Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

BoBoiBoy sat stiffly in the metallic chair across from Commander Koko Ci’s desk, the hum of the spaceship’s engines filling the heavy silence between them. The faint glow of the control panels around the room threw shifting shadows across the commander’s face, making his frown seem deeper than usual. BoBoiBoy’s gaze stayed fixed on the floor tiles, unable to meet his commander’s eyes. His chest still felt tight, as though the battle hadn’t truly ended.

The mission had begun with such promise. He and his friends had been sent out to secure a wandering Power Sphere before it fell into enemy hands. Everything had gone smoothly, at least at first. Ying’s speed, Gopal’s resourcefulness, Fang’s cleverness and Yaya’s strength had worked perfectly in harmony, each of them covering one another’s weaknesses like they always did. They had moved like a team—like a family. For a while, BoBoiBoy had even allowed himself to believe nothing could go wrong.

But then he had gotten involved.

The enemies had been stronger than expected, relentless in their assault, and without thinking twice, BoBoiBoy had pushed himself into a transformation—BoBoiBoy Halilintar. The crackle of electricity had surged through his veins, the raw power of thunder at his fingertips. He had defeated them—of that there was no doubt. The enemies were scattered, overwhelmed, and forced into retreat. The mission was a success on paper.

But the aftermath… the aftermath told a different story.

The ground had been scorched black where his lightning struck, buildings reduced to rubble, walls fractured and smoking. The air reeked of burnt ozone and ash. His enemies weren’t just defeated—they were left bruised, battered, and trembling from wounds that had not needed to be so harsh. And worst of all, BoBoiBoy couldn’t explain it. He knew better. He always knew better. He was aware of the balance between strength and control, of what he should and shouldn’t do in a fight. Yet in those moments, with thunder roaring inside him, something had slipped. He had gone too far.

Why?

Why had he done that?

The question gnawed at his thoughts like a parasite, looping endlessly, giving him no peace. He clenched his jaw and shut his eyes, replaying every strike of lightning, every careless blow, and every scream.

A weary sigh broke the silence.

BoBoiBoy’s eyes shot open. Commander Koko Ci leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. But instead of anger, there was only weariness on his face, the kind of expression belonging to someone who had seen this happen many times before.

“BoBoiBoy,” Koko Ci said at last, his voice calm but firm, “I understand what happened out there. You let the heat of battle take over. It happens to everyone sooner or later. This was just a lapse in judgment.”

BoBoiBoy swallowed, shame pressing down on his shoulders like iron weights.

The commander leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “But listen carefully—what matters isn’t that it happened. What matters is that you learn from it and make sure it doesn’t happen again. You’re not the first to struggle with control, and you won’t be the last. So don’t tear yourself apart over this. I’m not angry with you. I just want you to be better next time.”

Those words—meant to reassure—twisted like a blade in BoBoiBoy’s chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Better next time. Stronger next time. In control next time. But what if he couldn’t be? What if the power always threatened to break free like that, no matter how hard he tried?

The commander noticed the boy’s silence and gave a small nod. 

“That’s all, BoBoiBoy. You’re dismissed.”

With stiff, deliberate movements, BoBoiBoy rose to his feet. His body obeyed the reflex of discipline even though his mind felt clouded with doubt. He raised his hand in a sharp salute, the motion practiced and precise, though his clenched fist betrayed the storm still raging inside him.

“Sir,” he said quietly.

The door slid open with a hiss as he stepped into the empty corridor. The metallic hallway stretched endlessly before him, cold lights humming above. The door sealed shut behind him, cutting him off from the commander’s steady presence. Alone again, he walked forward, his pace heavy, his fist still tightly clenched—so tight it hurt.

And with every step, the question echoed louder in his head.

Why had he lost control?

BoBoiBoy sat alone in the quiet corridor, his hands pressed tightly against his knees, his head bowed low as though the very weight of his thoughts was dragging him down. Inside his mind, a storm raged louder than any thunder he could summon.

