"How many times must I repeat myself?" he thundered, his eyes burning with restrained fury. "He is not some test subject to be treated like an experiment. He is Lioran."
The sharp crack of knuckles against wood echoed as one of the elders leaned forward, his tone sharp and unforgiving. "Then tell us plainly, Shourya. If not a subject… then what is he?"
Shourya did not flinch. He did not hesitate. His voice was quiet now, but laced with steel.
"Hope. He is our only hope to protect this world."
"Hope?" another scoffed, his voice dripping with scorn. He rose halfway from his chair, his cloak brushing the floor like the wings of some dark bird. "Do you take us for weaklings, Shourya? Do you think we have forgotten who we are? We are the strongest Prāṇa warriors this world has ever known."
A ripple of agreement moved across the table. Warriors of renown, their reputations forged in centuries of battle, nodded with pride.
Shourya's lips curved into a bitter smile, and a low laugh escaped him. It was not amusement but disbelief. "Strongest, you say? Tell me, then—are you stronger than the Narvan King?"
The name fell like a curse. At once, the room fell silent. The proud eyes of the council darted away, as though afraid to meet the weight of their own unspoken doubts.
Shourya stepped closer to the table, his voice steady but thunderous in its conviction.
"You all know the truth. The seal that holds him weakens by the day. Already a hole has formed—just enough to keep him from crossing into our world. But what happens when it shatters completely?" He scanned their faces, one by one. "Tell me honestly. Do you believe we can defeat him then?"
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Not one voice rose in defiance. Not one dared to answer.
Another figure broke the stillness. His tone was calm but heavy with doubt. "Let us assume you are right, Shourya. Let us admit—for the sake of argument—that we cannot defeat him. Then tell us, what are the chances that this boy, this Lioran, can succeed where we cannot? Even Vaelion himself, the greatest among us, sacrificed his life to bring the Narvan King down. What hope does this child have?"
Shourya's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists. "What are you trying to say?"
The elder's eyes narrowed, his words cold as ice. "I say we should treat him as we have treated the other test subjects before him."
"Exactly," another voice chimed in.
One by one, the voices rose. "Yes." "He should be contained."
Shourya's face darkened, his rage barely restrained. The veins in his temples pulsed as he glared at them. He wanted to shout, to tear down their arrogance with his words, but he knew there was no reasoning with them now.
An hour later, the meeting ended in bitter silence. The torches flickered low, casting long shadows as the council members filed out, their cloaks sweeping behind them. Shourya remained standing in the empty chamber, his body rigid, his heart pounding with fury.
"These fools," he spat under his breath, his voice trembling with anger. "They cannot see what lies before their very eyes. They are blind to the truth. Lioran is humanity's only hope… and I will protect that hope, even if it costs me my life."
Beside him, Mukhi lingered quietly. His face was pale, his eyes downcast. He did not speak, but the sadness written across his features betrayed the doubts gnawing at him.
Shourya exhaled slowly, forcing the rage down into his chest. "Come," he said at last. "For now, let us see how their training progresses."
The roar of the waterfall greeted them before they even reached the clearing. It was a sound that shook the ground, a ceaseless thunder that swallowed all else. When they emerged through the trees, the sight was staggering.
The waterfall crashed from a height of nearly fifty meters, the water slamming against jagged rocks before spilling into a wide pool. Mist hung in the air, catching the light of the setting sun in golden veils. It was beautiful, yes—but merciless in its force.
And beneath that merciless torrent sat two figures.
Lioran and Sharin.
Their bodies were rigid, their backs straight despite the relentless weight of the water pounding upon them. Their clothes clung to their skin, their hair plastered against their faces. The pressure alone was enough to break bones, to shatter the will of ordinary men. Yet they endured.
Shourya's chest tightened at the sight. He knew what they were suffering—the burning of their muscles, the strain on their bones, the suffocating force pressing down upon their very lungs. This was not training for the weak. This training designed to crush, to break, to test the very limits of body and spirit.
"Enough," he called out over the roar of the falls. "Take a short break."
Lioran's eyes snapped open, defiance blazing within them. "No. We can't."
Shourya blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"
"Because stopping now would disrupt the flow of our training," Lioran replied, his voice trembling from exhaustion but firm in conviction.
Sharin opened his eyes as well, his expression equally resolute. "We carry the responsibility of protecting this world. If that means pushing ourselves beyond the edge, then so be it. We will give everything we have."
Shourya fell silent.
Lioran's voice wavered, emotion leaking through his words, but his gaze did not falter. "I've seen people die right before my eyes. And every time, I asked myself—if only I had known how to use my power, could I have saved them? That question haunts me, Shourya. It will haunt me until I am strong enough to make sure it never happens again. That's why I will keep training, no matter how much it hurts. No matter what it takes."
The young warrior's throat tightened, but his voice rang clear in the mist.
Shourya's heart stirred. He looked at them—two young men battered and broken, yet unyielding—and thought to himself, They are truly something rare… something extraordinary.
And so, the days bled into nights, and the nights back into days.
The waterfall never ceased, its roar becoming the rhythm of their existence. Beneath its crushing weight, Lioran and Sharin trained endlessly. Their bodies bore bruises, their muscles screamed in agony, their spirits flirted with despair—but they did not stop.
On the third day, their breathing became steady, matching the rhythm of the torrent. On the fifth, they began to feel the flow of Prāṇa circulating with greater clarity, threading through their veins like rivers of fire and light. By the seventh, they no longer trembled beneath the waterfall's weight, though their bones still ached with every breath.
Shourya watched them from the banks, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He knew well the price of this kind of training. Few ever survived ten days beneath the falls. But Lioran and Sharin were different. They were not merely enduring—they were evolving.
Finally, on the tenth day, the breakthrough came.
The air around the waterfall grew heavy, the mist thick with an unseen energy. Lioran sat cross-legged beneath the torrent, his hands resting on his knees. His lips parted as he whispered the words.
"Prāṇa Cloak."
At once, golden particles of energy shimmered into existence around him, gathering like countless fireflies before forming a thin veil that wrapped his entire body. The water struck the barrier and split away, cascading harmlessly to the sides. For the first time in ten days, he remained dry beneath the waterfall.
Not far from him, Sharin's eyes opened, glowing faintly. His voice rang out, steady and strong.
"Prāṇa Cloak."
A black aura flickered to life, cloaking his form in a shadowy layer of Prāṇa. The torrent of water broke against it just as it had with Lioran, sliding away without touching him.
The ground trembled faintly beneath their combined presence.
Shourya's lips curved into a rare smile. His voice carried a quiet pride. "Finally… you both did it."
The two young warriors opened their eyes fully.
Lioran's irises glowed with a brilliant golden light, like molten sunfire. Sharin's eyes gleamed with a deep black radiance, like polished obsidian reflecting starlight.
A new chapter of their power had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED…