Surya's brow furrowed, Guru Arjun's cryptic mention of a vayuroot sparking a flicker of confusion as he sat in the dimly lit hut, the scent of sandalwood lingering from a smoldering incense stick.
"System, did I gain a vayuroot?" he ventured, hope threading his silent query despite the odds.
[System reports no vayuroot in host's body. Master's remark likely stems from enhanced visualization, a trait of mage-gifted. Such skill aids phenomena comprehension and mage progression. Should host acquire a vayuroot, PAM-1's phenomena analysis would amplify this edge.]
No magic spark, yet the promise glinted—Surya's heart lifted as he refocused on Guru Arjun, who'd paused, awaiting his response.
"Guru-ji, could it be true? How do I test it?" Surya asked, eyes widening with a shishya's eager gleam, a reaction he deemed fitting.
"In two moons, Aryavarta's magic gurukuls fling open their gates to those past twelve summers. You're ripe for it. Mages are rare as monsoon snow—gurukuls take any with a vayuroot, heedless of Samskara or grasp. Free learning's offered, but it binds you to the army for years—Rajesh would balk at that. The finest is NAMAL, the National Ashram of Mystic Arts in Lanka-nagar. Six years, though swift risers graduate sooner. We'll scrape funds for your first year; after, you'll labor part-time for your keep. Fees are twenty gold Rupiyas—I'll muster it by then." The last slipped out as a mutter, Guru Arjun's gaze drifting, lost in calculation.
Warmth bloomed in Surya's chest—such a sum for him spoke of deep bonds between Rajesh and this gruff guru. He stared, touched.
"What's that look, lad?" Guru Arjun barked, catching his gaze. "Your father hauled me from a battlefield mire, expecting naught back. Now I repay him. I'd have fed your kin too, but that stubborn ox won't take my coin for daily bread. HA! No dodging this!" His laugh roared, a tiger's bellow shaking the hut's mud walls.
Surya nearly toppled from his stool, steadied by the guru's mirth. "Off with you. Vidya's on errands—she'll ferry you home later. Well won, shishya. Hone 'Trishul Prana.' A secret lies in its novice steps—Elenav, that braggart, cracked it youngest. You saw it by the library, aye? Best him quick; I tire of his crowing over my old record," he grumbled, waving Surya out.
Nodding, Surya dashed from the hut, the glass trishul pulsing warm in his palm. Elenav's tales and trainee whispers had painted mages as Aryavarta's revered—tides of fate in human form, courted by kings and clans. Justice for Rajesh demanded this path, two moons hence.
NAMAL's fame wasn't new—its shishyas strutted Lanka-nagar like rajas, villas gifted to their kin, a slum boy's dream of soaring from mud to majesty. Back in his tent, the woven mat rough beneath him, Surya sank onto his pallet. "System, how do I get a vayuroot?"
[Technique to craft a pseudo-vayuroot from phenomena is feasible, but PAM-1 lacks capacity. System urges host to amass Exp and upgrade PAM-1. Cost: 500 Exp Points.]
"Damn Exp again!" Surya's mind roared, frustration a coiled serpent.
"How do I gain Exp fast?" he pressed.
[System reminds host: World Domination System seeks global sway. Acts advancing this yield rich Exp. Suggestions: Forge a faction, however small, or elevate host's repute. The latter seeds broader dominion.]
Surya slapped his forehead—foolish to treat it as a mere training tool! His focus had been inward, hoarding small gains. Now, he needed a leap toward mastery. Revenge on the library's vile duo crystallized as his spark.