Waking Up in the Mountains
Darkness.
Kian drifted in it, weightless, his mind slipping between nothingness and fleeting echoes of the past. He saw flickers—his mother's voice, the warmth of her embrace. His father's hand on his shoulder, steady and firm. Then, flames. Blood.
His chest tightened.
Then, the darkness cracked.
A soft sound. A shuffle. The air smelled of burning wood and herbs.
His body felt like lead—heavy, sluggish. He tried to move, but pain pulsed through his limbs, forcing him still. His fingers twitched against something soft. A blanket. A bed.
Where am I?
His eyes fluttered open.
A wooden ceiling greeted him, sturdy beams running across the roof. The dim glow of an oil lantern flickered in the corner, casting soft, dancing shadows across the walls. A small room. The scent of pine and earth lingered in the air, grounding yet unfamiliar.
His gaze slowly drifted to the side.
There, sitting near the bed, was a girl.
She looked about his age, maybe a little younger. Her dark hair framed her face, strands falling over her forehead as she worked. A small stone bowl rested in her lap, and she was grinding herbs with practiced ease, completely unaware that he was watching.
There was something soft about her presence. Gentle.
Kian's throat was dry, his body stiff, but he forced himself to swallow before speaking.
"...Where am I?"
The girl gasped, nearly dropping the bowl. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, wide and startled, as if she hadn't expected him to wake so soon.
"You're—" She hesitated before quickly setting the bowl aside. "Wait! Hold on, I—"
She scrambled to her feet, grabbing a nearby cup. Her hands moved quickly, almost frantically, as she poured water from a clay jug. Then, carefully, she turned back to him and offered it with both hands.
"Here," she said. "Drink."
Kian's gaze flickered between her and the cup. His body still ached, but after a moment, he forced himself to move. His arm trembled as he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the cup.
He sipped.
The water was fresh, cool against his dry throat. It did little to ease the storm inside him, but it was something.
She watched him closely, biting her lip before speaking again.
"You've been asleep for a few days," she said, carefully. "Grandpa found you and brought you here."
A few days?
Kian's grip on the cup tightened slightly.
His mind felt... foggy. Like a puzzle with missing pieces. But something about those words made his stomach drop, an unnamed dread curling in his chest.
The girl hesitated before adding, "I, um... I'm Nia."
Her voice was gentle, but he barely heard her.
His thoughts were unraveling.
Why was he here?
Why wasn't he in the city?
Why did it feel like something was... missing?
Then, it hit him.
The memories crashed down like a wave, drowning him in an instant.
The tournament.
The attack.
His parents.
His mother's bloodstained hands.
His father's desperate last words.
They're gone.
His breath caught.
His fingers clenched around the cup so tightly that it cracked.
Nia jolted at the sound, eyes flicking down to his shaking hands.
"Kian?" she asked, hesitantly. "Are you—?"
But he wasn't listening.
The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in. His heart pounded, his lungs tightened, and for the first time since he woke up—
He understood.
Everything he had ever known, everyone he had ever loved—was gone.
And he was still here.
Alright! Section 2 will focus on Chandler noticing Kian's emotional turmoil, his reaction, and his attempt to calm him down.
Let's make it heavy, impactful, and deep.
The Weight of Loss
Kian barely noticed the moment Nia backed away.
His breath came in short, uneven bursts. His hands trembled, still gripping the cracked cup. The pressure in his chest tightened, suffocating, like an unseen force was crushing his ribs.
Gone.
His father's voice.
His mother's last smile.
The warmth of their presence—snatched away.
His fingers twitched. A faint surge of green lightning crackled around his knuckles, barely contained.
"Kian?"
Nia's voice was uncertain, a mix of concern and hesitation. She took a cautious step forward, reaching out—
And then the door creaked open.
A new presence entered the room.
Heavy footsteps. Steady, unrushed. A quiet authority in each step.
Kian's head snapped up.
An old man stood in the doorway.
His presence was overwhelming yet effortless, like a storm on the horizon—dormant, but undeniably powerful. His long silver hair was tied back loosely, revealing a sharp, chiseled face lined with experience. His piercing gray eyes studied Kian with calm intensity, like he was seeing straight through him.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The old man took in the scene—the trembling hands, the fractured cup, the unstable lightning dancing around Kian's body. His expression didn't change.
Then, he sighed.
"You finally woke up," he said.
His voice was deep, firm, carrying a weight that felt unshakable.
Kian could barely form words. His emotions were still spiraling, consuming, crushing.
The old man took a few slow steps forward. His gaze never wavered, sharp and knowing. "You're on the verge of breaking."
Kian's body tensed.