He kept replaying the battle in his head—every flash of lightning, every tremor of earth, every cry that had followed in his wake. The images struck like shards of glass, cutting into him from the inside. He couldn’t let go of the same question, over and over again.

Why? Why did I do that?

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not with him. Not with the hero his friends depended on. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his palms, but no amount of pressure could silence the voices in his head.

He had never been like this before. Sure, he had made mistakes in past battles. Who hadn’t? A broken wall here, a dented streetlight there—small, accidental things that were easy to laugh off once the mission was done. But this was different. This time he hadn’t just caused damage. This time, people had been hurt.

And worse—this wasn’t just a one-time mistake.

BoBoiBoy knew it. He had been noticing it for a while now, even if no one else had dared to point it out. Every time he transformed into one of his elemental forms—Halilintar with his roaring lightning, Taufan with his powerful winds, Gempa with his earth-shaking strength, Blaze with his searing flames, Ice with his freezing power, Thorn with his healing vines, or Solar with his burning light—it always ended the same way. No matter how carefully he tried to control himself, something went wrong.

Buildings crumbled. Streets cracked. People got hurt.

Even when his intentions were good, even when all he wanted was to protect his friends, destruction seemed to follow him like a shadow he couldn’t outrun. He thought about the time he had become BoBoiBoy Thorn, determined to stay in the backlines to heal his team if they got hurt. That should have been safe, harmless. But even then, something had gone wrong—his vines had grown out of control, blocking escape routes, tangling around his enemies, turning a moment of support into a moment of chaos.

Then there was Gempa. He had told himself he would only defend, that he wouldn’t use his power for anything but shielding his friends from enemy attacks. And yet, with just one misplaced stomp, he had cracked the battlefield beneath their feet, sending rubble flying in all directions. A move meant to protect had ended up hurting the very people he was trying to save.

It was always like that. Always.

And the more he thought about it, the more it terrified him. Because it wasn’t just that he was messing up—it was that he was getting worse. When it first started happening, it was small, barely noticeable. A scratch on an enemy here, a bruise there, a little too much damage to the surroundings. Things that could be brushed off, forgotten. But now? Now the mistakes were growing larger, more dangerous, impossible to ignore.

Why? Why was this happening?

His heart ached as the thought clawed deeper into him: Was it me? Am I the problem?

He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t want to cause destruction or make his friends doubt him. So why did this keep happening? Was it because he wasn’t concentrating hard enough? Because he wasn’t smart enough to control so many powers? Or was it something far darker?

The thought made his stomach twist: What if deep down, I actually enjoy it?

His throat tightened. He could almost hear the crackle of his own lightning in his ears, sharp and violent. What if some part of him liked the destruction, the chaos, the raw force of power breaking free? What if he wasn’t a hero at all, but a danger that no one had noticed yet?

The idea horrified him.

He pressed his face into his hands, trying to shut it all out, but the storm inside his mind only grew louder. He didn’t notice the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall until a familiar voice cut through the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“BoBoiBoy!”

His head snapped up. Through the blur of his doubts, he saw them—his friends, hurrying toward him, faces etched with concern. Ying’s eyes wide with worry, Gopal’s mouth pulled into an uncharacteristically serious line, Yaya hovering just behind them with her arms folded but her expression soft and Fang looking at him with soft eyes full of concern.

They had found him.

And as their voices called his name again, BoBoiBoy’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to run, to hide away before they could see the cracks spreading inside him. But another part—smaller, quieter, but stubborn—ached for their presence, for the comfort of not carrying this storm alone.

The hallway lights flickered faintly overhead, their cold glow casting long shadows along the metallic walls. BoBoiBoy sat slumped against the wall, his fists resting tightly on his knees, his thoughts still heavy and storming inside him. He was so wrapped up in his guilt that he didn’t even notice the footsteps until they came to a stop right in front of him.

“BoBoiBoy!”

The voice belonged to Ying, gentle but urgent, filled with concern. When he finally looked up, his friends were standing there—Ying, Yaya, Fang, and Gopal—each of them wearing the same expression: worry.

