The Next Day – At School
The corridors buzzed with chatter. Armaan sat at the edge of his bench, staring out the window as the final bell rang. He barely noticed the slam of textbooks around him.
"Bro, let's hang out and chilling at the juice shop? Samar's treat!" Roumit grinned, slinging his bag over one shoulder.
Samar leaned over from behind. "And you're not saying no this time, got it? "
Armaan hesitated. He glanced at both of them and gave a tight smile. "Not today, guys. I've got... something important to take care of."
Samar frowned. "Are you okay, bro? You've been acting kinda off since that night after the party."
"I know," Armaan said, slinging his bag on and backing away. "Trust me, I'll explain everything tomorrow. Just... not now."
Roumit gave a dramatic sigh. "Bro's doing mystery boy cosplay these days."
"Just one day," Armaan promised, turning as he walked away. "Tomorrow I'll tell you everything. Promise."
Samar and Roumit exchanged looks.
Roumit whispered, "Either it's love story... Or it's joined RAW."
Samar smirked. "Or both."
Armaan boarded a local bus and made his way back to the same village. His mind buzzed with questions—about danawas, about that fire-sword attack, and mostly about what he was stepping into.
Farmaan was waiting this time, sitting cross-legged on the floor of a simple room upstairs, sipping tea and surrounded by scrolls and charts.
"Come in, Armaan," he said with a warm nod. "You showed up again. That's a good sign."
"I'm still not sure what I've signed up for," Armaan replied, dropping his bag. "You said yesterday you'd explain everything."
Farmaan nodded and rolled out an old scroll on the floor, revealing a detailed chart with emblems and ranks sketched in crisp ink.
"Sit," he said, tapping the floor beside him.
Armaan sat and leaned in.
Farmaan pointed at the base of the chart. "These are the ranks of the Rakshaks. Every trainee starts here, at the lowest level—Pratham Rakshak. It means 'First Guardian.' These are fresh recruits, still in training."
He slid his finger up the chart. "Once a Rakshak proves themselves in battle and passes the first Awakening Trial, they become a Veer Rakshak—the 'Brave Guardian.' They're officially recognized and can go on missions under supervision."
Armaan followed the movement of his finger closely.
"The next level is Astra Rakshak—the 'Weapon Guardian.' These Rakshaks have unlocked their Aether Blades and formed a bond with them. They often lead squads and handle high-threat-level danawas."
"And finally," Farmaan tapped the top of the chart reverently, "the highest and rarest level—Divya Rakshak, or the 'Divine Guardian.' Only a handful reach this. They possess not just power, but mastery of the soul-force known as Aether Pulse. Their presence alone can shatter fear."
Armaan's eyes widened. "So what was Rahul?"
Farmaan leaned back and smiled. "Rahul was an Astra Rakshak, one step below Divya. He always fought like a storm—reckless, bold… but his instincts were sharp. Just like someone else I know."
He gave Armaan a side glance and sipped his tea.
Then, under his breath, Farmaan thought, "Rahul has got good eyes. He saw the spark in this boy too."
Armaan felt a strange pride swell inside him.
"Okay," he said, his voice steadier. "What do I have to do to become one?"
Farmaan stood up slowly, his back cracking slightly. "You'll train. You'll bleed. You'll fall. But if you rise each time stronger… your soul might awaken."
He turned to the window. "You'll be tested every day—not just your strength, but your heart."
"Currently, our country has only 9 Divya Rakshaks and we need atleast 1 more." Said Farmaan looking at Armaan with a faint smile.
"Don't have big expectations from me, gramps. I'm just 16 now." Armaan said as he noticed Farmaan's gaze.
"Did you say 'Gramps'?" Farmaan asked looking surprised.
"Yeah, is there something wrong, Gramps?" Armaan said.
Farmaan, who was froze by his words came to his senses and said, "No it's nothing... so from tomorrow you real training begins..."He said in serious tone.
Armaan raised an eyebrow again. "Real training? What was this till now? A welcome dance with poisoned needles?"
Farmaan didn't answer. He simply turned and walked away slowly.
---
That Night – On the Way Home
Armaan walked down the dim village path, his thoughts bouncing around like marbles in a box.
Divya Rakshaks. Aether Blades. Soul awakenings. Danawas. Me?
He checked his phone. 8:46 PM. Not too late.
He reached home and entered quietly. His mother peeked out of the kitchen.
"Armaan? Where were you?"
"With Samar and Roumit," he lied smoothly. "Last-minute project stuff."
His mom nodded. "Okay. Freshen up. Dinner's almost ready."
---
The Next Day – At School
"Armaan!" Samar nearly leapt from his bench as Armaan entered the class.
Roumit followed, waving his arm. "Bro, ready to tell us? Or are you joining RAW officially today?"
Armaan dropped his bag and stretched dramatically. "Ahhh... the suspense has killed you two already, huh?"
"Don't make us beg," said Samar, crossing his arms.
