Master Thomas stood atop a cliff, his robe swaying gently in the mountain winds. Below, Bolt stood motionless, eyes locked with his master's.
Master: "The Fourth Form is unlike any before. It isn't about control, Bolt... it's about surrender. Until now, you've shaped the aura within. Now, you must let your aura touch the world around you."
He pointed to the darkening skies above.
Master: "This is the Form of Connection. The aura you've nurtured in your soul… must now speak to nature itself."
The Fourth Form, known as the Nature Connection, is where a sage extends their aura beyond their body, merging it with the elements of the world. For Bolt, a lightning user, this meant one thing:
Summoning and commanding the storm.
Not controlling it like a tool, but awakening it—feeling its chaos, dancing with its fury.
For days, Bolt stood alone on the cliff's edge, his body wrapped in his own aura, hands raised to the sky. His lightning crackled, flickered… but the skies stayed calm.
He shouted. He roared. He blasted bolts upward.
Nothing answered.
"Why won't it work?! I have lightning inside me! Why won't the storm listen?!"
Master (calmly): "Because you're treating nature like it's your servant. It's not. It's your reflection."
For the next weeks, Master ordered Bolt to stop training. No aura, no lightning.
Just… observe.
Bolt sat in the forest. He listened to the wind rattle the trees. He watched the clouds roll over the hills. He studied how lightning tore across the sky and how the earth trembled afterward. And then he began to feel it—a pulse in the clouds… a rhythm in the rain… like a voice speaking without words.
The First Spark
One night, as Bolt meditated under the moonlight, he extended his hand not with power… but with humility. His aura stretched upward—gentle this time—like reaching out to shake hands with the sky.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—crack—a faint flash blinked in the sky.
"That… that was real," he whispered, eyes wide.
From that day on, Bolt trained from dusk till dawn. Slowly, the flashes grew. Sparks began to answer his heartbeat. Thunder echoed his calls.
The training now became dangerous.
Master: "If you lose focus now, the storm can consume you."
Bolt had to dance on the edge of chaos, feeling every vibration in the air, syncing his aura with the natural charge building in the sky.
Some days the storms would vanish.
Other days they would rage uncontrollably, throwing Bolt to the ground, tearing apart trees.
But he never gave up.
Finally—on a cold, windy evening—the storm didn't fight back.
It listened.
Bolt stood in silence, eyes closed, his arms wide.
Thunder rolled in slowly like a drumbeat.
The wind bowed.
The clouds twisted into a spiral above his head, and from the heart of that spiral, a single, massive lightning bolt struck down—right into Bolt's open palm.
He didn't flinch.
His body glowed, the sky responding to his breath.
He had done it.
Master (watching silently, a proud smile on his face):
"He's not just a boy wielding lightning anymore… he is the storm."
Bolt had become one with his nature. He could now summon storms, draw power from thunderclouds, and let the sky itself fight alongside him.
He had stepped beyond the physical—and touched the divine.
The Fourth Form was complete.
The sun was setting behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the clearing where Bolt stood — eyes calm, breath steady, aura dancing gently over his skin. It had been a year since he began his Sage journey.
He had mastered the Fourth Form — the ability to connect with the very fabric of nature. Thunderstorms now responded to his call, the wind crackled with anticipation when he raised his hand, and clouds above listened like loyal companions.
That evening, standing before Master Thomas, Bolt stepped forward with conviction in his eyes.
Bolt: "Master... I believe I'm ready. Teach me the Fifth Form."
Master Thomas didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Bolt — not just at the aura or posture, but deep into his soul. The silence felt heavier than thunder. Then finally, he spoke, voice low and unwavering.
Master Thomas:
"No, Bolt. You're not ready."
Bolt froze.
Bolt: "What...? But I've trained every day, bled under waterfalls, summoned storms, sharpened my aura—"
Master Thomas: "And you have done it well. You've aced every skill I've taught you. But listen carefully—mastery is not in knowing everything. It is in remembering it even when the world around you is falling apart."
He paused, walking toward Bolt, then pointed to the blade at his side.
Master Thomas:
"Your sword swings have grown slower. Your footwork has lost instinct. Your reflexes... dulled. Aura control means nothing if your foundation crumbles."
Bolt's expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then disappointment.
Master Thomas:
"That is why, from this day onward, for the next one year, you will not chase the Fifth Form. You will sharpen what you've already learned — until your body, not just your aura, moves like lightning."
He turned and signaled.
From the shadows, Chris and Leo stepped forward — the older disciples Bolt had once sparred with. They wore light armor, carried wooden swords, and had that ever-present mischievous grin.
Leo: "Well, little bro... looks like we'll be spending some quality time together."
Chris: "Get ready to hate us, Bolt. Because this year, we're gonna break you and rebuild you from the ground up."
Master Thomas (firmly):
"You will train with Chris and Leo — every single day. Swordsmanship, close combat, speed, balance, reflexes, and raw strength. No sage aura allowed. Just you, your blade, and your instincts. Only when the body and spirit become one — will the Fifth Form reveal itself."
Bolt clenched his fists, swallowing the frustration.
Bolt: "…Understood."
Master Thomas smiled faintly.
"Sharpen your steel, Bolt. The storm you'll face next... won't wait for you to remember your basics."