That evening, Jelo laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his face twisted with worry. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, making everything feel heavier somehow. Atlas had been studying him for the past hour, watching the way his friend's jaw clenched and unclenched, the way his eyes seemed to focus on nothing at all, the way his breathing would occasionally hitch as if he'd forgotten to breathe properly. He didn't want to pry or ask questions—Jelo would talk when he was ready. That's how it always worked between them. They'd been roommates long enough to understand each other's silences.

But after what felt like an eternity of tense silence, after watching Jelo shift positions three times and sigh heavily at least a dozen more, Atlas couldn't bear it anymore. The worry was practically radiating off his friend in waves, filling the entire room with an uncomfortable pressure.

"Are you okay?"

Jelo sat up abruptly, his expression shifting to surprise. His eyes were wide, as if he'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he'd forgotten Atlas was even there. "What do you mean?"

Atlas leaned back against his own bed, arms crossed, studying his friend carefully. "Well, you've had this worried expression on your face for hours now. Ever since we got back from training. Actually, if I'm being honest, you've looked like this since we returned from the Forbidden City." He tilted his head slightly. "What are you thinking about?"

Jelo looked even more stunned, as if he hadn't realized how transparent he'd been. He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of whatever was bothering him suddenly visible in his posture. "Well, it's just… I fear we might go into war sooner than we all expected."

Atlas stayed quiet, letting him continue. He could see Jelo struggling to find the right words, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his blanket.

"After encountering the ihes at the Forbidden City, I know the government won't overlook that," Jelo said, his voice dropping lower, becoming almost hollow. "After all, there was a treaty signed that the ihes must never return to Earth. And if they did, it would mean war." He paused, his expression darkening further. "It's been years since that treaty was established. Years of peace, or at least the illusion of it. But now…" He clenched his fists on his lap, knuckles turning white. "I've never fought any creature so powerful. The way it moved, the way it kept getting stronger with every hit we landed on it… If it weren't for Teacher Olmo, we would have been done for. We would have died there."

The memory of that battle still haunted him like a recurring nightmare. The way the ihe had moved—fluid, relentless, almost dancing through their attacks. The way it had smiled when they wounded it, as if pain was fuel rather than deterrent. The way his own attacks had felt like throwing pebbles at a mountain, utterly ineffective against something so overwhelmingly powerful. The sheer difference in power had been suffocating, crushing, like trying to breathe underwater. He'd felt genuine fear that day, the kind that made his hands shake and his heart hammer against his ribs like it wanted to escape.

And the worst part? That ihe probably wasn't even one of their strongest warriors. Just a scout. Maybe even a deserter. What would happen when they faced actual ihe soldiers? Commanders? Their warlords?

Atlas was taking in all Jelo was saying, watching the way his friend's expression shifted between fear, frustration, and determination. He understood truly how his friend felt. The weight of knowing something terrible was coming, the helplessness of waiting for it, of being unable to prepare adequately because you didn't even know the full scope of what you were preparing for. But Atlas also knew that sitting here drowning in worry wouldn't change anything. It would only make things worse, would only drain Jelo's energy before the real fight even began.

"Well, just worrying about it can't fix anything," Atlas said gently, his voice steady and calm. "You must already know this."

Jelo glanced at him, his expression still tight, still troubled. But there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes.

"You are probably one of the most important assets to this war," Atlas continued, his tone growing more confident, more certain. He leaned forward, making sure Jelo was really listening. "You're the only dragon that we have in this academy. You're the only one that shows the potential of surpassing even the highest ranking supers on Earth. Your potential exceeds everyone's imagination." He paused, meeting Jelo's eyes directly, his gaze unwavering. "And just being with you gives me the assurance that we can accomplish a lot. That we can actually survive what's coming. That humanity has a real chance."

Jelo looked away, uncomfortable with the praise, with the expectations that came wrapped in Atlas's words like heavy chains. He didn't feel like some great asset. He didn't feel like humanity's hope or some legendary dragon warrior. He felt like a kid who'd barely survived his first real fight, who'd been saved by his teacher, who still had nightmares about how easily that ihe could have killed them all. But he appreciated what Atlas was trying to do, understood that his friend was offering comfort in the only way he knew how.

"I know," Jelo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm going to be important. That's what scares me."

He stood up and walked to the window, his movements slow and heavy. He stared out at the academy grounds below, watching as students were still moving about, laughing, training, living their lives as if the world wasn't about to catch fire. Some were practicing combat techniques in the training yard, their movements clumsy but enthusiastic. Others were gathered in small groups, talking and joking. He envied them that ignorance, that ability to live in the moment without the crushing weight of what was coming pressing down on their shoulders.

Jelo didn't need to be told that he was going to be an important asset. That reality had been drilled into him the moment Teacher Olmo had looked at him after the battle, eyes full of expectation and something else—hope, maybe, or faith. The moment Mira had patched him up without asking questions, her hands gentle but her eyes knowing. The moment Ken had nodded at him with that knowing look, the silent acknowledgment passing between them. And Atlas had stayed by his side without hesitation, without fear, even knowing what Jelo really was.

All that was on his mind right now was to improve and grow stronger. So that when the time came, when he was needed, when the war finally erupted and humanity's survival hung in the balance, he wouldn't fall short of their expectations. Especially the expectations of Teacher Olmo, Mira, Ken, and Atlas—since they were the only ones that knew of his abilities. The only ones who knew what he really was. The only ones who knew about the dragon blood flowing through his veins, about the system that granted him power, about the potential he carried within himself like a sleeping volcano.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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