Armaan leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Alright, listen carefully. The night I was late... I was attacked."
Roumit blinked. "By what?"
"Not what. Who. A danawa. Some monster thing that nearly chewed my head off."
Samar snorted. "Bro, if this is some fantasy fanfic—"
"I'm not joking. And then a guy appeared. In black uniform. Sliced the danawa in half with fire. Called himself a Rakshak."
Roumit and Samar fell silent.
Armaan looked at both of them. "I met his teacher the next day. He told me about Rakshaks—people trained to fight Danawas and Shaitaans and save lives, although I have never seen a Shaitaan. They use blades with awakened souls. I'm going to train under him."
Roumit slowly exhaled. "Holy crap... we weren't that far off."
Samar nodded. "I told you it was either RAW or some superhero agency."
Armaan laughed. "There's a sky and land difference between RAW and Rakshaks, bro. RAW tracks enemies. Rakshaks hunt monsters that shouldn't even exist."
Roumit blinked again. "So... you're telling us you're about to become an anime protagonist?"
"Pretty much," Armaan said, grinning. "Minus the spiky hair. For now."
Samar and Roumit gave each other a look, then both raised their fists.
"We're in your support team, bro," said Samar.
Roumit nodded. "But if you turn into a danawa by mistake, I'm not hesitating with a cricket bat."
They all burst out laughing as the school bell rang.
But deep inside, Armaan knew—his days of laughter were about to be tested.
That Evening – 6:00 PM
Armaan trudged his way back to Farmaan's house, his mind still buzzing from the weirdness of the past few days. He'd barely had time to process anything before Farmaan dropped another bomb on him.
He stepped into the courtyard, dusting off his shoes. Farmaan was sitting on the wooden bench, looking like he had all the time in the world. His hands were wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.
"You're late by two minutes," Farmaan said without even looking up.
Armaan rolled his eyes. "Chill, Gramps. Even trains are late."
Farmaan slowly set his cup down and stood up, giving Armaan a pointed look. "No physical drills today. I want you to meditate."
Armaan blinked. "Meditate? For real? Like, sit and breathe?"
"Yes, until 8:00 PM."
Armaan froze. "Wait, what? You want me to sit still for two hours? I could finish an entire anime season in that time!"
Farmaan gave him a steady, almost amused look. "This is not anime, Armaan. This is training. You'll need patience if you're going to survive what's ahead."
With a sigh, Armaan headed up to the roof, mumbling under his breath. "Meditation, huh? What's next, enlightenment and floating rocks?"
On the Roof – 6:10 PM
The evening sky was fading to a soft purple as Armaan sat cross-legged on the roof, his school bag abandoned beside him. A cool breeze brushed past him, but it wasn't enough to shake off his irritation.
Behind him, Farmaan stood in silence, his posture straight and calm. Armaan could feel the weight of his gaze even without looking.
"Close your eyes, Armaan," Farmaan instructed softly. "And listen carefully."
Grumbling but obeying, Armaan shut his eyes and forced himself to focus.
Farmaan's voice came again, low and steady. "Inside every Rakshak is a well of power. It's not chakra, not spirit pressure, not ki. We call it Prana—the essence of life energy."
Armaan couldn't help but crack an eye open. "Prana? Sounds like a health supplement."
"Silence," Farmaan said sharply. "Prana is not a joke. It is the life force that runs through every living being. It is the source of your strength. It flows in your veins, your muscles, your heart. It is the energy that will fuel you, if you can learn to control it."
Armaan raised an eyebrow, though he kept his eyes closed. "So... what, I just sit here and wait for some force to show up inside me?"
Farmaan ignored the sarcasm in his voice. "You must focus all of your Prana to the center of your chest. Your Pranashar—the core. Once there, spread it throughout your body. Let it flow like life itself."
Armaan shifted slightly, still skeptical, but he did as he was told. He took a deep breath, focusing on his chest, imagining the pulse of life deep inside.
At first, nothing.
The wind blew softly around him, but his mind wandered. This is dumb... he thought. Why am I even doing this?
But then, he felt it. A small spark. A warm feeling, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It wasn't heat, not like a fever. It was more like the warmth you feel sitting near a crackling fire on a cold night.
He could feel it in his chest, like a pulse. A tiny flicker, barely noticeable. His body responded. His fingers twitched, and his breathing slowed, as if the world was becoming clearer.
He kept his focus, pushing the warmth into his limbs. Slowly, it spread—across his shoulders, down to his hands, through his legs. His entire body felt alive, like his veins were filled with fire.
It wasn't overwhelming. It wasn't painful. But there was something... powerful there, just beneath the surface.
His eyes fluttered open, though he didn't move. The sky had turned dark. The village was quiet. Time had passed without him noticing.
"How long was I...?" he asked, almost to himself.
Farmaan's voice broke the silence. "Almost two hours."
