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He knew there was no way a Bronze Saint would be able to win against a Gold Saint.
It's a fact.
Just like how the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Bronze Saints are the lowest ranking in the hierarchy of the Saints. Gold is the highest. A Bronze Saints Cosmo couldn't reach high enough to be accepted by a Silver Saint, that's why they wouldn't win against Gold Saints who's even higher rather than Silver Saints.
But he knew that it's not everything, didn't he?
After all, hadn't he found the opposite? He had experienced it himself, too, hadn't he? Five Bronze Saints fighting against the Twelve Gold Saints and actually winning. True, some of the Gold Saints were not hostile, but still...That was something no one would be able to achieved in years, and yet, those Saints managed to do it. He had witnessed it with his very own eyes, how those five Bronze Saints defy fate again and again.
Even at the face of adversity, somehow....somehow, they managed to rise their Cosmo to the fullest and create a miracle.
That's the thing about humans, right?
They could do anything that no one would be able to do. Something that people would call....a miracle.
A loud explosion snapped him out of his thoughts. The Bronze Saints were on the ground, hurt quite badly with the teal-haired girl who everyone kept calling Athena.
When the real Athena is not her. It's someone else. Not that teal-haired girl, but someone named Saori Kido. The woman who was currently being imprisoned by Mars himself.
The current Master of the Fifth House, Leo Mycenae is going to kill that Pegasus Saint, whether he liked it or not. He needed to step in. Well, he had been trying to be subtle this whole time, didn't he? One that he knew his friends would laugh if they knew. Leo Mycenae prepared to finish, saying something along the lines of the Pegasus Saint should have kept his head down. Oh, how he wanted to laugh.
Pegasus Saints are never known for their obedience. Both the current and former ones.
He leaped towards the battle. He could practically feel the bulging eyes from the teen behind him. So young and had so much pressure. But that's the thing about being a Saint, isn't it? At any rate...
He focused his attention to Leo Mycenae who squinted his eyes at him but didn't do anything to stop the incoming attack.
"King's Emblem!" The Leo Saint shouted.
An electricity type of attack.
Huh.
How funny. To think that this man would dare to use this type of attack in front of him. To think that this man would do something like this in front of the person who knew and uses the electricity type attack himself. But, in his current body, a boy, barely old enough to be a Saint, an Academy Student, there was no doubt that Leo Mycenae wouldn't think that this boy used to be a Gold Saint.
Reincarnated and granted a third chance in life.
Funny how fate works.
He could hear shouts from behind him. The Pegasus Saint and everyone else shouting for him to go, to leave.
Ah.
Those Bronze Saint's heart were in the right place. They would protect him and other people who shouldn't have been caught in the battle. They are going to be a good Gold Saints one day, if that time ever comes.
But.
He's not an ordinary kid at all.
He shifted his leg, his stance ready. He was standing with one leg behind, facing sideways. He closed his eyes and just like that, he stopped Mycenae's fist. His small hands due to his still child-like body could barely unclasped Mycenae's fist but it did what it needed to do. It stopped the attack. The Leo's Saint eyes were wide. Surprised written. With ease, Mycenae's released himself from the grip and jumped back.
"Boy," Mycenae asked, "Who are you?"
"To think that you would attack another Saint," He titled his head, "I don't think an introduction is something I should be doing," He glanced behind him and he could see how surprised the Bronze Saints were, "If you want to attack," He looked straight at Mycenae's eyes, "You should attack without any hesitation or else it wouldn't work."
"Boy." The Gold Saint growled.
"Let me show you," He took in a deep breath, "How a Gold Saint should have fought," He closed his eyes once more. Immediately, his Cosmo burned. Just like before, it was gold. When he opened them, his body was crackled with electricity, "Lightning Plasma." He unleashes light-speed punches. It wasn't like his power before, and certainly he's much weaker, but at least, he got his point across.
Mycenae must have seen the gap, because retaliated. But, he was faster. His smaller body gave him the advantage and he actually managed to evade any attack that would hit his vital points and killing him.
The exchange didn’t last long.
It couldn’t.
Even as he moved—dodging, striking, weaving between Leo Mycenae’s blows with practiced instinct—he could feel it. The burn. Not the Cosmo, but the body. This vessel was too young, too fragile, its muscles screaming in protest as they were forced to remember movements engraved across lifetimes that weren’t truly its own.
