Inside the Unknown.
It was a white space where a pillar of light stood in the middle, and an object unknown to Shaurya was floating.
The space had a reflective watery surface and a whitish-blue sky above with huge white clouds. As Shaurya walked across that watery reflective surface, no ripples were forming. It was almost like a mirror, but the water was moving on its own, small movements—very weird, but pretty.
As Shaurya reached the center of the space, some words appeared out of nowhere. They floated in the air, forming out of thin air itself. As Shaurya tried to comprehend the meaning of these words, written in some unknown language, a sudden headache struck him.
He looked up—the unknown object was shaking inside the pillar, slowly moving in the air, drifting closer toward him.
The pain grew unbearable. Shaurya fell to the ground, veins bulging around his eyes, clutching his head so tightly that even his arms swelled with veins. Just as he was about to pass out, the pain began to fade.
Breathing heavily, he looked back at the floating words. His eyes widened.
He could read them_
'Sync with the host is confirmed.'
As Shaurya tried to understand, more words appeared from the air.
'Owner of Unknown is now confirmed, current sync with the Unknown is 5%.'
'The Gods hate those &(&*&%^$^, but you are chosen as one.'
'Immortal physique — not awakened, requirements not met.'
'Control, Manipulation, and Will — not awakened, requirements not met.'
'Seven Immortal Curses — deactivated. Condition: Owner unable to withstand.'
Shaurya's heart raced. He tried to understand, but how could he? He had only learned this language 30 seconds ago, and whenever he thought too much, the headache returned.
Still, one thing was clear—this was something only he had seen, and only he could face. With determination and curiosity, he reached out and touched the pillar.
The moment his hand brushed it, his body was thrown out of the space. Before fading, one last line appeared:
'1 out of 3 entry chances has been used for this Tryaha.'(1)
Shaurya repeated the word in his mind. Tryaha… three days? The thought lingered in his head.
Then, more words:
'To enter again, owner has to think.'
Testing it, Shaurya thought of the white space—and instantly, he was inside again. It was as easy as moving his hand.
New words followed:
'Use of domain entry 2/3 per Tryaha.'
Shaurya checked his device for translation, but it didn't respond. Only then did he realize—it was nothing but junk inside this domain.
But something else caught his attention. He felt it—like a third arm was attached to him, something that had always been there but unnoticed. Instinctively, he closed his fist and asked for a rock. To his shock, the rock appeared. He threw it, and in that moment, he could feel where the stone would land, even the possibility to erase its existence entirely.
After testing, Shaurya concluded he could create anything inside the domain, except living beings.
Time passed. He thought he had been inside for almost an hour and a half. Deciding to leave, he asked to leave.
Outside the domain, he checked the time again. Outside, only 35 minutes had passed since he had left the party.
Time runs slower inside… he realized, stunned.
Back home, lying on his futon, Shaurya slept peacefully—no nightmares that night.
Next day in the Training Hall…
A young, tall black lad with two machetes in his hands danced like it was his life's purpose. He was sweating, moving like crazy, each strike near perfection. He spun on one hand, slashing with the other, his movements creating the illusion of an unbreakable barrier around him. It feels like the temperature is rising because of him.
Then, an old man appeared. He waited patiently, then extended one finger.
"Right there."
His finger pierced through the boy's rhythm. A light poke at his solar plexus—and Alfred's movements shattered. He collapsed face-first, machetes slipping from his hands. Before they touched the floor, the old man caught them effortlessly.
"You're still practicing the wrong way," the man said. "Didn't I tell you? No gaps in your defense. And that grip—still weak."
Alfred groaned, pushing himself up. "Teacher Sekou… but how? Just one poke? My abs are trained! I can take punches, but your finger—why does it hurt so much—"
Before he could finish, Sekou's voice thundered with fury. "Start again!"
Alfred blinked. "What?"
Sekou swung the machete at him. Alfred dodged, barely. The flawless rhythm he had shown earlier vanished like an act exposed.
"Read the damn books, you idiot!" Sekou roared. "Why do you think I tell you to read before training? The solar plexus is weak. You can't train it like abs. You must protect it—like your neck. You train only for attack. But if someone breaks through your strikes, you're nothing but a dead man!"
Sekou sighed heavily, the weight of his frustration spilling out. "From tomorrow, your training will be cut in half. Book study will be doubled."
Alfred's face twisted. "Books again?! But I hate those old words—"
"No excuses. It starts now. And it won't stop until you can answer every question. One month from now, your test begins."
After listening to an earful of scolding, Alfred went his way to his room.
Alfred's shoulders slumped. Tears threatened his eyes, a pitiful sob slipping out.
He enters inside the shower room,
At that moment, Suyash entered, smirking. "I heard your master shouting again. Why don't you just listen to him?"
Alfred snapped, "You think I enjoy this?!"
"Well, from the outside, it kinda looks like it," Suyash teased.
"You don't understand! You're lucky. Your master doesn't force you to read every damn day! You're the lucky bastard, not me!"
Suyash's expression softened. "You're wrong. Your master pays attention to you. That's why he scolds you. It's love, Alfred. His rage is proof he wants you to survive."
"Love?" Alfred frowned.
Suyash smirked. "What, don't tell me you think I'm in love with him now?"
Alfred gasped dramatically. "No way! Don't tell me you actually—?!" He bumped Suyash's shoulder playfully. "Fine then, trap him with your love and make him, to free me from the books!"
"That's not what I meant," Suyash laughed. "But if you're struggling, I know someone who can help. My friend Shaurya—he's a genius."
Alfred's eyes lit up with hope. "Really? You'd do that for me?"
"Of course. I'll ask him once he's free from Union's work."
The two smiled. Later, drenched in sweat, they stumbled into the showers.
Warm water ran down their bodies. Suyash glanced sideways, smirking. "Why are you so tall everywhere, Alfred? Not just height, even there."
"Huh? Don't be jealous. You're fine—average is good."
"I'm not jealous!" Suyash flushed. "I have a girlfriend. And I'm above average."
"Confidence is good," Alfred chuckled. "But pick battles you can win."
"I don't wanna talk anymore."
"You started it," Alfred teased.
On the other side, Miya let the warm water wash her face. Her sad expression lingered, lost in her deep thoughts, but laughter erupted from the boys' side, followed by a thud and even louder laughter. A faint smile touched her lips.
But far away, on Mt. Akash Chumbi, the snow was stained with blood. Bodies lay scattered, lifeless. Two men stumbled, one wounded and leaning on the other, running desperately from something unseen.
And from the shadows of the trees—an eye glowed.
Cold, unblinking. Watching.
To be continued…
(1) त्र्यह (Tryaha) → classical Sanskrit term, meaning "a period of three days."
(2) In the Mandinka and Fula languages, it comes from the Arabic word "Sheikh" (an elder, leader, or master). From this came the name Sekou