Barely a minute had passed since Elenav's cryptic call when a figure descended from the heavens, draped in pristine white robes adorned with delicate saffron embroidery that shimmered faintly in the alley's dim light. Surya, still reeling from the electrifying clash between Elenav and Officer Arjun near the library gates, froze in astonishment. The sight of a human dropping from the sky like Garuda, the divine eagle of Lord Vishnu, defied all reason from his old life. Yet, it was the woman's ethereal beauty that truly captivated him—her lithe frame swathed in a flowing white saree, her movements graceful as a lotus swaying on a breeze. Her face bore striking features: large, almond-shaped eyes that gleamed with quiet intensity, a straight nose carved as if by a sculptor's hand, and petulant lips that tightened into a stern line as she caught Elenav's roguish grin.
"Vidya! Praise the devas you've come!" Elenav's voice carried a teasing lilt, his sharp eyes flicking toward Surya with a knowing glint. "I haven't stirred the wrath of every devi in the ashram again, have I?" Surya, catching the subtle cue, clamped his mouth shut, his heart thudding with a mix of awe and uncertainty. He felt small and out of place, a scrawny slum boy thrust into a world of warriors and mystics.
Vidya offered no reply, her silence as cutting as a monsoon wind. With a swiftness that belied her serene demeanor, she glided forward, her saree rippling like a river in spate. Her slender fingers brushed Elenav's shoulder, then Surya's, and a strange, weightless sensation flooded through him—his first taste of flight. His sandaled feet lifted inches from the grimy alley floor, his wiry body suddenly buoyant, as if a mere gust could carry him aloft like a kite cut free from its string. A low groan escaped Elenav as he rose, his scarred face twisting in pain. Vidya's stern mask flickered, her wide eyes softening with a fleeting trace of worry before snapping back to icy resolve.
Surya's breath caught as they ascended, his mind racing with wonder. The dusty alley walls receded below, the clamor of Aryavarta's streets fading to a distant hum. He felt like a sparrow caught in an updraft, marveling at the impossible reality of soaring above the earth. Then the system's voice broke through his reverie, crisp and mechanical in his mind:
[_Ding_
New tool available in System Store: Phenomena Analysis Module-1 (PAM-1).
Cost: 20 Exp Points.
Description: This module observes phenomena witnessed by the host, meticulously analyzing and compiling them into detailed techniques or training manuals for the host's use. Upgradable—advanced versions require fewer observations to produce comprehensive outputs.
Unlock triggered by two witnessed events: a duel between skilled body refiners and flight via gravity manipulation. Explore further phenomena to unlock additional system capabilities.]
"Yes!" Surya shouted inwardly, his pulse quickening with excitement.
[Purchase confirmed. PAM-1 deployed. Thank you for shopping with the system!
Remaining Exp Points: 10]
Back to 10 points—Surya sighed inwardly. Exp Points were as fleeting as monsoon rains, earned through sweat and peril only to vanish in a blink. Yet, this tool was a treasure beyond measure. To craft manuals merely by watching others wield their skills? In Aryavarta, such knowledge was hoarded by gurus or bartered for sums his family could never dream of amassing. The PAM-1 promised to multiply its worth manifold, a key to unlocking the power he craved—to lift his father's burdens and exact justice on a corrupt world.
The trio rose leisurely, Vidya guiding them with an unseen hand until they hovered atop a squat rooftop, its orange tiles weathered by countless seasons. She drew a pendant from a small pouch at her waist—a silver trishul, its three prongs gleaming with latent power. Squeezing it, she coaxed a green glow from half its length, the light pulsing like a heartbeat. As if answering a silent call, they surged upward again, then streaked westward. The city unfurled beneath them in a tapestry of chaos and color—sprawling markets, saffron-robed sadhus, children darting through alleys—all blurring into streaks as they sped toward an expanse of open fields dotted with modest structures.
Mid-flight, Elenav, wincing with each breath, pointed at Vidya. "Meet Vidya, the outer city's peerless vayu mage. She trains our novice mages and has a soft spot for earnest lads like you. Don't let her scowl fool you—I've, ahem, ruffled her feathers lately." Vidya shot him a withering huff, but a brief, warm smile flickered toward Surya, softening her regal features.