Then—
A pressure fell.
Not like Mycenae’s. Not like any Gold Saint’s.
It was heavier. Vast. Suffocating.
The air itself seemed to distort, as if reality bowed before an approaching presence. The ground cracked, and a shadow stretched across the academy grounds, swallowing the battlefield whole.
The Bronze Saints froze.
Mycenae stiffened.
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the temple.
Mars had arrived.
Clad in his dark, godlike armor, crimson eyes glowing with amusement, Mars surveyed the scene before him. His gaze lingered briefly on the fallen Bronze Saints… then on Leo Mycenae, who lowered his head ever so slightly.
But Mars’s attention didn’t stay there.
It settled on him.
On the child standing amidst crackling remnants of golden lightning, chest rising and falling sharply, Cosmo still flickering like a stubborn flame refusing to die.
Mars chuckled.
“Well now,” he said, voice smooth and dangerous, “this is unexpected.”
He stepped closer, each footstep sending another wave of pressure crashing down. The Bronze Saints struggled to breathe under it.
“A boy,” Mars continued, “yet you intervened between a Gold Saint and his prey… and not only that.”
His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing.
“You fought on a Gold Saint’s level.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
Mycenae’s eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. He hadn’t said it—but Mars had confirmed it. What he had displayed was not imitation.
It was experience.
He straightened despite the tremor running through his legs. He said nothing. There was no point. Mars wasn’t someone who needed explanations.
Mars smiled wider.
“How fascinating,” he mused. “But, a wasted potential nonetheless because you're going to die."
That was when he felt it. The relapse of his fight. He knew it wouldn't be anything good at this point. He knew he shouldn't have pushed his body. Logically, he knew. But still, he also knew that he couldn't let these Bronze Saints alone. He staggered and he swore he could see Mars' smile widened. A pair of strong hands caught his body before he could faint and he saw the Pegasus Saint looking at him with surprise and concern.
"Hey," A gentle shake, "Are you okay?"
Well, he didn't know the answer to that.
"That boy is going to die. And so will you." Mars announced and prepared to punch the Bronze Saint.
Just as that was about to happen, there was a bright golden light.
Ah.
It looked like...
It looked like his brother, Aiolos, but that would be impossible, wouldn't it? After all, they had all died in that battle, his brother even before the battle of the Twelve Temples. They were fighting to breach the Wailing Wall back then, down in the Underworld. He couldn't imagine the pain it must have caused everyone. Leo Mycenae was already gone, he didn't even notice when the Leo Gold Saint left.
The familiar winged back turned slightly. That, and he also heard faintly the Pegasus Saint holding him saying the person's name, "Seiya..."
Ah.
You have grown, haven't you? After we died, you have grown so much, haven't you? Seiya. He thought before succumbing to the darkness.
***
The boy sat with his back against the cracked stone wall, one knee drawn up, an arm resting loosely over it. Bandages wrapped around his forearms and shoulder, already faintly darkened where the bruises were seeping through. His posture looked relaxed at first glance—almost careless—but there was a quiet alertness to him, eyes half-lidded yet sharp, following every movement around him.
Koga hovered in front of him, clearly unable to let it go.
“Why won’t you tell us your name?” Koga demanded again, fists clenched. “You jumped in front of a Gold Saint. You fought one. That’s not normal!”
The boy sighed, clicking his tongue softly. It wasn’t irritated exactly—more like someone inconvenienced by a question he didn’t feel like answering.
“Names are troublesome,” he said at last. His voice was calm, steady, lacking any hint of fear despite everything that had happened. “They make people expect things.”
“That’s not an answer,” Koga shot back.
The boy glanced at him, one eyebrow lifting just slightly. There was something bold in that look, not arrogant, but unapologetic—like he’d never learned how to bow his head properly, even when it might have been smarter to do so.
“You’re alive,” he replied. “That should be enough for now.”
Yuna shifted uneasily. “Mars said you fought on a Gold Saint’s level,” she said carefully. “That wasn’t a mistake. Your Cosmo… it was gold.”
At that, the boy looked away. Not sharply, not guiltily—just distant, as though his attention had drifted somewhere far beyond the academy walls.
“Was,” he corrected quietly.
Koga frowned. “What do you mean, ‘was’?”
