Beyond mountains unnamed and borders unmarked, the sky of Dhara Loka twisted—just once.
Not violently.Not loudly.
Like a wound opening in the skin of the world.
For a single breath, a presence pressed against reality.
Heavy.Ancient.Hostile.
A Rakshasa emerged.
Not fully—never fully.
The air screamed without sound as its shadow brushed the land. The ground beneath fractured, unable to bear the weight of its existence.
Before fear could spread, before prayer could rise—
Light answered.
A colossal sealing array ignited across the heavens, spanning leagues in an instant. Symbols older than kingdoms flared into being, carved by wills that did not hesitate. Chains of luminous script snapped shut around the intrusion, folding space inward upon itself.
There was no battle.No roar.No scream.
The Rakshasa was erased from the surface of the world, dragged back beyond the veil as though reality itself rejected its presence.
The sky healed.The land stilled.
Dhara Loka breathed again.
And far away, in Vyomtara—
Life continued, unaware.
Morning returned gently to Vyomtara Manor.
The courtyard echoed not with alarms, but with breath.
Aditya stood with his feet planted wide, sweat dotting his brow as a small red flame hovered above his palm. It flickered—not wildly, but unevenly—stretching, shrinking, threatening to fade.
Sasi sat several paces away, royal-blue energy compressed between his hands. No sparks leapt free. Only pressure remained, humming softly.
Aryan knelt near the stone edge, eyes closed, a faint green aura pulsing like a slow breath. The air around him felt thicker, fuller.
Rishi Vedananda observed them in silence.
Today was not about power.
It was about endurance.
"Hold," Rishi said calmly.
Minutes passed.
Aditya's jaw clenched. His shoulder trembled. The fire shrank into a thin, stubborn tongue of flame.
"Don't force it," Rishi said, voice steady. "Fire resents pressure. It answers honesty."
Aditya exhaled, loosening his grip—not his hand, but his will.
The flame steadied.
Sasi's breathing remained controlled, posture precise. Yet a dull ache crept behind his eyes as the thunder resisted stillness, yearning to move.
Aryan's glow thinned, pulsing slower now, like leaves in fading sunlight.
"Good," Rishi said. "You're reaching your limits."
They looked at him, surprised.
"Limits," he continued, "are not failure. They are information."
He stepped closer.
"Your chakra is shallow," he said plainly. "Powerful—but shallow. It allows your element to exist, but not yet to remain."
He raised a finger.
"Manifest."
Another finger.
"Stabilize."
A third.
"Understand."
The elements faded as they released them, exhaustion settling deep into muscle and bone.
They gathered near the stone bench, breathing hard.
Rishi sat before them.
"Tell me," he said, "what did you learn?"
Aditya spoke first, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Fire… isn't anger," he said slowly. "It's hunger. When I try to squeeze it, it fights back. When I let it breathe—it listens."
Rishi nodded.
"Fire is honesty. Suppress it, and it consumes you instead."
Sasi followed.
"Thunder isn't speed," he said. "It's timing. When my thoughts waver, it scatters. When they align, it holds."
"Thunder is judgment," Rishi said. "Indecision weakens it."
Aryan opened his eyes last.
"Nature doesn't belong to me," he said quietly. "When I try to hold it alone, it fades. When I wait—it grows."
Rishi smiled faintly.
"Because life does not obey force."
The days that followed settled into rhythm.
Morning meditation to strengthen chakra flow.Midday study to sharpen understanding.Weapon basics at dusk to align body and intent.
Elemental practice—short, precise, never excessive.
Rishi watched carefully.
He measured how long they could manifest.How quickly fatigue followed.How well their chakra recovered.
Privately, he spoke with Duke Varesh and Duchess Elaria.
"For their stage," Rishi said quietly, "they are exceptional."
Varesh's gaze sharpened.
"That does not make them safe," Rishi continued. "It makes them dangerous to themselves if they grow careless."
Elaria's eyes never left her sons. "They're still children."
"Yes," Rishi agreed. "That is why this matters."
That night, Vyomtara Manor slept peacefully.
Unaware of sealed horrors.Unaware of distant inevitabilities.
Three children rested beneath woven blankets, bodies tired, spirits steady.
Their elements quiet.Their chakras shallow—but growing.
And somewhere far beyond their knowing, the world had already begun to move.
Not toward chaos.
But toward what could no longer be avoided.