Armaan blinked in surprise. He had completely lost track of time. For a moment, he almost felt like he'd been... somewhere else. Something inside him had shifted, and it felt like he'd touched something bigger than himself.
Farmaan stepped closer, his voice soft but firm. "The fact that you didn't feel the time passing is a good sign. Not everyone can quiet their mind like that."
Armaan stood up slowly, his body still tingling. He felt... different. Not stronger, but somehow more aware. His movements felt lighter, like he could spring into action at any moment.
"What next?" Armaan asked, brushing off his pants.
Farmaan turned and walked to the corner of the rooftop, where a long, cloth-wrapped object rested against the wall. With care, he picked it up and unwrapped it slowly, revealing a dull steel blade—nothing fancy, but sharp and well-balanced.
"This," Farmaan said, holding the blade out to Armaan, "is not your Aether Blade. That bond comes only after your soul is ready. But until then, you'll need something to train with."
Armaan's eyes widened a little as he reached out and took the weapon in both hands. It was heavier than it looked, and the grip was rough against his palm.
"Looks… kinda ordinary."
"It is," Farmaan admitted. "It's forged with neutral steel, no soul, no enhancements. Just a blade. But it will teach your body the weight, the rhythm, and the respect a Rakshak must have for his weapon."
Armaan gave it a few cautious swings. "No name? No fire blasts or glowing effects?"
Farmaan smirked slightly. "No. Just steel and sweat."
"Cool," Armaan muttered, though he clearly would've preferred a sword that shot lightning.
Farmaan stepped back. "Tomorrow, we begin with form drills. You will transfer you Prana to this sword. "
Armaan nodded, suddenly feeling a strange thrill in his chest. For the first time, the idea of becoming a Rakshak didn't feel like a fantasy. It felt... real.
He looked down at the training blade in his hands and whispered to himself, "Just a start, huh?"
Farmaan, already turning away, said without looking back, "A start that may break you... or shape you."
And with that, the rooftop fell silent again, as the night wrapped around them like a patient shadow—watching, waiting.
NEXT DAY-EARLIER IN SCHOOL
During lunch period, when Armaan was gossiping with other fellow classmates, Alya walked up to him, her notebook held delicately in her hand.
"Armaan... can you help me find a book? The teacher said it might be in the storeroom."
Armaan nodded, trying to seem casual. "Sure."
The storeroom was cramped and dusty, barely lit by a small, cracked window. As Alya stepped in first, her foot caught on a bundle of old files.
"Ah—!"
Before she could fall, Armaan reacted on instinct, catching her around the waist.
They froze.
Face to face. Inches apart. Her palms on his chest, his hands steadying her. A pink flush crept onto Alya's cheeks.
"Th-thank you," she whispered.
"N-no problem," Armaan muttered.
When he returned to the class, Roumit immediately barked, "Yo, tomato face, what happened?!"
Armaan shook his head, hiding behind his bag. "Nothing happened. Shut up."
That Evening – Village Training Ground
Farmaan stood in the training yard, arms folded, as Armaan arrived slightly late.
"You're glowing," the old man muttered with a smirk.
"Shut up," Armaan retorted, flustered.
Farmaan held out the neutral steel blade once again. "Today, you channel your Prana into this blade. If your soul is ready, the weapon will glow with your soul's colour."
Armaan raised an eyebrow. "And yours is...?"
"Crimson. Passion. Strength. Sometimes, fury," Farmaan replied. "But this blade—" he gestured at the neutral sword, "—has no soul. It's meant to reflect yours."
Taking the blade in hand, Armaan closed his eyes and drew his Prana from his chest, guiding it along his arms and into the steel.
Nothing happened.
Time passed.
"Don't force it," Farmaan advised. "Offer it. Let the blade know your intent."
After nearly an hour, just as Armaan felt his arms about to give out, the blade pulsed.
And then glowed.But not red.Not blue.
It glowed shadow black.
A color like midnight, like stilled chaos.
Farmaan took a step forward, eyes wide.
"Shadow black... I've never seen a soul like this before. Not even among Divya Rakshaks."
Armaan lowered the sword, still catching his breath. "Is that... a bad thing?"
Farmaan didn't speak for a moment.
Then he smiled faintly. "No. But it means your soul holds a mystery deeper than most."
Armaan stared at the blade in his hands, the soft black glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
And he whispered, "Then I'll uncover it."
Farmaan turned away with a small nod. "From tomorrow, your true training begins."
In the shadows, something old had awakened.
And Armaan had only just begun to realize the weight of the path ahead.
As Armaan was ready to head back home, he glanced at Farmaan. "Gramps, my Puja vacations are starting from tomorrow. So... at what time should I come? Or should I stay here from tomorrow for straight one month?"
Farmaan paused, considering, then gave a pleased nod. "Staying here would be better. We'll have more time to train—and you'll have fewer distractions."
Armaan grinned. "Cool. Then I'll bring my stuff tomorrow."
Farmaan smiled quietly. "It begins."