Surya, channeling the awkwardness of his 12-year-old self, felt his cheeks flush hot as embers. A woman of such grace smiling at him was a novelty, a stark contrast to the hardscrabble life of the slums. He ducked his gaze—only to regret it instantly. The dizzying rush of flight, coupled with the vertiginous drop below, churned his stomach like a cauldron of spoiled dal. He swallowed hard, clenching his fists to stifle the urge to retch, determined not to disgrace himself on this first ascent.
After what felt an eternity but spanned mere minutes, they touched down on a lush, grassy clearing. A simple hut stood nearby, its wooden door etched with *"Ashram Guru"* in flowing Devanagari script. The air here was pure, scented with wildflowers and earth, a balm to Surya's senses. Each deep breath washed away the nausea, filling him with a quiet vigor. Elenav spread his arms wide, his grin broad despite the blood staining his kurta. "Welcome to the Trishul of Dharma Training Ground!" he declared, voice ringing with pride. But as the last syllable left his lips, his body seized, hands clutching below his chest. With a choked gasp, he crumpled face-first into the grass, unconscious.
Vidya sprang into motion, her toes skimming the turf in a flawless glide—vayu mastery honed to perfection. She reached the hut and rapped sharply on the door. It swung open to reveal a man in his middle years, clad in a simple brown dhoti and kurta that hung loosely over a frame corded with muscle. His tanned skin gleamed under the sun, his kind eyes framed by a hawk-like nose and a neatly trimmed beard that lent him an air of quiet authority.
"Guru-ji, I've brought him," Vidya said, her voice steady as she gestured toward Elenav's prone form and Surya standing uncertainly nearby.
"Well done. Fetch Mata Lakshmi," the guru replied, his tone calm yet commanding. Vidya nodded and darted off, a white streak against the green expanse.
The guru strode to Elenav, kneeling beside him with practiced ease. He tore open the bloodied kurta, exposing a chest mottled with bruises and an ominous purple discoloration near the left ribs. Placing a broad hand over the wound, he closed his eyes briefly; a soft white halo bloomed beneath his palm, prana flowing like a sacred river. Elenav groaned faintly, his scarred face twitching, but he remained lost to the world.
The guru lifted his head, fixing Surya with a gaze that pierced like a trident's prongs—deep, unwavering, demanding truth. "So, you're the new recruit. Why seek the Trishul of Dharma?" His voice was low, resonant, carrying the weight of a mantra.
Surya felt the stare press against his soul, stripping away pretense. He squared his shoulders, fists tightening as memories of his father's branded forehead and his mother's weary hands flared in his mind. "I want to grow strong—to win justice for my father!" he declared, his voice steady despite the tremor in his chest, defiance rising to meet the guru's scrutiny.
The guru's eyebrows arched, a spark of interest lighting his eyes. "A flame burns in you, I see. Who is your father, and what justice do you chase?" The piercing intensity ebbed, replaced by a gentler curiosity, and Surya felt the invisible burden lift from his shoulders.
"Rajesh Anivron," Surya began, his throat tight with emotion. "He was a soldier, until—"
The guru raised a hand, silencing him mid-sentence. "Surya, then. Rajesh is my old brother-in-arms—we spoke of you just days past. A warrior of rare valor, a man of unmatched heart, brought low by a petty tyrant's pride. His fall is a wound I bear too." His sigh was heavy, laden with shared sorrow, his gaze drifting briefly to the horizon as if seeing the past unfold.
Vidya returned, a woman in tow—mid-40s, her face a serene mask of compassion, her simple saree swaying as she moved. She radiated the same gentle warmth Surya recalled from the orphanage matron of his former life, a beacon of care in a harsh world. "Mata Lakshmi," the guru said, rising smoothly, "I've stemmed the worst. His rib pierced his lung—he clung to life by sheer will. Mend the bone so he can reach the vaidya-shala."
With a nod, Mata Lakshmi knelt by Elenav, her hands hovering as the guru stepped back. He turned to Surya, motioning toward the hut with a tilt of his head. "Come," he said simply, and Surya followed, the promise of strength and justice thrumming in his veins.