The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long golden shadows across the high cliffs where Bolt, Chris, and Leo stood for the last time together.
Two whole years had passed.
Two years of hardship, discipline, bruises, laughter, and unbreakable bonds. What started as teacher and student, strangers from different worlds, had now become brotherhood — a bond stronger than steel.
Bolt, now 16, stood tall and proud — no longer a reckless boy. His once untrained body was now lean with muscle, his blue aura faintly shimmering like lightning trapped under his skin. The boy who once struggled under a waterfall had become a warrior who could split mountains with his bare hands. His hair had grown longer, tied at the back, and his sharp eyes carried a quiet wisdom.
Chris and Leo, both 18, stood like men hardened by fire and water. Chris's stance was bold, proud — his fiery nature reflected in his every movement. Leo, calm and composed, had a presence like still water with unfathomable depth, his eyes unreadable yet full of understanding.
The wind whistled softly as Bolt turned to face them. A strange silence had lingered between them for the past hour. And then…
Bolt: "Chris! Leo! So… from here… where are you going? What will you guys become?"
Chris smiled, stretching his arms behind his head like he always did, his confident smirk in place. "We've decided," he said, "We'll start our own clans."
Bolt blinked. "…Clan? What's a clan?"
Leo stepped forward, his expression serious. "Clans are powerful organisations. Some call them criminal groups, but they're different from common bandits. Clans can have hundreds, even thousands of followers. They form armies, build influence, and rule regions from the shadows or sometimes from the front lines."
Bolt's brows furrowed. "But… if you form clans… won't you become criminals?"
Chris let out a short chuckle, but his gaze was firm. "Yes… maybe in the eyes of the world. But not every outlaw is a villain, Bolt. Remember this."
Leo continued, "We're not doing this to steal or conquer. We're creating something… for those who have nothing. For the kids who've been forced to steal food just to survive. For the orphans cursed by the rich, the poor crushed by nobles, the weak ignored by the mighty. We'll give them a place, a purpose, a family."
Bolt's heart pounded. This wasn't just rebellion. This was revolution. The idea of "clan" wasn't what he had imagined — it wasn't built on crime, but on cause.
Chris grinned and placed a firm hand on Bolt's shoulder. "We're going to be outlaws, sure. But we'll be the kind the people cheer for, not fear. If the world calls us criminals, then so be it — we'll still become legends."
Leo nodded. "There's more than one path to justice, Bolt. Some walk it through law… some through fire."
Bolt looked down for a moment, the wind teasing his cloak. Then he looked up with a small smile. "You both… have changed. You're no longer just warriors. You're leaders."
There was a pause — heavy with memories, unspoken gratitude, and unbreakable connection.
Chris: "You'll be alone for now, Bolt. But your journey isn't ending… it's just starting."
Leo: "And when you walk your path… remember this feeling. The feeling of standing beside those you trust. One day, you might create your own clan… or something even greater."
Bolt clenched his fist, his blue aura softly flickering around his wrist like lightning whispering to him. "I'm going to miss you both."
Chris stepped back, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hah! Don't get all teary now! You're supposed to be the tough one, right?"
Leo smiled faintly. "We'll meet again, Bolt. And when we do… we'll see how far you've come."
Bolt took a step forward and hugged them both — strong, brotherly, no words needed. Just the raw truth of brotherhood shared in silence.
The three stood there — warriors, brothers, dreamers — under the blood-red sky.
As Chris and Leo turned to leave, Bolt stood tall behind them, watching their silhouettes fade into the path of destiny.
From that day on, the world would come to know the names of two clans — born not from crime, but from compassion, rebellion, and honour.
And Bolt… still had his own legend to write.
Bolt, now taller, sharper, and far more composed than the boy who once struggled to control sage aura in his palms, sat alone at the edge of a high cliff. The wind blew gently across his face as he stared into the vastness of the horizon, in the direction where Chris and Leo had left.
The sky above was painted with golden hues of dusk, and the valleys below echoed with the fading sounds of the forest. Birds returned to their nests, and the sun slowly sank behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the land.
His sword—crafted from the scales of the Thunder Dragon—rested beside him, crackling faintly with stored lightning. Bolt's eyes, once naïve and curious, now carried depth. They shimmered, not just with strength, but with memories.
His mind wandered back to the years they had spent together.
The laughter.
The battles.
The failures.
The victories.
The nights around campfires, and the mornings filled with relentless training.
Chris and Leo—his brothers in arms—had become more than friends. They were his family.
He whispered to the wind, "Chris… Leo… I hope the world sees your strength the way I did."
Suddenly, he sensed a presence behind him. It was calm, familiar, and powerful.
"Still watching the road they took?" came the deep voice of Master Thomas.
Bolt didn't answer, but nodded silently.
The Master sat beside him without a word. For a while, the two simply stared into the fading light.
Then Master spoke again, this time softer, "Sometimes… you have to fall apart to become what you are meant to be."
Bolt looked at him, quietly.
"You've grown, Bolt. Not just in strength or skill. But here—" he tapped gently on Bolt's chest, "—and here." He pointed to Bolt's head. "But remember… life is always designed this way. Bonds are formed… and then tested by time and destiny. The journey may scatter us… but it never erases what was real."
Bolt's eyes glistened.
"You miss them," the Master said.
"I do," Bolt replied. "It's strange… we trained for so long, and yet I wasn't ready for the moment they left."
"No one ever is," the Master replied. "But Chris and Leo are not gone. They've only taken a different path. And someday… those paths may cross again."
Bolt looked down at his lightning-charged sword.
"Will they be proud of me?" he asked.
Master smiled.
"They already are."
A silence followed, not of emptiness, but of peace.
Then, Master stood.
He looked down at Bolt with a new tone in his voice—one of seriousness, of destiny.
"Enough rest. Tomorrow… your training begins for the Fifth Form."
Bolt's heart skipped.
"The final form…" he said, slowly rising to his feet.
"Yes," the Master said. "The form that separates a warrior from a legend. The one form only a few in history have ever even attempted. And in your case… it might hold something never seen before."
Bolt clenched his fists. The wind picked up again.
"I'm ready," he said.
"No," the Master replied, walking away with a slight grin, "You will be."
As the stars began to scatter across the night sky, Bolt stood alone on the cliff.
The memories of the past warmed him.
The unknowns of the future thrilled him.
And deep within… thunder stirred.