The boy leaned his head back against the stone, eyes closing. A faint, humorless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I used to be one,” he said. “A Gold Saint.”
The air went still.
Koga laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “That’s impossible. Gold Saints don’t just—what, turn into kids?”
The boy opened one eye, fixing Koga with a look that carried more weight than his small frame should have been able to hold.
“Fate doesn’t ask what’s possible,” he said. “It just decides.”
Soma swallowed. “If you were a Gold Saint,” he asked, “then why are you like this now?”
The boy’s fingers curled slightly against his knee, knuckles whitening for just a moment before he forced them to relax.
“Because I lost it,” he answered. “This body can’t hold what I used to be. The Cosmo, the strength… it burned itself out long ago.”
There was no bitterness in his tone. No self-pity. Just acceptance—sharp, clean, and unwavering.
Koga took a step closer. “Then why fight?” he asked. “Why step in if you knew you couldn’t win?”
The boy’s gaze snapped back to him, sudden and fierce, like a flash of lightning behind storm clouds.
“Because that’s what Saints do,” he said flatly. “You don’t stand there and watch people die just because the odds are bad.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Koga asked, more quietly, “If you were a Gold Saint… which one?”
The boy went silent.
He closed his eyes again, arms folding loosely across his chest. His expression smoothed into something unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
“…That part doesn’t matter anymore,” he said after a long pause. “That Saint is dead.”
Koga opened his mouth to press further, but something in the boy’s presence stopped him. Not authority—something more instinctive. A pressure, faint but unmistakable, like standing too close to a thunderstorm even after the rain had passed.
The boy tilted his head slightly, eyes still closed.
“You should focus on getting stronger,” he added. “Mars won’t go easy on you next time.”
Koga scowled. “You talk like you’ve been through all this before.”
A faint smirk appeared—quick, sharp, gone in an instant.
“…Yeah,” the boy murmured. “Something like that.”
And no matter how many questions followed after, that was all he would give them.
***
The Bronze Saints had pulled back a short distance, not far enough to leave—but far enough to give space.
All of them watched.
The boy stood a few steps away from Aria, posture loose, hands in his pockets, speaking to her in a low voice. His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t reverent either. There was no bowing, no awe, none of the instinctive devotion Saints usually showed when they stood before Athena.
And yet—
He hadn’t left her side since she approached him.
Koga crossed his arms, jaw tight. “You see that, right?” he muttered.
Yuna nodded slowly. “He’s polite… but he’s keeping his distance.”
Aria smiled as she spoke to the boy, her voice gentle as always, but even she seemed to sense it. Every time she stepped closer, the boy shifted—subtle, barely noticeable—just enough to keep a careful line between them.
Haruto adjusted his glasses. “It’s not fear,” he said after a moment. “And it’s not hostility.”
“Then what is it?” Soma asked.
“…Caution,” Ryuho replied. “The kind someone has when they’re used to betrayal.”
Haruto’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t trust anyone here.”
Koga scoffed. “He jumped in front of a Gold Saint for us.”
“That doesn’t mean trust,” Yuna said quietly. “That means responsibility.”
They fell silent again.
The boy said something then that made Aria tilt her head, surprised. She laughed softly, but there was a hint of confusion in it. Whatever he had said, it wasn’t what she expected.
Soma squinted. “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Limits,” Haruto said. “Or warnings.”
As if on cue, the boy raised a hand—not threatening, not abrupt—but firm. Aria stopped speaking immediately.
That, more than anything, unsettled them.
No one interrupted Athena.
Except the boy did it without hesitation.
Without apology.
Koga’s fists clenched. “Who does he think he is…?”
“Someone who’s used to standing beside gods,” Ryuho said softly.
Yuna glanced at him. “You noticed it too.”
“Yes,” Ryuho replied. “The way he looks at Aria isn’t disbelief.”
“It’s comparison,” Haruto added.
The boy finally stepped back, giving Aria a small nod. Respectful—but distant. He turned away from her and walked toward the shade of a broken pillar, leaning against it with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the surroundings out of habit rather than concern.
Aria watched him go, fingers curling lightly against her dress.
“He’s very kind,” she said, more to herself than to them.
Koga frowned. “Kind people don’t look at Athena like that.”
Ryuho exhaled. “He doesn’t look at her like she’s Athena.”
The realization settled heavily among them.
Soma scratched the back of his head. “Then what does he think she is?”
