said softly. "Something observing. Measuring."
Bolt nodded slowly. "I felt it too."
Silence settled again.
Damian broke it. "Okay. Let's address the abyssal elephant in the room."
He looked at Bolt.
"Kairos was artificial. A fake Warborn. And still nearly wiped us out."
Bolt's jaw tightened.
"There are only seven true Warborns," Damian continued. "One's dead. One's you. That means…"
"There are others," Kaori finished quietly. "Out there."
"And someone powerful enough to create something like Kairos," Sylva whispered.
Bolt stood.
Lightning flickered briefly across his knuckles before fading.
"The Abyssal Monarch," he said. "He's still out there."
No one argued.
"We can't afford to fall behind," Bolt continued. "Not here. Not now."
Akane sat up, grinning despite the tension. "So… we train until we're monsters."
Valea smiled softly. "Together."
Damian cracked his knuckles. "Good. Because next time someone tries to kill us, I want them to regret it."
Bolt looked out the window again.
The sky over Aether Academy glowed faintly with mana, beautiful and terrifying.
This place wasn't a sanctuary.
It was a forge.
And Bolt understood something now—something crucial.
He wasn't being protected here.
He was being prepared.
Somewhere beyond the academy walls, beyond the Abyss, beyond even the gods' attention…
The next storm was gathering.
And this time—
Bolt intended to be ready.