Ying crouched down first, her eyes scanning his face. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

BoBoiBoy forced his lips into a tight smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He nodded stiffly. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But the words rang hollow, and they all knew it.

Gopal’s brows furrowed as he glanced at the others, then back at BoBoiBoy. Yaya crossed her arms, watching him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration, while Fang remained quiet, his sharp gaze narrowing as if he could see straight through the flimsy mask BoBoiBoy had put up.

They had been his friends for years, through countless missions, countless victories and failures. They knew him better than he sometimes knew himself. To them, he was an open book—and right now, the words written across his face screamed that he was not fine.

Without hesitation, they all sat down around him, forming a quiet circle in the corridor. The warmth of their presence pressed in against the cold emptiness that had been suffocating him moments before.

“BoBoiBoy,” Yaya said firmly, her voice gentle but unyielding, “don’t do this to yourself. You don’t have to carry this weight alone.”

Gopal leaned forward, trying to catch his friend’s eye. “Yeah, bro, don’t beat yourself up. Things like this… mistakes… they happen. All the time. To everyone.” He gave a small shrug, trying to lighten the mood, though his smile wavered. “You just made a mistake. It’s not the end of the world.”

BoBoiBoy’s tight smile faltered, and he shook his head. “But I hurt people,” he said, his voice low, raw, almost breaking. “Even if I didn’t mean to… even if it was an accident… they still got hurt because of me.”

At that, the group fell silent for a moment. The weight of his words pressed down on them all. They couldn’t deny the truth in what he said. Their grimaces betrayed what their words couldn’t fully hide: it was true, people had been hurt.

Fang was the one who finally broke the silence. His tone was calm, steady, like a blade honed on experience. “In our line of work, that’s unavoidable,” he said, meeting BoBoiBoy’s eyes without flinching. “We fight to protect people, but battles are messy. Sometimes there are injuries. Sometimes things break. It’s bound to happen sooner or later.” He paused, softening just slightly. “What matters is that you care. That’s why you feel guilty. But you can’t carry that guilt forever.”

BoBoiBoy’s chest tightened. He wanted to believe Fang’s words, but the guilt inside him refused to quiet down. He looked down again, his fingers curling against his knees. “But… it doesn’t change the fact that I messed up. That people got hurt because of me.”

Ying reached out gently, resting her hand on his shoulder. “They weren’t hurt that badly,” she said kindly. “Fang’s right—it happens. A few scratches, a few bruises, maybe some stitches. But they’ll heal. What matters is that you’re still here, still fighting with us.”

The sincerity in her voice made him look up at her, though his eyes still held doubt. His friends could tell—he wasn’t convinced. 

That was when Gopal, who had been unusually serious until now, suddenly clapped his hands together with a sharp smack. The sound startled everyone, even BoBoiBoy.

“Alright, enough doom and gloom!” Gopal declared, forcing a grin onto his face. “You know what the best cure for this kind of mood is? Food!” He pointed dramatically toward the end of the hall. “The cafeteria is calling our names, my friends. And we are not going to ignore it!”

BoBoiBoy blinked at him, utterly bewildered. “Wait… what?”

But before he could protest, Gopal was already pulling him to his feet, his hands gripping BoBoiBoy’s arms with surprising strength. “Come on, bro. You can sulk later. Right now, you need a big plate of curry rice, maybe some fried chicken, and a dessert the size of your head.”

Yaya rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “Food isn’t going to solve everything, Gopal.”

“Maybe not,” Gopal shot back with mock seriousness, “but it solves something.”

The others laughed softly, and in that moment, the tension seemed to ease just a little. They all rose to their feet, gently guiding BoBoiBoy along with them. Ying gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, Fang gave him a subtle nod of encouragement, and Yaya hovered close, her quiet strength surrounding him.

Before he knew it, they were walking together toward the cafeteria, their footsteps echoing side by side.

And though BoBoiBoy still carried the storm inside him, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable anymore. Surrounded by his friends, the weight seemed just a little lighter.

