The roar of the waterfall thundered against the rocks, mist spraying across the mossy stones as the moonlight shimmered on its surface. Beneath its silver veil, three figures sat—Shourya, Lioran, and Sharin—huddled near the water's edge.
"As you saw with your own eyes," Shourya said, his voice calm yet sharp, cutting through the sound of rushing water. "The difference in power between you and Aishwarya is big. You couldn't last even two minutes against her."
Lioran clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked softly. CRACK!
"I know…" he muttered. "And we only have a week to close that gap."
Sharin rubbed the back of his neck, his voice heavy with worry. "One week… it's impossible unless we think of something solid. We need a strategy."
"Agreed," Lioran said, determination flickering in his eyes despite the doubt pressing on him.
Shourya leaned forward, his face hidden partly in the moon's shadow. "I know her weakness."
Both boys straightened instantly.
"What is it?" Lioran demanded.
Shourya's tone grew grave. "Her attacks are destructive, yes, but raw. She relies heavily on her fiery techniques, but in close combat she is unpolished. And her stamina… it's not her strong suit. If the fight drags on, she will tire quickly."
"So…" Lioran's mind pieced it together. "If I fight her up close, push her until her stamina breaks…"
"You'll win." Sharin finished, his eyes lighting up with a spark of hope.
Lioran allowed a grin. "Then that's the path."
Shourya's lips curled into a faint smile. "Good. And to prepare you, I have something for you." He clapped his hands. "Mukhi, bring it."
From behind the trees, Mukhi appeared, carrying a tall wooden structure almost six feet high. Its polished frame gleamed faintly under the moon.
Lioran tilted his head. "What is this?"
Shourya stood and brushed dust from its surface. "This is called Mook Yan Jong. A wooden training dummy from China. It was designed for martial artists who specialize in close combat. Its purpose is to sharpen reflexes, improve accuracy, and condition the body for pain."
Sharin's eyes widened. "A training dummy… with arms and poles?"
"Yes," Shourya said. He tapped its wooden arms and legs, and they rattled slightly. CLACK! CLACK!
"This will hit back. If you're careless, it will punish you. But if you master it, your close-combat skills will soar."
Lioran felt adrenaline surge in his veins. He raised his fist, eyes gleaming with renewed determination. "If you're helping me, Shourya, then I'll definitely win."
"Then let us begin," Shourya said firmly. "No time to waste."
Meanwhile in the Ashram, Aishwarya lay sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling of her dimly lit room. Shadows flickered across the walls from the small oil lamp at her side. Her mind, however, burned brighter than any flame.
"Because of him…" she whispered, her teeth gritting. "Because of that boy, Grandpa has started chasing that stupid dream again."
Her fist clenched the blanket tightly. Heat gathered in her palm, spreading up her wrist until her hand ignited in red-orange flames. FWOOOSH! The fire illuminated her fierce eyes.
"If I defeat him…" she muttered, her voice trembling with anger. "If I crush him completely, Grandpa will stop thinking about the past. He'll stop believing in that nonsense. I can't see him depressed again."
She rose abruptly, the wooden floor creaking under her feet. The fire in her hand flared even brighter. Her lips curved into a snarl.
"You're finished, fool."
The flames crackled, echoing her vow in the silence of the room.
Three days passed since Lioran started his training for Dwandh.
Under the pale moon, Lioran stood drenched in sweat, his chest heaving. Before him loomed the wooden dummy, arms and poles jutting out like a waiting opponent.
"Hyah!" Lioran shouted, throwing a swift punch. THUD! His knuckles collided with the wood, sending a dull ache up his arm.
He stepped back, kicked forward. WHACK! His foot landed, but one of the wooden arms spun— CRACK! —smacking his face.
"Gah!" He stumbled, clutching his cheek. Anger surged.
"You damn piece of wood!"
He lunged again, jabbing and striking wildly. But another arm snapped around— (WHAM!)—and struck him hard in the stomach.
"Ughhh—!" Lioran staggered back, gasping for breath, his arms hugging his torso. Sweat dripped onto the soil beneath him. "It's… so hard. Painful…"
A calm voice drifted from behind.
"That's because you're fighting with anger, not focus."
Shourya stepped out of the shadows, his robe fluttering gently in the night breeze. His eyes glinted with quiet wisdom.
"Watch carefully again."
He approached the dummy, bowing slightly before it, then slid into a stance. His movements flowed like water—swift, precise, and utterly controlled.
SMACK! THUD! WHAP! CLACK!
Each strike landed exactly where it should, and whenever the dummy's arms countered, he weaved aside effortlessly, dodging with almost inhuman grace.
Lioran watched in awe, his jaw tight.
"He's so old… yet his movements are sharper than anyone I've ever seen. So smooth. So powerful…"
With one final strike, Shourya's palm slammed into the dummy's center.
BANG!
The wooden frame rattled, almost toppling. He stepped back and exhaled.
"Do you see, Lioran?" he said. "It's not strength that wins in close combat—it's reflex. If your body is trained to react instantly, you won't need to think. You'll dodge naturally. You'll strike precisely."
Lioran straightened, nodding, determination burning anew. "I understand."
"Good," Shourya said, then gestured. "Now… attack me."
"What? You?" Lioran said.
"Yes." His expression remained unreadable. "Try to land a blow."
Lioran grinned despite the exhaustion. "Alright then."
He leapt forward, fists flying.
WHISH! WHISH! WHISH!
But each punch cut through empty air as Shourya swayed, sidestepped, and leaned effortlessly. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground.
"Tch!" Lioran growled, speeding up, pouring all his strength. Shourya's smile grew faintly as he dodged again.
Then, without warning— WHUMP! —Shourya's knee shot up toward Lioran's stomach. Instinctively, Lioran dropped his elbow, blocking the strike. CLASH!
The impact rattled through his body, but he held firm.
Shourya's eyes widened for the briefest moment, then softened into pride. "Not bad."
Lioran grinned through the sweat. "I told you… I'll get stronger."
The two clashed again, sparring under the moonlight, each movement sharp and echoing in the still forest.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes watched from behind a thick tree trunk. Aishwarya's heart pounded as she saw Lioran sparring with her grandfather. The sight struck her deeper than she expected.
"Grandpa… teaching again."
Memories surfaced—her as a little girl, tugging at her grandfather's sleeve.
"Please, Grandpa… teach me too!" she had pleaded, eyes wide with innocence.
But Shourya had placed a gentle hand on her head, his smile bittersweet.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I've retired. I cannot teach anymore."
The memory twisted like a knife. Watching now, she saw him moving fluidly, teaching Lioran the very skills he had denied her. Her fists trembled.
"Why…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her vision blurred as a tear slid down her cheek, glistening in the moonlight. She quickly wiped it away, but the sting in her chest remained.
"Because of you…" she muttered, eyes narrowing at Lioran. "Because of you, I lost my grandfather. You took him away from me."
Her flame ignited faintly in her hand, glowing in the darkness. She turned away, anger and grief twisting within her.
"Now you're finished, Lioran," she vowed, vanishing into the night.
TO BE CONTINED…