Elemental brothers oneshot story

falling apart

Let's just say this chapter have many nonsense, alot of ooc, maybe even grammar and typos ಠ⁠∀⁠ಠ

Welp goodluck to you all-

Enjoy!

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It's been a month since that day, since the war in gurlatan, since thorn manage to unlock his third tier and tried to regain back their oldest power.

Since the voltra Elemental disappeared from this world, it isn't with the enemy and it isn't with them either, it had vanished from the world in the blink of an eye.

And because of this... Halilintar can never be whole again.

At first glance, Halilintar seemed fine.

He still trained every morning to sharpen his skill, He still scolded Blaze for climbing the walls, still caught Solar before he could fall off his pile of books, still making sure everythings okay.

To everyone else, he was strong. Solid. Unshaken.

But there were nights when the house grew quiet, when no one was watching, where he stood alone on the rooftop, eyes scanning the black night skies.

There used to be thunder there, a pulse he could feel deep in his chest but now, it was gone.

He touch his chest sometimes, almost unconsciously. Like he was trying to feel something that used to be there, a spark, a rhythm, a piece of himself.

But he never said anything.

Even when Taufan asked if he was sleeping okay, even when Gempa noticed how quiet he gotten, even when Solar keep glancing at him with worried.

He smiled, he lied, he told them he was fine.

Because if he said it out loud, if he admitted that the Voltra Elemental, the very heart of his lightning, was truly gone, he might fall apart.

And Halilintar couldn't afford to fall apart, not when his brothers still needed him.

The days passed and Halilintar started to crack.

At first, it was subtle, a strange numbness in his right arm, a twitch in his fingers when he tried to summon lightning that aren't there anymore. He brushed it off as fatigue, overexertion, nothing a few hours of rest couldn't fix.

But the rest never came.

He woke up feeling more tired than when he slept, his appetite dulled, the meals Gempa prepared once so warm and comforting began to taste like ash. He forced himself to eat, only to keep his brothers from worrying.

And still, the crack grew.

It began just beneath his collarbone, faint and silvery, like a hairline fracture on glass. It didn't bleed, it didn't hurt but it pulsed quietly like something trying to break out from within, like something that trying to escape.

Halilintar said nothing.

He simply pulled on a shirt with a higher collar, tightened his posture, hid the tremble in his hands.

But the crack spread.

Down his ribs, across his shoulder, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his breath hitched. His skin, once warm with energy, now had jagged, glowing lines cutting through it like the aftermath of a shattered lightning bolt.

He started wearing long sleeves.

When the crack finally reached past his collar and danced over his throat, he swapped the shirt for a hoodie. It was heavy, stifling but safe as it hid what he couldn't explain, what he refused to acknowledge.