"Shut up," he growled, barely above a whisper.
The old man ignored him.
"That rage inside you—it's suffocating you. Drowning you."
Kian clenched his teeth.
"I said shut up!"
Lightning flared around his body, instinctual and wild. The room flickered with an eerie green glow, the air thick with electricity.
Nia gasped, stepping back.
The old man, however, didn't even blink.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly. "Do you think you're the first person to lose everything?"
The words hit Kian like a strike to the gut.
His breath caught.
His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, lash out, destroy something—anything.
The old man took another step forward, standing just out of reach.
"I know that look," he continued. His voice was quieter now, but it carried undeniable weight. "You think you have nothing left. That there's no reason to keep moving forward."
Kian's vision blurred for a second.
"You're wrong."
Kian forced his head up, eyes burning with fury.
"What the hell do you know?" he snapped.
The old man stared at him for a long moment.
Then, he nodded.
"I know potential when I see it."
Kian's breath stilled.
For a moment, the storm inside him paused—just slightly.
The old man turned away. "You have two choices," he said over his shoulder. "Stay in this room, lost in your grief…"
He glanced back, gray eyes sharp.
"Or stand up and prove your parents didn't die for nothing."
The Request
The crackling of the fire filled the room, its flickering light casting long shadows against the wooden walls. Outside, the mountain winds howled, but inside, the air was still—tense.
Kian stood in the center of the small hut, his muscles tight, his jaw clenched. Chandler sat on a worn-out chair near the fire, sipping a steaming cup of tea as if there weren't a storm raging inside Kian.
Minutes passed. The silence dragged.
Kian's nails dug into his palms.
He had spent the last few days lying in that bed, trying to piece together what had happened.
His father's last stand. His mother's final words.
The way they had died for him.
His throat tightened, but he forced himself to breathe.
He was still here.
And that meant something.
Kian took a step forward. Then another.
Chandler didn't move. Didn't acknowledge him.
But Kian knew the old man was watching.
"…I want you to teach me."
His voice came out quieter than he expected, but it didn't waver.
Chandler took another sip of tea. The steam curled lazily around his fingers before disappearing into the air.
"Teach you what?"
Kian's fists clenched.
"To fight."
No reaction.
"To control my power."
Still nothing.
"To be stronger."
Chandler exhaled through his nose and placed his cup down. He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable.
"And why should I?"
Kian swallowed hard.
He had asked himself the same thing.
Why should this man—this rogue powerhouse, who had no ties to him—agree to take him in?
The answer burned in his chest.
"Because I have nothing left."
Chandler's expression didn't change.
Kian stepped forward, the firelight reflecting off his sharp green eyes.
"They took everything from me. And I couldn't stop them." His voice grew tighter. "I froze when it mattered most."
His breathing was heavy now.
"I won't let that happen again."
Chandler hummed, leaning back in his chair.
"So it's vengeance, then?"
Kian's lips pressed into a thin line.
Vengeance?
No—it was more than that.
"…I want to be strong enough that no one can ever take anything from me again."
The words hung in the air.
Chandler studied him for a long moment, eyes sharp as if they could see straight through him.
Then, finally, he stood.
Kian stiffened as a wave of pressure filled the room, pressing down on him like an invisible force.
"You're asking me to become your master," Chandler said, his voice smooth but heavy with meaning.
Kian met his gaze, standing firm despite the suffocating weight in the air.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then—a small smirk.
Chandler turned, walking toward the door.
"If you want me as your master," he said casually, placing a hand on the wooden frame, "then prove you're worth training."
His head tilted slightly.
"Call me Master from now on."
Then, without warning—
BOOM.
An invisible force slammed into Kian, sending him crashing against the far wall.
His lungs emptied. His body screamed in protest.
Chandler didn't even look back.
"Lesson one—get up."
Hellish Training Begins
Kian gasped as he pushed himself off the wooden floor, his limbs trembling from the sudden force that had thrown him against the wall. His back throbbed, his ribs ached, but his mind was already racing.
What just happened?
Chandler hadn't even moved. There was no gesture, no tell. One second, he was standing still. The next, Kian was flying across the room.
This man's power was terrifying.
Kian wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his green eyes blazing with stubborn determination. Fine. If this was a test, then he'd pass it.
He staggered to his feet.
Chandler turned to face him, a hint of amusement flickering in his dark gaze.
"Not bad," he murmured. "At least you can stand."
Kian exhaled sharply, squaring his stance. "I'm ready."
Chandler raised an eyebrow.
"Good."
Then he vanished.
