Back when the sky still felt endless and their powers still felt new, a much younger Jonathan sat cross-legged by the stream behind the training fields, his fingers dripping wet with water and frustration. His pale ice-blue eyes were locked on the puddle before him, lips pressed tight in stubborn silence.
"Try again," Brent said, crouched beside him, watching intently. His voice was patient, not pushy — the way only Brent could be when he was in a good mood. "Just feel for the structure. Crystallization isn't about forcing shape, it's about finding it. Like it's already there, just waiting."
Jonathan sucked in a breath and pressed his hand into the shallow water again. "I'm not good at earth like you are," Jonathan mumbled. "I can barely move a rock."
"Exactly," Brent replied. "Which might be why you're better at this. Earth controllers with brute strength never learn to be subtle with crystallization. But you… your control's so weak, you have to be delicate."
"Thanks for the backhanded compliment," Jonathan muttered.
Brent smirked. "You're welcome."
Jonathan closed his eyes, feeling the water — not just the texture, but the underlying potential. He gasped softly, and that gasp seemed to ripple outward, shimmering with silent intention. A single point of water at his palm tightened, stiffened, shimmered — a single crystal bud formed like a growing star. And then it spread.
Tiny points of ice-blue light danced along the puddle, blossoming into sharp, glass-like fractals that traced the surface like frost chasing dawn. Crystalline lacework patterned the water in under a second. Jonathan's eyes widened. "Did I…?"
"You did it!" Brent shouted,"Jon! You freaking did it!"
Jon laughed, breathless and stunned. "I actually— Brent, I did it!"
The two leapt up, whooping and cheering like the little kids they were, running a small circle around the puddle before slamming into a hug. Brent's laughter echoed across the field. But the joy was short-lived as Brent said, "Jon… your hands."
Jonathan froze.
Looking down, his excitement curdled into alarm. The same beautiful crystallization that had bloomed in the puddle now coated his fingers and wrists — delicate, jagged glass creeping over his skin. "It spread—" Jon tried to pull away, but the motion made the crystal crack in places. "Brent, what do I—?"
"Saltwater," Brent said immediately, already grabbing the nearby bucket and sprinting to the stream. "Warm salt water. It dissolves the bonds." The next few minutes passed in anxious silence as Brent soaked Jonathan's arms in the heated, salty mix. Slowly, the crystal dissolved back into liquid, the jagged lines retreating from skin like a tide going out.
When the last shard melted from his knuckles, Jonathan looked up with eyes wide and overwhelmed.
"Thanks… really," he said, voice unsteady. "You didn't have to stay out here with me for hours."
Brent shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. I just didn't want someone else to go through what Adam did to be strong." Brent's smile dimmed, just slightly, his gaze dropping to the ground.
Jonathan nudged him with an elbow. "Well… now that I didn't accidentally crystalize my arms off, you still owe me a soda."
Brent blinked. "Wait, when did that happen?"
"Like thirty seconds ago. Don't back out now, Brenty."
"Don't call me Brenty."
"I'll call you Brenty Bubbles if you don't buy the soda."
Brent groaned. "Fine. But I'm never helping you train again."
"You'll be back by tomorrow." They both grinned.
***
Jonathan watched the top half of Brent's head hit the ground. He looked at Omari and he was passed out, his hair black again. Brent wasn't the first death in the test. He wasn't even the first death in the test but it was a death that made the crowd quiet.
To some it was because Omari killed someone, to some it's because the Son of Balthazar Terran died but to Jonathan, Brent died. Omari was healed and woke up. He was clearly upset thinking he didn't win til the teacher told him. "Congratulations Omari, you qualify for the exams." Then he saw the body and froze.
"What happened? I didn't…" Then he saw it in his mind, the slash he sent that killed Brent. It was weak as a slash of the hand would be expected to be but it was made so thin it would cut anything in its way.
The teacher healed Brent's body to make it presentable before some men came put the body in a bag to be sent back home for a funeral. A funeral Jonathan would not be allowed to attend because if every slayer student could attend a classmate's funeral, there would be noone at school.
Supper had no flavour that day. Not for Jonathan or Omari. It was an accident, Omari wanted to tell him but the slash was too precise to an accident and he gained too much from Brent's death. That made him feel worse.
I always knew he was going to die one day, Jonathan thought. He did wan to kill his father and noone is strong enough to survive trying that but, he began to cry, I didn't think I would lose him so soon.