When they finally reached the cafeteria, the familiar hum of chatter and clatter of trays greeted them. They grabbed their food—piled high thanks to Gopal’s insistence—and sat down together at one of the long tables. For the first time since the battle, BoBoiBoy allowed himself to breathe a little easier.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual evening chatter—metal trays clattering, the scent of fried food drifting through the air, laughter echoing from every table. When BoBoiBoy and his friends sat down together with their meals, it felt almost normal.

Almost.

At first, BoBoiBoy had been stiff and quiet, poking at his food without really tasting it. His storm of guilt still pressed against his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. But his friends refused to let him sink into silence.

Gopal exaggerated every bite he took, humming dramatically as if the fried chicken was the greatest treasure in the galaxy. Ying told funny stories about how many times Gopal had tripped earlier that day, and Yaya chimed in with her usual sharp jabs, rolling her eyes at their antics but smiling all the same. Fang didn’t say much, but every so often he smirked at Gopal’s foolishness, which only encouraged Gopal to get louder.

Little by little, the tension in BoBoiBoy’s shoulders eased. He found himself laughing—not forced, not fake, but genuine laughter bubbling up between bites of rice and sips of soup. For the first time since the mission, he wasn’t thinking about lightning strikes or scorched buildings. He was just… a boy at dinner with his friends.

They finished their meals slowly, stretching out the moment by trading jokes and lighthearted teases. By the time their trays were empty, the storm inside BoBoiBoy had quieted, though it still lingered like distant thunder.

That was when Fang leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and said evenly, “We should hit the training room. Work off some energy before bed.”

The suggestion immediately perked up the group. Gopal slammed his hands on the table with a grin. “Yes! Finally, I can prove once and for all that my punches are faster than Ying’s!”

Ying arched an eyebrow. “You mean slower, right?”

Everyone laughed, and the energy between them grew light and excited again. Even BoBoiBoy, still uncertain, found himself nodding. Maybe some training would help. Maybe if he sparred, if he let some of the pressure out in a controlled way, he could stop feeling like he was about to explode.

So together, they left the cafeteria and made their way to one of the training rooms.

The training hall was vast and echoing, its walls reinforced to withstand powerful abilities. Soft white lights hummed overhead, casting a glow over the clean, polished floor. It smelled faintly of metal and ozone—a place meant for sweat, focus, and growth.

They spread out, stretching and warming up. Ying tied back her hair with practiced motions, Yaya bounced on her toes to loosen her legs, Gopal cracked his knuckles with unnecessary theatrics. BoBoiBoy shrugged off his jacket, tied it around his waist, and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the unease still clinging to him.

Pairs were chosen naturally. Yaya and Gopal started bickering about who would win before they even touched hands. Ying moved toward a corner, practicing her speed dashes alone. Fang, silent as ever, walked toward BoBoiBoy with an unreadable expression.

They faced each other.

At first, it was simple—footwork drills, dodges, harmless exchanges of light punches and kicks. BoBoiBoy fell into the rhythm easily, his muscles remembering what his mind wanted to forget. Sparring was familiar, grounding.

But then, instinct—or something deeper—pushed him further. Lightning tingled at his fingertips, and before he realized it, he had shifted into BoBoiBoy Halilintar. Electricity danced around him, illuminating his eyes with a sharp, dangerous glow.

Fang didn’t flinch. He summoned his shadows, meeting Halilintar’s intensity head-on. The two collided—thunder against darkness—sparks flying with every clash. At first, it was exhilarating, the kind of spar they both secretly enjoyed.

But something began to change.

Halilintar wasn’t fighting to train anymore. His movements grew sharper, harder, more aggressive. Every strike cracked with too much power, every dash left scorch marks across the reinforced floor. He wasn’t sparring Fang—he was attacking, as if trying to prove something to someone, as if there was some audience he just had to show just how strong he could be.

It was no longer a friendly match. It was dangerous.

“BoBoiBoy!” Ying called from across the room, her voice tense. “Slow down!”

