The sun was beginning its descent when Shourya guided Lioran and Sharin through the dense folds of the forest. Their path was rough, the ground uneven with roots coiling like ancient serpents, but Shourya moved with the effortless grace of someone who had walked this path countless times.
The rustling of leaves accompanied them, and the distant roar of rushing water grew louder with each step. Finally, the trees thinned, and the three of them emerged into a clearing where nature had sculpted a breathtaking spectacle.
Before them towered a vast waterfall, crashing down from jagged cliffs into a wide basin below. The water fell with a force so immense that the mist in the air shimmered like a veil of silver under the fading light. The sound was thunderous, powerful enough to make the ground itself seem to vibrate.
Sharin's eyes widened, wonder flashing across his face.
"What a beautiful waterfall…" he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the roar.
"Yeah," Lioran agreed softly, "But why bring us here?"
Shourya folded his arms behind his back, surveying the waterfall with a calm, measured gaze. "Because here," he said, "you will learn how to release your Prāṇa."
Sharin blinked in disbelief. "Here? In this place? But… how?"
Shourya's lips curled into the faintest of smiles. "Just wait. And watch."
Without further explanation, the old mentor stepped forward. He closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, as though every breath carried with it centuries of discipline. His posture straightened, his presence magnified, and in that moment even the cacophony of the waterfall seemed to bend around him.
Lioran and Sharin exchanged puzzled glances.
"Is he… meditating?" Sharin muttered.
"I don't know," Lioran said, though his tone hinted at an uneasy fascination. His instincts told him something extraordinary was about to happen.
Suddenly, Shourya opened his eyes and strode directly toward the waterfall.
Sharin's jaw dropped. "Is he insane? The pressure of that water is incredible!"
"At his age, he should've been thrown back the moment he touched it," Lioran said, tension creeping into his voice. "But somehow… I don't think it's that simple."
They watched as Shourya stepped unflinchingly into the torrent.
For several heartbeats, the old master disappeared behind the curtain of water. The spray and the mist swallowed him whole, and the two youths leaned forward, straining to see any trace of him.
Then, as suddenly as he had vanished, Shourya emerged again—walking calmly out of the waterfall as though he had simply strolled through a morning drizzle.
"Impossible," Sharin breathed, his eyes fixed on their teacher. "Did you see that?"
"What happened?" Lioran asked, his brow furrowed.
"Look closer," Sharin said, his voice trembling with awe. "He went into the waterfall… but he isn't even wet. Not a drop!"
Lioran's eyes widened. He scanned Shourya from head to toe, and indeed, his robe was dry, his hair untouched by moisture.
"No way. How… how is that possible?"
Shourya's expression was unreadable, though his eyes glinted with quiet pride. "Because," he said, "the water couldn't touch me."
"Water… couldn't touch you?" Lioran repeated, disbelief etched across his face. "What does that even mean?"
Shourya stepped closer to the waterfall again. "Wait," he said simply. "I'll show you."
Both Lioran and Sharin held their breath as Shourya raised his hand. With deliberate slowness, he pushed his palm into the falling water.
And then—they gasped.
The water split.
The torrent curved away from his skin, as though an invisible barrier shielded him. Not a single droplet reached him.
"It's… it's like his hand is covered by something invisible," Sharin whispered, unable to look away.
"Yes," Lioran said softly, his heart pounding. "But that something… it must be Prāṇa."
Shourya withdrew his hand and turned to them with a nod. "Exactly. What you see is a technique born from Prāṇa. We call it Prāṇa Cloak. With it, one can protect themselves from external forces—water, fire, even extremes of heat and cold. The barrier is thin, almost weightless, yet its strength is absolute."
Sharin's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Prāṇa can really do that? It feels so… overpowered."
Shourya chuckled. "Prāṇa can do far more than you imagine. But for now, focus on this. Use your Prāṇa Vision."
The two boys looked at him blankly.
"My apologies," Shourya said, shaking his head with a laugh. "I forgot—you already learned the technique, though perhaps not by name. The ability to concentrate Prāṇa into the eyes and alter perception? That is called Prāṇa Vision."
