The air of the ashram was quiet, filled only with the soft clink of ceramic as Shourya set his cup back onto the wooden table. Steam curled upward from the half-finished tea, carrying with it the earthy scent of herbs plucked fresh that morning. He leaned back on his chair.
Mukhi, his trusted aide, stood nearby. "Master," he began cautiously, "twenty-five days have passed since their training began. But…" He hesitated, as though weighing whether he should even speak further.
Shourya tilted his head. "But what, Mukhi?"
Mukhi's eyes flicked toward the open courtyard beyond the ashram walls. "They've become tougher, stronger, and even learned techniques that normally take years. Don't you think… it's too fast?"
Shourya set the cup down fully this time, his gaze sharpening. "Too fast?"
"Yes," Mukhi pressed. "I mean… techniques like these usually demand one, sometimes two years of discipline. Lioran—yes, he is heir of Vaelion. I can understand his progress. But what about his friend, Sharin?"
Shourya's lips curved faintly. "What about him?"
"That boy survived the forbidden Prāṇa Core Awakening ritual," Mukhi said, his voice dropping, as though the memory of it still chilled him. "Less than five percent live through it, yet he endured. And now—" He shook his head in disbelief. "Now he matches Lioran's pace. Just ten days, Master! Ten days, and he's already mastered the Prāṇa Cloak technique. Others spend years to even grasp its foundation."
The words hung heavy in the air. Shourya closed his eyes briefly, recalling the ritual's fire, the agony, the screams that should have ended Sharin's life. Yet the boy had stood again. He had risen.
"You are right, Mukhi," Shourya admitted. "Even during the ritual, I felt there was something… unique about him. Something that reminded me of Skanda."
Mukhi stiffened. "Skanda? You mean—Sharin is like him?"
A flicker of nostalgia and awe passed over Shourya's face. "Skanda was the most powerful Prāṇa warrior born in this era. A force beyond comprehension especially his eyes…" He trailed off.
Mukhi nodded gravely. "Yes. Those eyes didn't belong to this world. His strength was not human. His techniques were invincible. I still remember—the day he split that mountain in one strike. And now you're saying… Sharin might be like him?"
"I don't know for certain," Shourya said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "But I do know this—Lioran, Sharin, and Skanda are our trump cards. When the war comes—and it will—we will need them."
Mukhi fell silent, absorbing the weight of those words.
Shourya rose, brushing the dust from his robe. "Come. Enough talk. Let's go to them. There's something I need to show them."
Mukhi frowned in confusion but followed.
The training grounds sprawled beneath the afternoon sun, dust shimmering in golden light. The faint scent of sweat and earth mingled with the sharp sound of effort—HAAAH! GRNNGH!
Mukhi's eyes widened when they arrived.
There, between two towering trees, massive stones dangled from ropes looped across the thickest branches. Each boulder was the size of a small hut, their sheer weight enough to crush lesser men. Yet Sharin gripped the ropes with both hands, veins bulging across his arms, his back taut like drawn steel.
"HUURRGHHH!" Creak—Creak!
The ropes strained. The branches above groaned under the force. Inch by inch, the stones lifted from the ground. Just a little, just enough to prove his strength.
Mukhi's mouth fell open. "What in the hell…?"
Shourya chuckled softly, pride gleaming in his eyes.
"NNNAAHHHHH!" Thump! The stones shook as Sharin released the ropes, his body collapsing to one knee, drenched in sweat. His chest heaved, but even through exhaustion, his eyes burned with determination.
"Well done, Sharin," Shourya said, stepping forward. "You've grown stronger. Much stronger. But strength is only the beginning. You still have much to learn."
Sharin bowed his head slightly, forcing words through ragged breaths. "Yes, Master."
Mukhi could only stare. The boy had just performed a feat he'd expect from warriors decades older, men hardened by endless wars. And yet, this was Sharin—barely past boyhood.
Shourya glanced around. "Where is Lioran?"
Sharin wiped his sweat with his forearm. "He's at the waterfall, doing what you told him. Come, I'll take you."
The roar of cascading water grew louder as they approached. Soon, they reached the clearing, where a mighty waterfall thundered down from the cliffs above, crashing against the rocks with a force that shook the ground. Mist hung thick in the air, cool droplets clinging to their skin.
And there, before the torrent, stood Lioran. His body was steady, posture firm. He drew his stance, fists clenched, eyes narrowed in focus.
He muttered to himself, a whisper drowned by the waterfall. "Steady… focus the Prāṇa… draw it inward."
A faint glow pulsed along his arm, trailing veins of light that converged in his fist.
Mukhi leaned forward. "He's attempting it now?"
Shourya folded his arms. "Yes. Watch."
"HHHAAAAAAA!" Lioran roared, his fist trembling as it gathered light. His voice echoed through the cliffs, carried by the spray.
FZZZTTTT! His punch ignited with radiant Prāṇa, flaring like a miniature sun.
"Prāṇa Fist!"
BOOOOOOM!
The ground quaked. A deafening shockwave ripped outward, sending mist and vapor exploding in all directions. Shhhhhh—KRRRSSHHH! The waterfall itself seemed to shatter, the flow scattering into violent streams.
Sharin shielded his face from the blast. "Damn… did he—did he really…?"
The mist parted slowly, revealing the cliff wall.
Mukhi froze in shock.
The once-solid rock face now bore a cavernous pit, a deep hollow gouged out as if by some divine strike. The waterfall tumbled unevenly around it, broken, its path scattered into smaller streams.
Shourya's eyes softened with satisfaction. "At last. He's mastered it."
Lioran staggered forward, his chest rising and falling like a war drum. His knuckles were red, but his grin was radiant. "I did it! Master, I finally learned the Prāṇa Fist!"
Shourya placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but warm. "Well done. Both of you—Sharin with your strength, and Lioran with your mastery—you've reached the point I was waiting for."
Sharin tilted his head, curiosity sparking. "Point? What point?"
Shourya's expression darkened, the weight of responsibility shadowing his face. "Now… you are ready for your first mission."
The air stilled. Even the waterfall's roar seemed distant compared to those words.
Mukhi swallowed, sensing the storm that lay ahead.
Sharin and Lioran exchanged a glance. Their training had forged sweat, blood, and growth. But now, at the threshold of their journey, their hearts quickened with both fear and excitement.
Their story was no longer about learning. It was about stepping into destiny.
TO BE CONTINUED…