But Halilintar didn’t hear her. The storm inside had taken over.

Then it happened. A bolt of lightning, faster than thought, tore across the floor and struck Fang. He staggered back, his clothes scorched, smoke rising faintly from his shoulder where the attack had hit.

The sound of the impact echoed in the hall like a gunshot.

BoBoiBoy froze. His glowing hands trembled as he looked at them in horror. Then his wide, terrified gaze snapped to Fang—his friend, standing there hurt because of him.

“No…” The word slipped from his lips, fragile and broken. “No, no, no…”

He stumbled back a step, his chest heaving as panic surged through him. His lightning fizzled out, leaving only trembling hands and a face twisted in fear.

“I—” His voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry—I…”

He looked around wildly. Ying, Yaya, and Gopal were rushing forward, their faces full of concern, their voices trying to reach him. “It’s okay, BoBoiBoy! He’s fine! Calm down!”

Fang, though wincing, shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch—”

But BoBoiBoy couldn’t hear them. The storm in his chest had burst free, drowning everything else out. His breaths came fast, uneven, his vision blurring.

“I’m sorry!” he shouted, the words torn from his throat. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!”

And before any of them could stop him, he turned and ran.

The door hissed open, then slammed shut behind him, leaving his friends standing in stunned silence. None of them chased after him. They could see the panic in his eyes, the way his hands shook. Chasing him now would only make it worse.

So they stayed behind in the training room, exchanging heavy glances. They knew BoBoiBoy needed time. Time to calm down. 

Alone.

The door to BoBoiBoy’s room slammed shut with a hollow clang, the sound echoing through the empty room like the toll of a bell. He leaned against the doorframe, chest heaving, his breath ragged and uneven as if he had just sprinted a marathon. His hands trembled violently at his sides, sparks of leftover energy still crackling faintly at his fingertips.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, but the panic didn’t ease. The image of Fang wincing in pain burned itself into his mind—his friend staggering backward, smoke rising from the singed fabric of his shirt. No matter how many times BoBoiBoy blinked, the memory stayed, vivid and sharp, like a scar carved into his heart.

With a choked gasp, he pushed himself away from the door and stumbled toward the bathroom. The lights flickered on automatically, flooding the small space with a sterile, white glow. He gripped the edges of the sink so tightly his knuckles went pale, the cold porcelain grounding him just enough to keep him from collapsing.

“Why… why did I do that?” His voice cracked, the words barely louder than a whisper.

He twisted the faucet, and a stream of icy water gushed forth. Without hesitation, he splashed it over his face—once, twice, again and again—hoping the cold would shock him out of the spiral clawing at his chest. Droplets ran down his cheeks, mixing with the tears he refused to acknowledge. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping from his hair and chin.

The boy staring back at him didn’t look like a hero. He looked broken.

BoBoiBoy pressed both hands to his face, digging his fingers into his skin as though he could rip out the shame festering inside him. Why am I like this? The thought screamed in his mind. Why can’t I control myself? Why am I so stupid?

He pulled his hands away slowly, staring down at them as they shook. These hands that his friends trusted. These hands that were supposed to protect people. Tonight, they had betrayed him.

His gaze drifted downward, landing on the sleek watch around his wrist—the very device that stored and channeled his powers. For a moment, all he could do was stare. Then a dark, twisting emotion rose in his chest.

Hatred.

He hated the watch. He hated the powers it gave him. They were supposed to be his strength, his gift. But lately, they felt like a curse, a burden he could never carry properly. Every transformation only brought destruction. Every element only brought pain.

And worst of all… he hated himself for needing them.

A sharp breath escaped him, shaky and uneven. He wanted to tear the watch off, throw it across the room, smash it until nothing remained. But his fingers hovered over it uselessly, paralyzed. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because without his powers, who was he? Just a boy? A failure pretending to be a hero?