"Oh…" Sharin said, realization dawning on him. "So that's what it was."
Lioran and Sharin exchanged a glance, then closed their eyes and steadied their breathing.
"Prāṇa Vision," they both whispered.
The world shifted around them. Their vision sharpened, not in clarity but in depth, as though the fabric of reality itself had opened a new layer. They turned toward Shourya—and gasped again.
Now, surrounding him, they could see it: a shimmering layer of energy, faint yet undeniable, wrapping around his body like a second skin. His hand, especially, glowed with concentrated Prāṇa, forming the invisible barrier that had defied the waterfall.
"Unbelievable," Lioran murmured. "That's… that's the Prāṇa Cloak."
"Correct," Shourya said, his tone calm, his words steady like stone. "And now, you two must learn it as well."
"Alright," Lioran said, determination flickering in his eyes. "But… how exactly?"
Shourya's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "Simple. Take off your clothes."
Both Lioran and Sharin froze, eyes widening in shock.
"What?" they exclaimed in unison.
"Remove them," Shourya repeated firmly. "You'll need to feel the waterfall directly against your bodies. Only then will you understand the urgency of shaping your Prāṇa into a cloak."
After a long moment of hesitation—and much embarrassment—the two reluctantly stripped down to their underclothes and positioned themselves beneath the waterfall.
The moment the torrent struck them, agony surged through their bodies. The water was frigid, like knives of ice stabbing into their skin, and the pressure was crushing, each drop pounding like a hammer. They grit their teeth, their bodies trembling uncontrollably as the force threatened to shatter their resolve.
"Aaaghh! It's so cold!" Sharin shouted, his teeth chattering violently.
Lioran tried to speak but could barely form words. "T-This… is… insane…"
Meanwhile, on the riverbank, Shourya sat comfortably on a rock, munching on chips and sipping from a cold drink. He looked almost comically relaxed compared to their suffering.
"Remember," he called over the roar, his voice infuriatingly casual. "Release your Prāṇa in every direction, then mold it. Shape it into a thin, even layer around your body. That is the Prāṇa Cloak."
"O-Okay!" Lioran stammered, his lips trembling. "B-But h-how long will it… t-take to m-m-master?"
Shourya chewed thoughtfully on another chip before answering. "Hmm. For most people? About… a month."
Both boys' eyes widened in horror. Sharin lost his balance entirely and was swept sideways by the torrent, coughing and flailing.
"Sharin!" Lioran cried, pushing against the crushing water to grab his friend's arm and haul him back upright.
Shourya laughed by seeing this scene.
On the bank, Mukh—who had been watching silently—smiled faintly. "It's been a long time since I've seen him laugh," he thought. "These two… they're hanging him."
But then, Mukh's smile faded. His gaze fell upon the watch on his wrist, and realization struck him. He hurried to Shourya's side.
"Master," he said in a low voice, "the time has arrived. You must attend the meeting."
Shourya froze mid-bite. "Ah, yes. I nearly forgot." He stood, brushing crumbs from his robe. "You two continue. Endure, no matter how harsh it feels. That is the essence of this trial."
Lioran nodded weakly, clutching Sharin's arm. "We'll manage… somehow."
"Good." Shourya's eyes softened briefly before hardening once more. "Do not stop until you succeed."
He turned and left, his footsteps echoing against the rocks until he vanished into the forest.
Moments later, he entered a room of his Ashram. Inside was a simple table, but the true centerpiece was the massive screen dominating the wall.
It flickered to life as he stepped forward. One by one, shadowed figures appeared, their faces obscured by static or darkness. Their voices carried across the chamber, cold and measured.
Shourya's demeanor shifted instantly. Gone was the casual mentor who joked over chips; here stood a man of unwavering gravity.
One of the shadowed figures spoke first. "Shourya. What is the status of our new test subject?"
Shourya's lips pressed into a thin line. He said nothing.
Another voice cut in, sharper, demanding. "By the way, what was its name"
There was silence. Then, a third voice broke it—calm, but heavy with intent.
"I recall," the figure said slowly. "The subject's name is… Lioran."
Shourya's eyes darkened.
TO BE CONTINUED…