Morning light spilled across the rooftops of Gurukul, lighting up the tiled domes and stone paths in gold. Dev and Roshan stood by the main gates of their dormitory, now clad in robes that matched their elemental houses.
Roshan wore the cool blues of Jalāgriha, the Water House, with flowing sashes and embroidered spirals.
Dev, wrapped in the firm earth-tones of Bhūmigriha, had a more rugged look — his sleeves rolled and eyes wide with anticipation.
"You sure you'll be okay alone?" Dev asked, slinging a small bag over his shoulder.
Maarun nodded with a half-smile. "I'll be fine. Just… don't forget me when you're busy throwing rocks or summoning waves."
Roshan smirked. "Only if you promise not to get arrested again."
They bumped fists and turned toward the long paths leading to their respective houses.
And just like that, Maarun was alone again.
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He slipped out of the Gurukul gates, following the directions Aranya had whispered to him the night before.
A narrow forest trail wound through the ancient trees behind the main grounds, quiet and shadowed. Birds called overhead. The air smelled of salt and moss.
Eventually, the trees thinned.
And then — the sea.
A calm shoreline opened before him, waves gently brushing the rocks. Tucked at the edge of the forest, half-covered in vines, was a small, crooked hut made of driftwood and stone. Smoke curled from its chimney.
This was the home of Guruji Vāyurāyana — the former elder of Gurukul, long retired and whispered about with a strange mix of reverence and mystery.
Maarun stepped closer.
Before he could knock, the door creaked open.
An old man sat cross-legged just inside, his long silver hair flowing like threads of wind, his eyes sharp as glass.
"I was wondering when you'd come," he said calmly. "The boy… covered in ashes and blood."
Maarun froze.
"You… know who I am?"
Guruji Vāyurāyana nodded. "Not your name. But your presence. It trembles with the weight of buried storms."
He motioned for Maarun to sit on the mat across from him.
"So. Tell me. Why are you here?"
Maarun sat, cross-legged, nervous.
"Aranya… told me to find you. She said you could help. That I… might still have a chance to be chosen by a house. That maybe, with your help, I could understand why the Dice rejected me."
The old man studied him for a long time.
"Rejection is a word the ego uses to hide fear," Vāyurāyana said. "The Dice does not reject. It reflects."
"I don't understand."
"You will. If you are ready."
Maarun swallowed. "I am."
The old man smiled faintly. "Then your training begins. But not with weapons. Not with elements. Not yet."
He rose to his feet with surprising grace and walked toward the back of the hut.
"You must first go through Anātma Parīkṣā — the Trial of the Unseen Self. Only those who face the truth of their own heart can shape the world around them."
He looked back at Maarun, eyes now colder.
"And many break before they understand."
Maarun didn't flinch.
"Then let me break," he said quietly. "But I won't stop."
Guruji Vāyurāyana smiled.
"Good."