The silence of the bathroom pressed down on him, broken only by the steady drip of water from the faucet. Finally, he reached for a towel, scrubbing his face dry with rough, hurried motions. His reflection still looked hollow, but at least the water hid the redness in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he turned off the light and shuffled back into his room. Every step felt like walking through mud, his body weighed down by exhaustion—not just physical, but emotional, mental, soul-deep exhaustion.

He changed into his sleep clothes with slow, mechanical movements, tossing his jacket onto the chair in the corner. Then he crawled into bed, pulling the thin blanket over himself. The mattress felt colder than usual, the silence heavier.

Lying there in the dark, his thoughts circled endlessly. Fang’s pained expression. The worried faces of Ying, Yaya, and Gopal. The way their voices had tried to reassure him, but he couldn’t believe them. He clenched his jaw, staring at the ceiling as the guilt gnawed at him.

I’ll apologize tomorrow, he told himself firmly, as if the promise alone would stop the ache in his chest. I’ll look Fang in the eye, and I’ll say I’m sorry. I’ll say it to all of them.

But even as he thought it, doubt crept in. Would they forgive him? Or worse—what if they already doubted him, already feared him, but just didn’t say it out loud?

The storm inside him whispered and howled, but his body was too drained to keep fighting it. Eventually, his eyes fluttered shut. His breathing slowed, and at last, BoBoiBoy slipped into restless sleep.

But even in his dreams, the lightning followed him.

Inside the watch, silence reigned.

It was not the kind of silence that brought peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind that made even the air itself feel burdened. The seven Elementals sat scattered around the couch—each caught in their own thoughts, each weighed down by the same guilt. Their master was asleep in the outside world, but his words, his feelings, had reached them like knives.

BoBoiBoy’s pain was theirs to share. And tonight, it burned more than ever.

Blaze was the first to break the silence. He paced restlessly in a wide circle, flames flickering sharply across his arms and shoulders. Sparks trailed behind his every step, evidence of the agitation boiling inside him. Finally, he growled through clenched teeth, “He hates us.”

Thorn, seated cross-legged on the floor with vines coiled protectively around him, immediately raised his head. His green eyes narrowed in protest. “No, Blaze. Don’t twist it. He doesn’t hate us.”

“Yes, he does!” Blaze snapped, whirling around, the firelight casting sharp shadows across the room. “I heard him, Thorn. We all did. Clear as day. He looked at that watch, at us, and he said he hated it. He hated himself, and he hated us along with it!” His voice cracked with a mixture of anger and despair. “Our own master despises us, the very powers that make him who he is!”

The others stirred uncomfortably. Solar bowed his head. Ice wrapped his arms around himself, his usual sharp words never coming. Even Taufan, normally brash and loud, sat slouched against the couch, wind swirling weakly around his ankles as though he didn’t have the energy to argue.

Thorn lowered his gaze. Blaze’s words stung because they were true. They had all heard it. BoBoiBoy’s voice, filled with hatred and despair, declaring he loathed the powers he couldn’t control.

Halilintar, who had been standing motionless in the corner, finally spoke. His tone was low, heavy, and broken. “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward him. Halilintar’s frame seemed smaller than usual, shoulders hunched, lightning crackling weakly along his arms like a dying storm. He stared at the floor, unable to meet their gazes. “Every time he loses control, it’s when I appear. My lightning… my temper… my recklessness. It’s me. I push him too far. If not for me, maybe he wouldn’t be suffering like this.”

“No,” Gempa said softly, shaking his head. His voice carried the steadiness of the earth itself, but even he sounded tired. “You can’t carry this alone, Halilintar. This problem didn’t start with you. We’ve all seen it. This has been building for weeks, months even. Every time he uses us—we lose control. Balance, control, focus. It isn’t just lightning. It’s all of us.”

Halilintar looked up then, anguish sparking in his eyes. “But when it happens with me, it’s the worst.”

Gempa opened his mouth to answer, but no words came. Because again, Halilintar wasn’t wrong.

The room fell into silence once more. One by one, the Elementals lowered their gazes. Blaze’s eyes dimmed, Solar’s eyes flickered weakly around the room, Ice let out a brittle sigh that froze the air around him. None of them could argue against what had been said, because the truth was undeniable.