Before Kian could react, a crushing force pressed down on him from above. His knees buckled as if the weight of a mountain had been dropped onto his shoulders. He barely managed to stop himself from collapsing, his muscles screaming as he fought to stay upright.
Pressure.
It was overwhelming, suffocating. It was as if Chandler had commanded the air itself to weigh him down.
"Move," Chandler ordered.
Kian gritted his teeth. Move? He could barely breathe!
His body trembled as he took a slow, agonizing step forward. His foot barely lifted off the ground before another wave of force slammed into him. He crumpled to one knee, his breath ragged.
"Pathetic."
The word cut deeper than the pain.
Kian let out a growl and forced himself up again.
His arms felt like lead, his legs like stone. His bones creaked under the strain. Every breath was a battle.
But he wouldn't stop.
Another step.
Then another.
Pain exploded in his muscles, but he pushed forward. He didn't care if it hurt. He didn't care if he could barely see past the sweat dripping into his eyes.
He would not be weak.
Chandler watched in silence, arms crossed. The old man's expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. A quiet assessment.
Kian took another step, his vision swimming—
Then the force vanished.
His body lurched forward, and he barely caught himself before face-planting into the ground.
His chest heaved. His arms trembled.
But he was still standing.
Chandler smirked. "Not bad."
Kian glared up at him. "That was insane."
Chandler shrugged. "You wanted to be strong. This is what it takes."
Kian bit his tongue. He couldn't argue with that.
"Again," Chandler said simply.
Kian's breath caught. Again?
But before he could protest—
BOOM.
The pressure returned.
And the training continued.
The Breaking Point
Kian lay flat on his back, his chest rising and falling in rapid, ragged breaths. His body felt like it had been through a war—no, worse. Every inch of his muscles screamed, his limbs felt like dead weight, and his head pounded from exhaustion.
And still—he had nothing to show for it.
No progress.
His lightning crackled weakly around his fingertips, flickering in and out like a dying flame. It was unstable, unpredictable. Every time he tried to mold it, to shape it into something more than raw energy, it fizzled out before he could do anything.
Chandler was watching from the side, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but Kian could feel his patience thinning.
"You're thinking too much."
Kian groaned and rolled onto his side. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Chandler shook his head. "Your power flows, but you're trying to control it like a machine. Power isn't about control—it's about understanding."
Kian clenched his fists. He'd been trying. For days, he'd been trying.
But the answer wasn't coming.
Chandler let out a sigh and turned away. "You won't get anywhere at this rate."
Then, just like that, he walked off—as if Kian wasn't even worth his time anymore.
The frustration boiled over. Kian slammed his fist into the dirt, green sparks surging out from his arm, but still—they didn't form into anything.
Damn it.
Talking with Nia
Night had fallen by the time Kian finally dragged himself back to the hut.
The soft glow of lantern light flickered through the wooden walls, and the scent of something warm filled the air. He stepped inside, his body aching, his mind numb.
Nia was there, sitting cross-legged by the fire. She had a small book in her hands, but as soon as she saw him, she perked up.
"Rough day?" she asked.
Kian just shot her a flat look.
She chuckled, setting the book aside. "So, what happened this time?"
Kian sighed, dropping onto the floor beside her. He stared at the fire for a long moment, watching the flames dance.
"I don't get it," he muttered. "I can feel the power. I know it's there. But when I try to shape it, it just—" He clenched his jaw. "It won't listen to me."
Nia tilted her head. "Maybe you're going about it the wrong way."
Kian glanced at her. "Chandler said the same thing."
"Well, if two people are saying it, maybe there's a reason." She grinned.
Kian scoffed.
She tapped her fingers against her knee. "Okay, let's think about it. Your lightning—it's wild, right? Unstable?"
"Obviously."
"But isn't that what makes it powerful?"
Kian frowned. "What?"
Nia leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "You're trying to force it to behave. But lightning isn't meant to be forced. It moves where it wants. It strikes when it wants. It's chaotic, but that's its nature."
Kian blinked.
That was… different.
She smiled. "Instead of trying to force it into something it's not, why not let it be what it is?"
Kian's mind raced.
Let it be what it is.
Suddenly, it clicked.
His power wasn't something to be caged. It wasn't something he had to fight.
It was his.
A part of him.
A slow smirk pulled at the edge of his lips. He pushed himself up.
Nia raised an eyebrow. "Where are you going?"
"To make this power mine."
The Breakthrough
The wind howled through the mountain valley, carrying the distant rumble of a storm. The sky was dark, clouds rolling overhead, as if nature itself was responding to the energy building inside Kian.
He stood barefoot on the stone training ground, his fists clenched at his sides. The mountain air was cold, but his body burned.
This time, he wouldn't force it.
