For a long, slow heartbeat after Vorathis folded away, the world held on to silence. Then the seams in the air winked shut like eyelids and the terrible, perfect images of burning cities, collapsing walls, screaming lanterns—everything Vorathis had painted to make them panic—began to blur. Color leaked out of them. The smell of smoke thinned. Where there had been a ruined town, there was only wind and the wide, empty sweep of the training plain.
Veldora watched it all coolly. He tilted his head and a small, almost private smile touched his lips.
"So it was an illusion," he said, voice even and steady. "A theatre to make us act, to make us choose. Vorathis plays with fear like a child with toys."
Around him the air breathed out. Soldiers stirred in the distance. The dust on the ground settled into small, honest piles.
Then Veldora moved.
He did not shout. He lifted one hand like a king offering a benediction. The motion was effortless, but when his palm turned up the sky seemed to answer. From the center of his palm a light rose—a clean, vivid green that smelled faintly of rain on earth and new leaves. It was warm in a way that had nothing to do with heat; it felt like being held.
He spoke one short word, and the green light unfurled like a ribbon of dawn.
"Rise."
The beam leapt from his hand and struck Velzard first.
Velzard lay in a shallow crater, ice-scorched and ragged. For a moment nothing happened—then the green washed over her like melted glass. Cracks in her scales knit like silk seams. Frost bled back into the ground rather than her wounds. Her chest rose, the ragged rhythm smoothing into a full, deep breath. Her lips parted, and she laughed—soft, surprised, a noise like water freeing itself from ice. She sat up, fingers flexing, eyes already clear and fierce.
Velzard's voice came out thin and amazed: "What… is this?"
"Storm's grace," Veldora said, a softness there reserved for kin. "Heal and stand."
The light arced on, hitting Velgrynd next. The red-gold scars that had seared her wings steamed and smoothed, embers going dark as new feathers pushed gently through the cracked skin. She coughed, then flinched as warmth filled a place that had been burning. When she opened her eyes they were wet—not of pain so much as relief. She reached and found Veldora's shoulder. "Brother," she breathed.
Guy was a crater of his own—blood and grit spattered across his armor, his chest heaving. The green ribbon slung over him like a chain of moss. Bruises paled, the dark burn of chakra-recoil fading; the chaotic arcs in his aura rethreaded themselves, steadier. He swore softly, laughing through the taste of iron in his mouth. "Hah. That's cheating, storm-king. But I'll take it."
Milim was half buried in a furrow, breath dim. The light settled around her small body and she seemed to blink in a double-time, as if the beam reset her heart's rhythm. Her grin returned before her senses fully did. "Heehee! I feel like a whole snack again!" She hopped up clumsily, fingers already itching to punch something for practice.
Diablo's black fire hissed at the green as it touched him, like oil meeting water. For a glowing second it seemed the shadow would resist—then Diablo's flames calmed and receded into his skin as if soothed. The empty hollow under his left ribs filled, the pale patch of breath that had been missing slid back into place. He straightened, that polite, chilling smile settling back in. "Lord Veldora," he said with a bowed nod, voice velvet and sharp, "your mercy is as precise as your blade."
Testarossa's silver hair had been singed to gray at the tips; her breathing had been shallow. The green light threaded into the white of her flame and steadied it—each breath she took grew stronger, each step steadier. She touched the wound on her side and winced, then felt it vanish from her fingertips like mist. She looked at Veldora with a new, quieter respect. "I… cannot thank you enough," she said.
Ultima's eyes opened wide as the corrosion that had eaten at her arm withdrew like tide. Her manic laugh came softer, edged with something like gratitude. "Heh. Fancy trick. I'll save the toy later." Her voice had lost none of its bite.
Carrera, who had landed face-first into the earth and seemed the least likely to stay down, was jerked back by the light. Her ribs knitted, the breath she'd been missing snapped into place, and she coughed out blood then barked a laugh that sounded like a cannon. "Oi! Don't leave a guy on the floor, yeah?" Then she staggered up, fists still buzzing with energy.
Around the circle the green light sprayed into the air and sprinkled the smaller, unconscious soldiers and a few stunned villagers watching from afar. Bandages sealed. Broken bones warmed and reset. The smell of iron faded. The field, which had been a ledger of injury, smoothed like paper under careful hands.