They had failed him.

Again and again, they had tried to prove their worth, to guide their master without him even knowing of their existence. They had whispered strength into his heart, lent their power to his limbs, tried to give him the control he so desperately needed. But all their efforts had been for nothing. Instead of helping him grow, they had dragged him down further.

“He hates us,” Blaze repeated bitterly, his voice curling inward like a dying ember. “He doesn’t even know we’re alive, and still… we’ve managed to disappoint him.”

Thorn pressed a hand to his chest, curling up tighter, his voice softer now. “He doesn’t hate us. He hates what he thinks he’s becoming. And we… we are the ones causing him that pain.”

The room grew unbearably still.

For the first time in a long while, none of the Elementals had anything left to say. Their heads bowed, their eyes fixed on the floor, each of them drowning in the same heavy thought:

They weren’t helping him anymore. They were only making things worse.

And so, they sat in silence, sharing the weight of their master’s despair.

The silence inside the room was unbearable. The room seemed colder than usual, its usual warmth dimmed as if even the very heart of this place reflected their despair. The Elementals had been sitting in quiet agony for what felt like hours, weighed down by the echo of their master’s words.

It was Taufan who finally broke the silence. He shot up from where he had been sitting, his jaw clenched tight. His voice came out rough, but determined.

“We can’t give up,” he declared, looking around at the others with eyes burning like storm clouds. “Not now. Not ever. He’s our master—our BoBoiBoy. If we give up on him, then what’s the point of even existing? We have to keep trying. No matter how hard it gets.”

Solar, who had been looking down at the floor, let out a sharp, bitter laugh. His eyes flickered like a candle about to go out. “Keep trying?” he repeated, his tone dripping with frustration. “Taufan, look around you. Our trying led to this. Every time we push harder, every time we try to prove ourselves, things only get worse. He loses control. He hurts people. He hates himself. He hates us. You call that trying? I call it failure.”

The words struck the others like a slap. Blaze turned away, grimacing. Thorn’s hands tightened protectively around him. Ice looked down. Even Halilintar, strong and fierce, flinched slightly at Solar’s words.

But Taufan didn’t back down. He stepped forward, his voice rising with conviction. “I know we’ve failed him. I know! I was there every time my power knocked things out of control. I felt it every time he panicked because of us. But that doesn’t mean we quit. If we stop now, then we’re admitting that we’re worthless—that he is right to hate us. And I refuse to believe that!”

His words hung in the air.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Ice finally lifted his head, his pale eyes glinting like shards of frozen glass. His voice was soft, but steady. “Taufan’s right. We can’t give up. If we do, then there’s no hope left for him… or for us. He needs us, even if he doesn’t realize it. We just… we just have to try harder. Find a way to help him, even if it means failing a hundred more times.”

Gempa, who had been silent through most of the exchange, finally stirred. His voice echoed through the room, steady and calm.

“So,” he said slowly, “do we all agree?”

One by one, the Elementals raised their eyes. Blaze’s eyes flickered back to life, the fire in them smaller than usual but steady. Thorn looked up and gave a soft nod of his head. Ice straightened, his nod sharp. Solar hesitated the longest, his eyes wavering uncertainly. But in the end, even he sighed, lowered his head, and nodded once.

Halilintar’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice was low, full of guilt but also of resolve. “If we are to keep going… then we will give it everything we have.”

Taufan gave a sharp grin, though there was pain behind it. “That’s the spirit. If we’re going down, we’re going down fighting for him.”

At that, Gempa exhaled heavily. He nodded once, a solemn acceptance that carried the weight of all their burdens. “Then it’s decided. We don’t give up. Not now, not ever. We’ll give it everything we have, and we’ll prove ourselves to BoBoiBoy. No matter how long it takes.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the despair clouding the room began to lift. Their master still struggled. Their bond was fragile, perhaps even breaking. But now, in this moment, hope returned to their eyes.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to begin again.