After the entrance exam ended, Branch Master Kishor stepped onto the stage. He amplified his voice using his aura, and the entire ground fell silent.
"Congratulations to those who passed," he announced, his tone calm but strong. "But don't let it get to your head. And those who didn't pass don't be disheartened. You can try again next year or apply to academies in other empires. Today is just one step of the journey."
The crowd responded with a warm cheer, especially for those who didn't make it. It lifted their spirits, at least a little.
Kishor continued, "Those who passed will depart for the main Ashvattha Academy tomorrow morning. For now, return to your families. Talk with them. Rest. Today, celebrate."
The crowd slowly began to disperse.
Aryan, Abhishek, Ayush, and Prateek rushed toward Tarun, who stood waiting near the trees like a proud teacher. A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw them approach.
Abhishek walked up casually, grinning. "Saw that, uncle? I told you we'd clear it with flying colours."
Without saying a word, Tarun stepped forward and smacked Abhishek lightly on the head.
"Hey! Why is everyone smacking my head today?!" Abhishek whined, rubbing the spot.
Ayush laughed. "Because you deserve it, dumbass."
Aryan joined in, pointing at Tarun. "Let's be honest we passed because of this ruthless instructor."
Ayush nodded. "Yeah! That training was literal hell."
"Please don't remind me," Abhishek shivered. "The last two months were torture. I don't want to relive that nightmare."
Laughing together, they made their way back toward the inn they had stayed in the night before.
On the road, Prateek walked a little behind the group, silent. He watched them chatting and laughing, but didn't say anything.
Aryan noticed.
He turned around and asked gently, "What's up, Prateek?"
Prateek hesitated. Then said softly, "It's nothing. It's just… no one ever believed in me before. But you guys you didn't even know me properly, yet you stood by me."
Aryan smiled. "Relax, buddy. It's not a big deal. We did it because… we felt it. That's all."
Ayush threw an arm around Prateek. "Yeah, stop overthinking. You did great. Now enjoy the win!"
As they laughed and walked ahead, someone else was watching from a distance.
Kishor stood near a tree, arms crossed, eyes on Aryan.
Next to him, Instructor Leela the woman who had supervised the entrance exam.
So he's Tarun's disciple that much makes sense. His technique, his control, even his confidence on the field all carry Tarun's mark. But his spiritual power… that's another matter entirely. It's too deep, too raw, almost unnatural for someone his age. It doesn't feel like something taught it feels inherited… or awakened. Just who is this child, really?
Leela approched silently
"Master Kishor," she said, her voice curious. "Who is that man? The one they call Tarun."
Kishor turned slightly, his eyes distant. "He's a very stubborn man," Kishor said quietly. "Just a commoner, with no royal blood. No special talent. He clawed his way to this level with nothing but sheer hard work and an iron will."
Leela's eyes widened slightly.
"People once called him the silent gale—a nobody who rose Higher than royals, riding only on the strenght of his own wings"
Recognition flashed in Leela's expression, and she gave a silent nod.
Kishor's gaze darkened. "More than a decade ago, he vanished without a trace. The reason was unknown. But seeing him now… it's starting to make sense." His eyes rested heavily on Aryan's back.
Back then, he thought, Tarun wasn't this strong. He must have found some kind of opportunity in his absence... or maybe something even greater.
Kishor stood there for a moment longer, a complicated emotion flickering through his face, before he turned and left silently.
That night, the boys had a small celebration at the inn. Simple food, laughter, and memories already forming. After the party, they each returned to their rooms.
But Aryan's night wasn't over.
A soft knock came at his door.
"Come in," he said.
Tarun entered, his expression serious.
"Uncle Tarun? What's up?"
"I want to talk to you… about something important."
Aryan tilted his head. "Something important?"
Tarun nodded. "You've often said… you wonder what having a family would feel like. The warmth. The bond."
Aryan's expression changed. "Yeah… I do think about it. But why are you bringing this up now?"
Tarun paused for a moment, then spoke softly.
"Because… you had a family, Aryan."
Aryan froze.
His eyes widened. "What? What are you saying? Where are they? Why are you telling me this only now?"
Tarun didn't answer immediately.
But the truth, once spoken, would begin to change everything.
Meanwhile, far away, in Jala Rajya…
In the shining halls of the Royal Palace, Princess Shreya was having dinner with her family. Laughter and soft conversation filled the grand dining room, where crystal chandeliers reflected the water-like designs carved into the walls.
At the head of the table sat Queen Mera Jaladevi, her presence calm yet commanding. She was loved by her people known for her wisdom and kindness.
During the meal, Queen Mera turned to Shreya with a gentle smile. "You have a long journey ahead, Shreya. Make some good friends along the way. Friends who will walk beside you in both sunshine and storm."
Shreya's face lit up with happiness. "Yes, Mother."
Then Queen Mera raised her hand. A servant approached with a long, wrapped object.
Unveiling it with care, Queen Mera presented a sword, its blade shimmering faintly with an oceanic blue hue.
"This sword," the Queen said, "was forged from a metal submerged in the depths of the ocean for decades. It will aid you in your aura practice. Treat it as your second heart."
Shreya accepted the sword, her hands trembling slightly with excitement and reverence. "Thank you, Mother," she said, her voice soft but firm.
Her heart swelled with new purpose.
Meanwhile, in the burning empire of Agniraaj…
In the grand audience chamber, filled with pillars carved with roaring flames, a young boy knelt on one knee.
Prince Shivam Agnidev kept his head bowed, fists clenched.
Sitting on a massive obsidian throne, surrounded by an aura that seemed to distort the air itself, was King Varun Agnidev — The Flame sovereign —the King of Agniraaj Rajya.
His sharp eyes burned like dying coals, and his voice, low and hoarse, shook the ground.
"How could you lose to a mere commoner?" Varun's voice was slow, heavy with scorn. "You were trained by the best. Raised as a true Agnidev. Yet you let my name be tarnished."
Shivam remained silent, gritting his teeth, his nails digging into his palms.
King Varun's presence was overwhelming a man who had once fought on the battlefield himself and whose rage could crush generals.
"I never taught you to lose," Varun continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look at your elder brother. He never loses. Not even against royal bloods."
Shivam's heart burned with resentment. So what if I lost once? I broke Brother's records… no one even cares about that. It's all because of that lowly commoner! I'll crush him! I swear it!
King Varun leaned forward slightly, his glare like a blade. "Now listen well do not shame me again at the Academy. Remember, you carry the pride of Agniraaj."
With a cold flick of his hand, he dismissed Shivam.
As Shivam rose and left the hall, a dark fire burned in his chest one that would not be easily extinguished.