No one answered.
From across the courtyard, the boy glanced their way—not directly at Aria, but at all of them together. His gaze was sharp, assessing, like a veteran checking the formation of soldiers before a battle.
Then he looked away.
“…Whatever he is,” Yuna said quietly, “he’s protecting us.”
Koga swallowed, eyes fixed on the boy’s back.
“Yeah,” he said. “And that’s what scares me.”
***
Night settled over the ruins quietly.
Most of the academy grounds were dark now, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lamps and the stars overhead. The others had long since fallen asleep—exhaustion claiming them one by one after everything that had happened.
Ryuho hadn’t.
He noticed it when he shifted in his blanket and looked up.
The boy was still awake.
He stood near the same broken pillar as before, one foot resting against the stone, arms folded loosely across his chest. His gaze swept the area in slow, deliberate arcs—never lingering too long, never fully relaxing. Every so often, his eyes lifted to the sky, as if measuring something unseen.
Standing watch.
Ryuho sat up.
After a moment’s hesitation, he quietly rose and walked over. The boy noticed him immediately.
“You’re going to wake the others,” the boy said without turning around.
Ryuho paused. “…You heard me?”
A faint smirk crossed the boy’s face. “You don’t walk like Koga.”
Ryuho replied back, “You’re not sleeping either.”
The boy shrugged. “Someone should keep an eye open.”
There was no accusation in it. No claim of authority. Just a simple statement of fact.
Ryuho stood beside him, leaning lightly against the pillar, careful to keep a respectful distance. For a while, neither of them spoke. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dust and stone.
Then the boy spoke again.
“You’re Shiryuu’s son.”
Ryuho stiffened.
“…How do you know my father?”
The boy finally turned his head, eyes catching the starlight. He looked at Ryuho closely now—not like he was inspecting a stranger, but like he was confirming something he already knew.
“You move the same way,” he said. “Your breathing. Your stance. Even when you think you’re relaxed, your center doesn’t waver.”
Ryuho frowned. “That could describe a lot of Saints.”
The boy huffed softly. “Not like that.”
Ryuho’s fingers tightened at his sides. “You didn’t answer my question.”
For a moment, the boy was quiet. His gaze returned to the horizon.
“I knew him,” he said simply.
Ryuho searched his face. “You’re too young—”
“Now,” the boy cut in, tone sharper. Not angry. Just firm. “I’m younger now.”
The words hung between them.
Ryuho took a slow breath. “Then you really were a Gold Saint.”
The boy didn’t confirm it.
He didn’t deny it either.
Instead, he said, “Your father was stubborn.”
Ryuho blinked.
“He broke his body more times than I can count,” the boy continued, lips curling slightly, “and every time someone told him to stop, he’d look at them like they were idiots.”
That sounded… familiar.
“But,” the boy added, eyes narrowing just a fraction, “he never backed down from protecting others. Even when it cost him.”
Ryuho’s voice softened. “You respected him.”
The boy snorted quietly. “He was a pain.”
That answer, somehow, meant more.
They stood in silence again.
After a moment, Ryuho asked, “If you knew my father… why help us?”
The boy glanced sideways at him. “Isn’t it obvious?”
Ryuho shook his head.
“Because he would’ve done the same,” the boy replied. “And because you’re his kid.”
Ryuho felt something tighten in his chest.
“You don’t trust Aria,” he said carefully.
The boy’s jaw set—not defensive, but resolute.
“I don’t trust things I haven’t confirmed,” he replied. “That’s different.”
“But you’re still here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
Ryuho studied him. “You act like you’re waiting for something.”
The boy’s eyes lifted to the stars again. “I am.”
“For what?”
“For the moment when staying becomes more dangerous than leaving,” he said. “Until then… I’ll watch.”
Ryuho nodded slowly. “Then I’ll watch too.”
The boy glanced at him, surprised for just a fraction of a second.
“…You should sleep.”
Ryuho smiled faintly. “I learned from my father.”
That earned him a short, sharp laugh—quick as thunder, gone just as fast.
They stood together in the quiet night, two generations bound by the same silent resolve, as the stars looked on.
***
The Five Peaks rose from the earth like quiet sentinels, layered in mist and time.
Soma slowed his steps without realizing it.