This time, he would let it flow.
Chandler stood off to the side, watching with his usual unreadable expression. "Again," he ordered.
Kian exhaled slowly.
His eyes glowed with a faint green hue as he raised his arms, feeling the electricity stirring inside him. It surged through his veins, wild, uncontrollable—until he stopped trying to cage it.
And then—
He let go.
A crackling arc of emerald lightning erupted from his body, snaking up his arms, curling around his legs. It didn't lash out wildly like before. It wrapped around him, responding to his movements, pulsing with his heartbeat.
It wasn't just power anymore.
It was an extension of himself.
Kian shifted his stance. He moved his arm, and the lightning followed, arcing smoothly, trailing his fingertips instead of exploding outward uncontrollably.
For the first time—he was controlling it.
Chandler nodded, his sharp gaze taking in every detail. "Good," he said, his voice betraying the slightest hint of approval.
Kian smirked. He could feel it now—the storm inside him finally bending to his will.
But this was just the beginning.
Revelations and Shadows
Kian sprinted across the mountain path, his body buzzing with newfound energy. His lungs burned, his muscles ached, but none of that mattered. He had done it.
The moment his lightning had responded to him—really responded—was still fresh in his mind. The sensation of it flowing with him instead of against him, of power being an extension rather than a burden, made his heart race with excitement.
He skidded to a stop in front of the small wooden hut, catching his breath before pushing the door open.
Inside, Nia sat on the floor, carefully carving a wooden charm. The fire beside her flickered, casting warm light across the space. She looked up at the sound of the door creaking, her eyes widening as Kian stood there, grinning like an idiot.
"I did it." His voice was breathless, but full of triumph.
Nia blinked, tilting her head. "Did what?"
Kian stepped forward, raising his hand. A soft hum filled the air as green lightning curled around his fingers, flickering but controlled. Not chaotic. Not wild. His own.
Nia's mouth parted in awe. "You—"
"I can control it now." He couldn't hide the pride in his voice. "It's not perfect, but it's mine. Really mine."
For a moment, Nia just stared. Then, a small smile crept onto her lips.
"…Took you long enough."
Kian let out a short laugh. "Yeah, yeah."
But as the initial excitement settled, his thoughts darkened. This wasn't just a personal victory. It was a step toward something far bigger. Toward the promise he had made. Toward the ones who had stolen everything from him.
His fists clenched. He wasn't the only one getting stronger.
Elsewhere – The Villains' Advancement
Deep underground, in the heart of an abandoned facility, several figures gathered around a dimly lit table.
At its center, a metal case lay open, revealing vials of a glowing crimson liquid.
A man with sharp eyes and an unreadable smirk leaned forward, twirling a vial between his fingers. The refined drug.
"It's ready," he said, his voice smooth, almost amused. "We've perfected the formula. No more short-lived bursts. No more random breakdowns. This—" He held the vial up to the dim light. "—is pure evolution."
Across from him, another figure leaned back in their chair, arms crossed. "And the side effects?"
The man shrugged. "Still… devastating. But that's the point, isn't it?" His grin widened. "Power comes at a cost. Those who can't handle it—" He twirled the vial again. "—don't deserve to survive."
Silence.
Then, a third voice spoke. Deep, commanding. The leader.
"The world thinks the boy is dead," he said, his tone calm yet sharp as a blade. "Good. Let them stay comfortable."
The room seemed to darken with his words.
"But when he resurfaces…" A slow, deliberate pause. "We'll be ready."
The World's Reaction
The world was still recovering from the aftermath of Kian's 'death.'
The news had spread like wildfire. Some mourned, believing a promising warrior had been lost too soon. Others, however—the ones in power, the ones who feared him—breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"Kian Balthor," an anchor on a worldwide broadcast said, "one of the strongest awakenings in recent history, perished after an unknown incident. Authorities have yet to confirm details, but experts believe—"
The screen flickered off.
A man in a high-backed chair stared at the blank screen, fingers steepled.
"He's gone," he murmured. "And yet… why does it feel like we haven't seen the last of him?"
Back in the Mountains
Kian didn't know the world had already declared him dead.
He didn't know that villains were refining the very thing that had almost cost him his life in the tournament.
All he knew was that his lightning finally listened to him.
That he was growing stronger.
And that it still wasn't enough.
Nia nudged him out of his thoughts. "Hey."
He looked up.
She hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "Congratulations."
Something about the way she said it made him pause.
"…Thanks," he murmured.
For the first time since that night—since the blood, the screams, the teleportation that ripped him from his family's dying grasp—he felt like he was truly moving forward.
But in the distance, a storm was still brewing.