The news wouldn't stop.
Klaus sat in front of the old tube TV, its static buzzing like flies around a corpse. The national broadcast had interrupted programming again, looping the same apocalyptic footage: people collapsing in public squares, buildings on fire, military trucks rolling through neighborhoods, and the Colombian president on live television, visibly sweating, his voice shaking more with every word.
"This is not terrorism. It's not a virus. The experts are still trying to understand what's happening... We ask the population to remain calm."
Remain calm. Klaus let out a sharp breath through his nose. Outside, Bogotá sounded like it was being torn apart — alarms, motorcycles screeching, people shouting across windows, gunshots in the distance. The air itself felt charged, like a storm that never came.
His mother had locked herself in the bedroom with the Bible and was mumbling prayers loud enough for him to hear through the wall. She had nailed a wooden crucifix over the door as if it could hold back whatever was happening out there.
Klaus knew it wouldn't.
She thought it was the end of the world.Klaus didn't.He knew it was something else.Something bigger.
He scrolled through social media. It was chaos. A woman floating above the ocean in Cartagena, spinning in the center of a whirlpool. A man in Medellín igniting an entire police station with fire from his hands. A kid in Cúcuta with toys hovering around him like satellites.
One word had taken over all platforms: "elementals."
Another post showed a map marking cities with confirmed incidents — glowing red dots multiplied like an infection. New reports estimated that more than 65% of the global population had experienced some kind of manifestation.
No one understood why. Not science, not religion. But everyone felt it.
"First it was the rich. Then the politicians. Then the cartels… and now the elements," Klaus muttered, swiping up. "Someone's gonna start calling themselves the Avatar soon."
He remembered that old show — Avatar: The Last Airbender. Benders who controlled fire, water, earth, and air with dances and wisdom and spiritual nonsense. That was fiction.
This was not a cartoon.There was no balance.There was no peace.Only panic and power.
Governments had no control. Religious leaders declared it divine punishment. Conspiracy theorists blamed vaccines, HAARP, or aliens. Churches overflowed. Jails emptied. The streets belonged to whoever had awakened — and whoever was willing to kill.
One post showed a group of young men torching a military outpost in Argentina, laughing as fire danced across their shoulders. Another showed a woman pulling water from a pipe and slicing a man's leg clean off. Hashtags like #NewWorldOrder, #TheAwakening, and #WorldBurns trended globally.
Klaus closed the app and leaned back on the couch, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked at the ceiling. He wasn't scared. Not like his mother. Not like the people crying on the news.
He felt something else.Not fear.Something sharper.
Curiosity. Hunger.
If these powers were real — and everything said they were — then he wanted them. Needed them. Not to save anyone. Not to become a hero. That crap was for movies and Americans.
He wanted to rise. Out of poverty. Out of this block. Out of being nobody.
He wanted control.
Then it hit him.
A sudden pulse deep in his gut.Pain. Raw and white-hot, like something tearing itself out from inside.
He gasped and dropped his phone. His legs folded beneath him. He clutched his chest, eyes wide. Every breath felt like drowning.
His heart pounded like a drum in his skull.
He fell forward, hands hitting the cold tiles. The pain didn't stop — it grew, climbed his spine, wrapped around his lungs. His vision blurred. His mouth opened but no sound came out.
Then something wet touched his fingers.Cold.Moving.
He blinked. The floor around him was slick.Was it sweat?
No. Too much. Too clear. Too fast.
He stared at his hands.Water.Not from a pipe.Not spilled from anything.
It was coming out of him.
From his pores. From under his nails. Dripping from his hair. A slow, steady leak that became a puddle… then a pool. But the water didn't just spread — it began to rise.
It hovered, weightless, forming globes and tendrils like jellyfish in the air.
He couldn't breathe.
Footsteps.
His mother flung the door open. "KLAUS!"
He turned toward her. Eyes wide. Panic surged — and so did the water.
Without touching her, without intending it, a wave burst outward from his body. Not violent, but forceful. It slammed her back against the doorway with a loud crack. She crumpled to the floor.
"¡Mamá!" he shouted — the first word to escape him.
He crawled to her. She was breathing. Unconscious, but alive. No blood. No broken bones that he could see.
The water crashed to the ground, losing its shape like a broken dam.
Klaus sat in silence. His fingers still trembled. His chest still burned. But he had no doubt anymore.
It was real.It was him.Water was his element.
And now… he had to choose what to do with it.
He picked her up slowly and laid her on the couch. Put a towel under her head. She stirred faintly but didn't wake. He covered her with a blanket and stepped back.
He stared at his wet hands. They glistened under the flickering lightbulb.
He grabbed his phone again.
The top trend was no longer #Awakening.
It was now #ElementalWar.
New footage showed battles breaking out — wind versus fire over Tokyo skies, walls of stone clashing with flame in Morocco. Tanks melting. Planes falling. A whole border in Eastern Europe had collapsed. Civilians and soldiers alike — everyone was either dead or powered.
A new phrase repeated across posts:
"Governments have begun recruiting."
Of course. Militaries would move quickly. Control the chaos. Build armies. Weaponize the powers. Some people would be drafted. Others would be hunted. And some — the smart ones — would disappear before anyone knew their names.
Klaus stared at the bathroom.
He went in. Closed the door. Turned on the sink. Let the water run. He focused. Imagined it lifting. Shifting. Dancing.
Nothing.
He calmed his breathing. Slowed his mind. Raised one finger, like he was pulling an invisible thread.
The stream curved.
He nearly stopped breathing.
He tried again — two fingers. A gentle tug.
The water arched. Then stretched toward his palm like it wanted to be held.
He smiled.
He felt it in his chest — the current, the rhythm. The pull. It wasn't just power. It was potential. Endless and fluid. Like the world itself had unlocked a door just for him.
This wasn't a gift.
It was an opportunity.
"Water's everywhere," he whispered. "Pipes, rivers, blood. They think it's weak… but it's patient. It's constant."
His smile widened.
This was just the beginning.Of war.Of change.Of him.
And he would rise — not as a soldier or a hero.But as something much more dangerous.