This wasn’t how he had imagined it. He expected something harsher—jagged cliffs, crushing pressure, a place that tested you the moment you set foot on it. Instead, the air was calm, almost gentle. Water flowed softly nearby, wind whispering through stone and trees as if the mountains themselves were breathing.
“Feels… peaceful,” Yuna murmured.
Koga scoffed. “Too peaceful.”
Soma didn’t answer. His attention had drifted elsewhere.
To the boy.
He stood a little apart from them, arms crossed, gaze sweeping across the peaks with unmistakable familiarity. Not wonder. Not curiosity.
Recognition.
Soma frowned. That feeling from before—like there was something he was missing—returned stronger than ever.
Since the fight with Leo Mycenae and Mars, the boy hadn’t thrown a single punch.
Not once.
Whenever enemies appeared, he stayed back. Watched. Judged. Only when a blow came too close, only when someone would have died, did he move—quick, precise, over in a heartbeat. No wasted motion. No follow-up. As if stepping in any further would cross some invisible line he refused to breach.
It drove Koga crazy.
“He could’ve helped more,” Koga muttered now, clearly thinking the same thing. “He’s strong. I know it.”
Soma glanced at the boy again.
Strong wasn’t the right word.
Restrained was.
The boy shifted his weight, fingers curling slightly at his side as Koga spoke. For just a second, Soma saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened. Like someone holding back a storm by sheer will.
He wanted to fight.
But he didn’t.
Five Peaks came into full view then, and someone was waiting.
A woman stood near the stone steps, hands folded calmly in front of her. Her long hair stirred in the breeze, eyes gentle yet piercing in a way that made Soma straighten instinctively.
“Shunrei,my mother,” Ryuho had told them before they separated.
Ryuho’s mother. Shiryuu’s wife.
The moment her gaze fell on the boy, something changed.
Her eyes widened—just slightly.
Then softened.
She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t call out a name. But her posture shifted, like someone recognizing an old presence they never expected to see again.
The boy noticed.
Of course he did.
He straightened, uncrossing his arms. For the first time since arriving, he looked… uncertain. Not weak. Just caught off guard.
Shunrei approached, her steps unhurried.
“It’s been a long journey for all of you,” she said warmly, addressing the group. Her gaze lingered on the boy for half a breath longer than the others. “You’re welcome here.”
The boy inclined his head. Not deeply—but sincerely.
“Thank you,” he said.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
History.
And restraint.
Soma swallowed.
She knows him.
He was sure of it now.
Koga didn’t seem to notice, already scanning the area. Yuna was focused on the temple ahead. But Soma couldn’t tear his eyes away from the exchange.
Shunrei turned back to the others. “You must be tired. Please, rest. Five Peaks will watch over you.”
As they moved past her, the boy hesitated. Just for a second.
Shunrei spoke softly, only loud enough for him to hear.
“You’ve changed.”
The boy’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. “So have you.”
She studied him, eyes glistening with something unspoken. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
His gaze hardened—not unkindly, but with resolve. “Some things… I do.”
Shunrei nodded, accepting the answer without pressing further.
No names were spoken.
No truths revealed.
But as the boy walked on, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes sharp and watchful once more, Soma felt it settle deep in his chest.
Whatever this boy used to be—
Five Peaks remembered him.
***
The calm didn’t last.
The wind shifted first—sharp, unnatural—cutting through the gentle rhythm of Five Peaks like a blade. Soma felt it crawl up his spine before he saw anything at all.
A ripple passed through the air.
Then space bent.
A figure emerged from the distortion, boots striking stone with deliberate force. Silver armor gleamed coldly beneath the fading light, constellation markings flaring to life.
Perseus Mirfak.
His presence alone pressed down on them, heavy and suffocating, as if the mountain itself rejected him.
“So this is where you ran to,” Mirfak said, eyes locking onto Aria. His lips curled. “Athena belongs to Lord Mars. Come quietly.”
Aria stepped forward before anyone else could move.
“No,” she said. Her voice didn’t waver. “I won’t go with you.”
Mirfak laughed softly. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Koga moved instantly.
“Pegasus—!”
The punch landed.
Or it should have.
Mirfak didn’t even flinch.
The impact vanished against his Cosmo like it had struck solid steel. He caught Koga’s fist mid-swing and flung him aside without effort. Koga crashed into the ground, skidding to a stop.
“Too slow,” Mirfak said flatly.