While the others breathed and tested their strength, Veldora let the green light die down and fold into his palm. He watched his companions carefully—measured, pleased, tired. When they were all upright and steady, Veldora's smile shifted from private to public—kingly, broad enough to be a command and a comfort all at once.
"Stand," he said. "You fought for a world that did not ask you to die. You stood when it mattered." He swept his gaze across them. "Rest now. Tend the wounded. I will speak to Benimaru—
Then, without a sound, something brushed his mind.
Saiki: Yo, Veldora. Looks like you passed. Good show.
It was not a voice the way others heard it; it slipped like cold water down his spine and into his thoughts. Only Veldora felt it. Saiki's tone was casual, threadbare with that bored amusement he always carried, but the message itself was sharp.
Saiki (telepathically): You learned something valuable, yeah? Strength's fine—necessary even. But you asked me for more than raw power when you asked for that training ground. And now Vorathis has also shown you all that you cant be this world shield forever...that as long this world is led with strength and power more enemies will come and test this power. There's a point to this beyond punch-and-slice. If you want this world to go somewhere better, you need to steer it. Power builds more power. But knowledge builds other kinds of power. Let the weak flourish by means that aren't muscles. Schools. craftsmen. healers. farmers. Scientists. Artists. Let them reach higher without becoming weapons first.
Veldora's face softened. He did not answer aloud at once. The words echoed in the hollow of his chest where responsibility sat. He thought of villages that would never train as fighters. He thought of old men who kept libraries, of children who loved to tinker, of markets that could bloom if someone taught a new technique. He thought of the Storm Kingdom he had built — ordered, peaceful, a place of laws — and felt the map of the world widen in his head.
He stepped closer to where Velgrynd and Velzard sat helping a battered militia captain to his feet. The invisible whisper continued like a hand on his shoulder.
Saiki: Strength makes people safe. Knowledge lets them choose what to do with that safety. Teach both. Guard the sword, yes—but also build schools that teach how to farm, how to heal, how to think. Protect the weak by raising them with tools, not by just shielding them under your wings forever.
Veldora smiled faintly and answered softly—part to Saiki in his mind, part aloud so the few close enough could hear.
Veldora (thought, then spoken): You're right. Strength is necessary. But I see now that it is not enough. We must teach the people how to stand on their own—how to craft, how to learn, how to reason. We will be shields, yes, but not walls.
A few of the unconscious veterans stirred at his voice. Diablo's black eyes opened first; he sat up slowly, watching the king with a look that mixed suspicion and something like respect. Testarossa blinked, hand pressed to a bandaged side, listening. Milim laughed once—small and bright—and thumped the ground like a child. Guy, wiping grit from a lip, met Veldora's gaze and nodded.
Veldora turned his face toward his companions and raised both palms in a gesture that was both command and invitation.
Veldora (aloud): "We fought to protect life tonight. Let that protection mean more than shields. I propose we expand our schools to all the other countries, to our allies, build branches in different psrts of the world—places of study and craft in the Storm Kingdom. Not just martial halls, but libraries, workshops, hospitals. We will offer scholarships to those from far-off lands. We will fund research into farming, into medicine, into ways to make the world safer without needing stronger fists."
A murmur spread. Velgrynd's fingers tightened on the captain's sleeve at the sound of hospitals. Velzard's frost-blue eyes shone in a new way—thoughtful rather than cold. Diablo's smile reframed itself, no longer amusement but interest.
Diablo: "Practical knowledge is power in itself. You would... teach them without forging them into soldiers?"
Veldora: "Teach them to create and to protect. If people know more, they fear less. Fear breeds war. Confidence breeds growth."
Saiki floated a little closer—just a breath's width of air—though still no one else could see him. He spoke to Veldora again, quieter, as if folding his words in.
Saiki (telepathic): Don't make it preachy. People don't want sermons. Make it useful—trade schools, healing apprenticeships, engineering, agriculture. Let craftsmen build tools that make life easier. Let scholars study magic from the angle of how it helps people's lives, not just how it breaks bones. And please—libraries. Libraries are underrated.
Veldora nodded, eyes catching the distant horizon where the white-sky seam had been. He pictured small things: a schoolhouse with a skylight, a forger teaching a villager to temper steel properly, a healer showing midwives new techniques. He saw markets ringing with new crafts and children running into classrooms instead of barracks.he saw a world where all the kingdoms have ways to evolve anyone no matter their status...
Saiki (telepathic): Yare yare. Good ending for episode one.