Mata Lakshmi, as the guru had named her, knelt beside Elenav's prone form, her gentle hands hovering over the bruised spot where the guru's prana had glowed white. A crimson halo now flared beneath her palms, pulsing like the embers of a sacred havan. Elenav jolted awake, a raw scream tearing from his throat, piercing the tranquil air of the ashram's grassy clearing.
"Ignore him," the guru said, his voice steady as he turned to Surya, unfazed by the cries. "He'll be leaping about soon enough. Now, your choice. Are you certain you wish to join the Trishul of Dharma? The training is grueling—mercy pleas won't sway me once you commit. You may leave later, but only after completing it. Your father's will guides this, so the decision isn't wholly yours. Weigh it carefully."
Surya's mind raced, the flight from the alley still vivid—Vidya's vayu mastery, Elenav's fierce duel with Arjun, the promise of power here among body refiners and mages. Rajesh's words echoed too, his branded forehead a silent plea for justice. There was no hesitation. "I accept," Surya said firmly.
The guru's kind eyes glinted with approval. "Well chosen. I'm Arjun—not Officer Arjun, mind you—but Guru Arjun to you. Wait here; I'll fetch the enrollment medallion." He strode into the hut, leaving Surya standing on the lush turf. Elenav's screams crescendoed, each wail sharper than the last, then abruptly cut off with a gurgling choke. Surya resisted the urge to glance back as Guru Arjun reemerged, a bronze trishul-shaped medallion in hand, its three prongs gleaming with intricate etchings.
"Place your finger here," Guru Arjun instructed, holding it out. "Focus on accepting the ashram's call." The medallion, four inches long, bore the craftsmanship of a master artisan, each prong sharp and proud. Surya pressed his index finger to its center, wincing as a hidden needle pricked his skin. A bead of blood welled up, absorbed instantly by the metal, which flared a vibrant orange in response.
[_Ding_
Host has joined faction: Trishul of Dharma Ashram.
1 Faction Point awarded. 10 Exp Points awarded.
Incoming message from enrollment medallion. Would host like to hear it?]
"Yes," Surya thought.
[Welcome to the Trishul of Dharma! Our creed: "Wounded or whole, my trishul shall pierce the hearts of the unjust, shielding the meek. Trishul of Dharma, eternal and unbowed!"
Touch the medallion to query ashram details or seek missions. It serves as your identity within. Warning: Unauthorized contact triggers self-destruction, grievously harming the bearer.]
Surya recalled Elenav's panicked reaction to the pentagon coin—likely a similar safeguard. Behind him, Elenav bolted upright, shouting, "No! I didn't torch the women's sarees!" Surya turned to see Vidya and Mata Lakshmi glaring daggers at him, their faces thunderclouds over the serene field.
Elenav scratched his head sheepishly and flopped back, feigning a faint. Vidya, unamused, drove a swift fist into his groin. He yelped, springing up again, wide awake. Their bickering filled the air—Elenav protesting his innocence, Vidya accusing him of mischief. Guru Arjun chuckled, a deep, warm sound. "Lively as ever. Here's your token, lad. Customize it when you rise in rank. Training starts in three days—pack for three months and return. Vidya, cease your squabble and escort our young shishya home."
Vidya glided over, nodding curtly at the guru before grasping Surya's shoulder. He clutched the medallion tightly as they lifted off, the orange glow warm against his palm. She spoke little, asking only his destination—Anivron House in the slums—then lapsed into silence. Surya mirrored her, his mind abuzz with the day's wonders.
She activated her trishul pendant again, its green glow cloaking them as they flew low, skimming 40-50 feet above Aryavarta's streets. No heads turned below; the pendant veiled them from prying eyes, a suspicion Surya tucked away. In ninety swift seconds, they landed at the slum's edge. "Three days, dawn," Vidya said, her voice clipped. Surya nodded, and she vanished skyward, fading from sight five feet up, confirming his guess.
Exhilaration coursed through him—a day of triumph. Dusk painted the sky as he dashed home, the medallion a beacon in his hand. Inside, Rajesh spotted it instantly. "So, you've met Arjun," he said, voice tinged with pride and curiosity. "How?"
Over chores—sweeping the shack, fetching water—Surya recounted his day: the library expulsion, Elenav's fight, the ashram's call. Rajesh's face darkened at the library tale. "Those vermin! Still at their games—no 'book limit' exists; it's a lie to torment the poor. They relish the despair, the begging, after folk scrape coins for months to enter. I warned them once, but my disgrace emboldened them." His sigh was heavy, a soldier's honor bruised anew.
Surya's resolve hardened—those two would pay. Dinner followed, a simple meal of dal and roti, but the shack rang with laughter. For once, the Anivrons shed their woes, basking in familial warmth.
Three days flew by, each moment precious. Knowing he'd be gone three months, Surya soaked in his parents' presence—helping Nalini scrub pots, listening to Rajesh's old army tales. The shack pulsed with joy, a rare respite from their struggles. On the third dawn, Surya packed a bundle of clothes—his least-tattered dhoti and kurtas—and trudged to the slum's edge.
The sky blushed with first light, the streets near-empty save for five drunkards stumbling from a toddy shop, their slurred voices grating the stillness. Surya waited, nerves tingling, until Vidya descended silently, her white saree a stark contrast to the grime around them. The drunkards gawked, rubbing bleary eyes. One leered, "Oi, beauty, come home with me—I've a copper Rupiya for you!" He waved the coin, grinning.
Vidya's lip curled in disgust. With a flick of her wrist, an invisible gust hurled the five backward, halting them inches from a mud wall—bones intact, but senses rattled unconscious. "Let's go," she said coolly, as if swatting flies were routine. She grasped Surya, and they soared off, the slum shrinking below.