Yuna raised her staff, Cosmo flaring. “Eagle—!”
A gust of wind surged toward Mirfak.
He stepped through it.
Not around. Through.
The attack dispersed like mist against his body, scattering uselessly into the air.
Soma grit his teeth and charged, flames igniting along his arm. His strike connected squarely with Mirfak’s chest.
Nothing.
Mirfak looked down at the point of impact, unimpressed. “Bronze Saints,” he said. “You don’t know your place.”
Ryuho slid into position, stance grounded, Cosmo flowing steadily. “Dragon—!”
Mirfak moved.
In the blink of an eye, he was in front of Ryuho, fist already drawn back.
The blow never landed.
A hand caught Mirfak’s wrist.
Not with force.
With precision.
The boy stood there now, feet planted, shoulders squared. His grip was firm, unyielding, fingers locked exactly where they needed to be. The stone beneath his feet cracked faintly from the pressure he was holding back.
Mirfak’s eyes widened. “You—”
The boy twisted his wrist.
Mirfak was hurled backward, skidding across the stone steps before slamming into a pillar. Dust and debris rained down.
The boy didn’t pursue.
He stepped forward once, positioning himself between Mirfak and the others. His stance was relaxed, almost casual—but every line of his body spoke of readiness.
“You should’ve left,” he said quietly.
Mirfak rose, snarling. “Another child playing hero?”
Lightning flickered.
Not from the sky.
From him.
Golden arcs snapped across his arms, crawling over his shoulders like living things. His Cosmo surged—not exploding outward, but condensing, tightening, focused to a razor’s edge.
The air shuddered.
Soma’s breath caught.
Mirfak attacked first.
A flurry of silver strikes tore through the space between them, each blow aimed to kill. The boy moved—slipping past fists by fractions, twisting his body just enough to let attacks graze harmlessly by.
Then he struck.
A single punch.
Then another.
Then another.
They came too fast to follow—bursts of golden light snapping through the air, each impact landing with surgical precision. Mirfak’s armor rang sharply as cracks spread across it in rapid succession.
The boy didn’t roar.
Didn’t shout an attack name.
He advanced, eyes locked, expression fierce and unyielding, driving Mirfak back with relentless pressure. Every movement was decisive, every strike placed where it would hurt the most.
Mirfak tried to counter.
The boy stepped inside his guard and drove an elbow into his ribs, followed by a knee that lifted Mirfak off the ground. Lightning detonated outward as Mirfak crashed down hard, stone shattering beneath him.
Silence followed.
The boy exhaled slowly, lightning fading as his Cosmo settled. He didn’t look at Mirfak again.
Instead, he turned his head slightly.
“Stay back,” he told the Bronze Saints. Not sharply—but firmly. Like someone used to being obeyed.
Mirfak groaned, struggling to rise.
The boy glanced at him once more, eyes narrowing.
“This isn’t your mountain,” he said. “Leave.”
Mirfak met his gaze—and froze.
Whatever he saw there made him recoil.
With a snarl of frustration, Mirfak vanished into distortion, retreating.
The boy relaxed at last, shoulders dropping just a fraction. He staggered half a step—and caught himself before anyone could notice.
Koga stared at him. “…You were holding back.”
The boy didn’t answer.
He turned away, lightning already gone, hands slipping back into his pockets as if nothing had happened.
But Soma saw it.
The way his fingers trembled—just slightly.
And the way Five Peaks stood utterly silent, as though paying respect.
-
Kiki couldn't believe his eyes. Here he was, in the form of a boy, yes, but his Cosmo. There was no way he would have forgotten that Cosmo. The same Cosmo that often visited the Aries temple when he himself was still an apprentice, a young boy.
"Leo...Aiolia."
The boy smiled, "I guess the cat's out of the bag now, huh?"
"It's...good to see you again." The boy, Aiolia, bowed his head, "I'm sorry we couldn't go back after we went to the Underworld." Kiki shook his head, "I know my master and everyone helped Seiya and the others. That...that's good enough for me."
Kiki’s eyes softened as he studied the boy standing before him. There was no mistaking that golden aura, that quiet strength mixed with warmth—a presence that could command respect without demanding it. Even in this smaller form, Aiolia carried himself with the dignity of a lion.
“Time doesn’t seem to have changed you much,” Kiki said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve always been… serious about your duties.”