After Supper, Jonathan took a warm shower but water running over the scars covering his body had never felt so cold. The scars had a fractal pattern to it that looked like a growing snowflake. Brent told him they were scars of his effort but now all they did was remind of Brent.
Jonathan had been thinking about Brent's fight. Everyone understood the risks that came with the journey to be a slayer but something felt off. Brent and Omari seemed closely matched throughout the match but at the end. Omari did what he needed to win but if Omari had the power to kill Brent like that why did he not do it eariler?
Jonathan shook in the shower and it wasn't because of the cold. If he had cut down Brent earlier, he could have cut him in half or cut him anyhow but in a way that he would lose could yet still be healed. He shook in the shower and it wasn't because of fear. Maybe he didn't want Brent to be saved.
The next day during the traversal class, Jonathan was skiing on the ground as the ground behind his feet crystalized. Ahead of him were a few other controllers but notably was Samson. Brent said he met the human monster once when he came to see his father. It was the first time he saw someone that might rival Balthazar and Samson gave off the same energy.
Ahead of Samson was the son of Lightning. Jonathan always felt somewhat connected to Soren despite being from different families. It was probably because they both lost their mothers at birth. Brent told Jonathan that his father wants to adopt Soren. One could only imagine what the Son of Lightning would do with earth control.
Looking behind, Jonathan saw Omari, grappling from one building to another amongst rhe masses. He was faster than that against Brent and that was without using his grappling gun, he thought before he saw someone fall and Omari moved almost as fast as Samson to catch them. Something to mind but Jonathan but he refused to acknowlegde it.
To end off the classes was combat training. Omari was about to pair up with Athena when Jonathan, who stood behind him, put his hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at Jonathan and almost froze as he saw what looked like a blue eyed Brent ask him, "Let's spar."
He opened his mouth to say something but the words died on his tongue. Jonathan had already taken a stance. "Come on," Jonathan said quietly. "Let's see if you're really as good as they say."
Jonathan moved first — sharp jabs, fast footwork — but Omari didn't counter. He slipped and dodged under the punches. "You gonna do something or just dance around?" Jonathan snapped. Omari stayed silent.
Every movement, every angle of Jonathan's face — the slight way his hair fell into his eyes — it all echoed Brent. Every time Omari almost countered, almost reached out to strike, his arms would freeze. He couldn't bring himself to do it.
"What's the matter?" Jonathan spat, coming forward with a body shot. "Feel guilty?"
Omari parried. "I'm not trying to hurt you." That only made Jonathan's strikes fiercer, sloppier.
"He was my cousin, you know." Omari's heart stopped mid-beat. That split second of frozen shock was all Jonathan needed. The skin on his fist crystallized and his right hook drilled into Omari's jaw.
Omari hit the ground hard. The world spun, spots flashing across his vision. Jonathan didn't stop. He straddled Omari, raining down blow after blow — crystal knuckles splitting skin, bruising flesh. "You killed him!" Shards of his own skin shattered with each strike, cutting Jonathan's hands open, making blood mix with tears.
Omari barely lifted his arms to shield himself. He just let it happen and then the blows slowed. Jonathan's fists trembled midair, half-raised for another punch, but he hesitated. Omari's face was an unrecognizable ruin.
His skin, where it wasn't torn or cut open, was swollen and raw, the flesh beneath darkening into a sick red. One of his eyes had burst and the other was swollen shut. His nose was caved into his skull and his jaw, a shattered mess of meat, teeth and bone.
Jonathan didn't want to fight anymore, this… He looked at his own hands, all the skin from it replaced with Omari's blood. He buried his face in his hand, why didn't he isn't fighting back?
Someone picked Jonathan, by the shirt, off Omari and slammed him into the ground. Jonathan rolled over onto his ass and looked up to see Samson looming over him. "If you ever get near him again," Samson said, "I'll kill you."
Jonathan wiped blood and tears from his face, "That human monster won't always be around for you," he said to Omari, voice breaking into a snarl. "And when that day comes... you'll have to fight back or die." Omari didn't respond. He didn't even lift his head, not that he could.
The teacher rushed over, hands glowing with healing light. Cuts sealed, swelling faded — but even as Omari's body healed, he didn't move to stand. He only rolled onto his side, pulling into himself and cried. He cried for Brent. He cried for Jonathan. But most of all he cried for himself.