The night on the island grew deeper, stars glittering above like guardians of fate. Mukul sat close to the fire; his small frame wrapped in a cloth someone had draped over him. He thought the circle was complete—ten masters already, each carrying a story more incredible than the last.
But then, the shadows moved again. Another wave of figures stepped into the light, their presence powerful, their eyes sharp. Mukul's heart skipped—five more legends.
The first was a man whose energy felt like a raging bull ready to charge. He wore twin blades at his side, and his confident grin carried the fire of Spain itself.
"Diego Ramirez—The Bull of Madrid," he declared with a proud tilt of his head. His combat style drew from bullfighting itself—fast, fierce, and unpredictable. But Diego wasn't just a fighter; he knew guerrilla tactics, motorbike design, and mechanics like the back of his hand. "I fight like a bull—never corner me, for I will strike harder than you expect."
Mukul remembered seeing him earlier, but now he understood the depth of his skill.
From the other side of the fire came a man with piercing eyes, holding a bow so polished it gleamed in the firelight. His presence was sharp, steady, like an eagle watching from the sky.
"Lucas Bennett—The Eagle's Eye," he introduced. An American master of archery, firearms, survival, and strategy, Lucas could hit moving targets even while blindfolded. He was also a brilliant mind in technology and hacking. "Accuracy is not just about aim—it's about focus. Focus, and the world bends to your will."
Mukul couldn't look away from his calm gaze; it felt as though Lucas could already see through him.
Then came a woman whose voice carried warmth yet mystery. Even as she greeted him with a soft smile, Mukul felt a strange pull, as if her words could soothe his soul.
"Maya Thompson—The Serpent's Voice." From Canada, she was unlike the others. Her strength wasn't only in her body but in her voice itself. She could calm, confuse, or even manipulate minds through vibrations. Skilled in diplomacy, etiquette, and leadership, she knew how to guide people without them realising it. "Words can wound; words can heal. My gift is knowing which one to choose."
Mukul felt his young heart relax just listening to her—she radiated a gentle authority.
The fourth was a tall man with wild energy, his movements as fluid as a dance. His eyes gleamed with playful danger, and his stance reminded Mukul of a predator ready to leap.
"Thiago Oliveira—The Jaguar King." From Brazil, Thiago mastered Capoeira, jungle survival, dance combat, and even jewellery and art design. His energy roared like the jungle itself, fierce and alive. "The jaguar is swift, silent, and deadly. That is who I am."
Mukul's eyes widened as Thiago spun lightly on one foot, his movements graceful yet powerful.
And then came a woman draped in earthy colours, carrying a whip coiled at her side. Her presence was gentle, yet her aura carried both healing and danger.
"Camila Vargas—The Rose of Andes." From Peru, she combined herbal alchemy with whip mastery, able to heal with herbs or poison with equal skill. She had lived in the mountains, mastering survival and crafting tools with her own hands. "A rose is both beauty and thorn. Remember that, little one."
Her words made Mukul shiver, though her smile was kind.
Finally, a tall figure stepped forward, broad-shouldered, with a claymore strapped to his back. His emerald eyes gleamed under the firelight, and strange symbols faintly glowed across his arms.
"Sean O'Reilly—The Celtic Guardian," he said with a deep voice. From Ireland, Sean was a master of rune cultivation, creating protective shields with his energy. His great sword was legendary, but so was his knowledge of law, etiquette, and strategy. "Strength is not enough. A true warrior must also be just."
The runes on his arms seemed to hum faintly, like ancient secrets whispering through time.
Mukul looked around the fire. Fifteen masters now surrounded him—each from a different land, each carrying wisdom the world itself had once feared or misunderstood. He felt so small, so unworthy, yet their eyes held no judgment—only a quiet expectation.
He pressed his little fists to his chest. Why me? He thought. Why would such people, who could rule the world if they wished, choose to guide a lost child?
But deep inside, he felt something stir—a flame he didn't know he carried. Maybe this was fate. Maybe the world had taken his family, only to give him this one.
The fire roared higher, sparks flying into the night sky as if sealing an unspoken promise.
Mukul's journey with the masters had only just begun.