Aiolia’s gaze fell, just slightly, as if weighing his words carefully. “I had to be. The Gold Saints... we have responsibilities. Even when we were young, even when the Sanctuary seemed far away, we couldn’t afford to falter.”
Kiki nodded. He could hear the unspoken apology behind Aiolia’s voice, and he understood it perfectly. “I know. You and the others did what you could. That’s all anyone can ask for.”
Aiolia’s eyes lifted, amber light flickering with that familiar fire. “I just… I didn’t want anyone to think we abandoned them. Seiya, Shun… I’ve always respected their courage.”
“And you’ve earned mine,” Kiki said, his voice gentle but firm. “Cosmo doesn’t lie, and I know you fought with everything you had. That counts for more than words.”
Aiolia’s grin widened, that spark of mischief barely visible behind the serious mask. “I guess some things never change, huh?”
Kiki chuckled, feeling a rare warmth. “Nope. Some things never change.”
The two of them stood there in the quiet of the Aries Temple, the distant echo of the past mixing with the promise of the future. For Kiki, it was enough just to see that golden-hearted boy—no, that golden-hearted Saint—standing tall again.
***
The air in the Leo Temple shimmered as the boy Aiolia faced Leo Mycenae, the young Gold Saint whose pride rivaled his own. Mycenae’s stance was rigid, his Cosmo flaring like a wildfire, eyes blazing with determination.
“You think you can take the Leo Gold Cloth?” Mycenae growled, his fists igniting with golden sparks. “It belongs to me! No one else!”
Aiolia’s expression remained calm, yet his amber eyes burned with the same intensity. “The Leo Gold Cloth doesn’t belong to pride,” he said evenly. “It belongs to the Saint worthy of wielding it… and that is not decided by arrogance.”
Mycenae snarled and lunged, a series of rapid strikes aimed to overwhelm the boy. But Aiolia moved with uncanny speed, his body flowing like water between each attack, his own Cosmo flaring with a quiet but unstoppable power. Even as a boy, there was no mistaking the strength behind his movements.
The Bronze Saints watched, astonished. “I… that Cosmo…” Ryuho murmured, feeling the raw force emanating from Aiolia.
The moment Mycenae launched a powerful blow, Aiolia’s Cosmo exploded like the sun itself. The Leo Gold Cloth shuddered, then lifted from Mycenae’s body, floating in the air as if drawn by an invisible gravity. Golden light enveloped it, cascading toward Aiolia.
“My Cloth…” Mycenae shouted, reaching out, but it was too late. The moment Aiolia’s hand touched the Cloth, a blinding light erupted, engulfing the entire temple. The Bronze Saints shielded their eyes, and when they looked again, the boy was no longer a boy.
Before them stood Aiolia, fully grown, his golden armor gleaming like molten sunlight. The Leo Gold Cloth had bonded completely with him, shining brighter than ever, the symbol of his true power.
“Impossible…” Mycenae whispered, staggering back as the aura of the true Leo Gold Saint washed over him. Aiolia’s Cosmo roared like a lion’s, unrestrained and pure.
“You’ve fought bravely, Mycenae,” Aiolia said, his voice calm yet commanding, “but this is the power of the Leo Gold Saint. Not the Cloth alone… the Cosmo decides its master.”
Mycenae charged again, desperate, but Aiolia moved like lightning, striking with the precision and ferocity of a seasoned Gold Saint. Each punch and kick left afterimages of golden light, faster than the eye could follow.
The ground beneath them cracked, the temple walls rattling as Aiolia’s Cosmo surged. With a final roar, he delivered a blow that sent Mycenae flying backward, crashing into the temple steps. Golden light shimmered around him, yet it was Aiolia who stood tall, unscathed, his aura radiating both strength and the calm nobility of the Leo Saint.
Koga’s jaw dropped. “He… he’s really Aiolia… and he’s incredible!”
Aiolia lowered his gaze to Mycenae, who was struggling to rise. “Learn from this, Mycenae,” he said gently, yet firmly. “True strength is not about holding the Cloth… it’s about the heart and the Cosmo behind it.”
The Leo Gold Cloth glimmered on his shoulders, its allegiance clear. Aiolia’s aura calmed, but the power radiating from him was unmistakable.
Aiolia the Lion, Gold Saint of Leo Temple, Master of the Fifth House.