The green light that flowed from Parashurama's hand was not like the Anahata energy Kalpit had felt within himself. His own had been a resonant hum, a shield of connection and empathy. The immortal warrior's was something far older, more potent. It was the primal life force of the Earth itself, focused into an instrument of mending. It was not gentle.
Kalpit cried out as he felt his broken bones grind and shift, forcibly resetting themselves with unnatural speed. The pain of the healing was a clean, sharp agony, a stark contrast to the dull, throbbing pain of the injury. He could feel his cells knitting together, tissues regenerating, the Prana working like a scaffold to rebuild what his own foolishness had shattered.
SHNNK. CLICK.
With a final, sickening pop, the bones set. The process had taken less than ten seconds. The swelling receded, the discoloration vanished. Parashurama released his hand. Kalpit stared at his knuckles, flexing his fingers. They were completely healed, not even a scar remaining. But the memory of the break, the phantom-pain, was seared into his nerves.
"Pain is a teacher," Parashurama stated, rising to his full height. "Consequence is its lesson. Forget either, and you will die."
"You knew I would break my hand," Kalpit said, his voice tight.
"I knew your power was untempered, and your vessel was weak. The outcome was a certainty," Parashurama corrected, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I did not make you fail. Your own lack of control did. You have an ocean of power within you, boy. Trying to channel it through a flawed, undisciplined will is like trying to pour the ocean through a cracked cup. The cup will always shatter."
He pointed back at the boulder. "Again."
Kalpit stared at his healed hand, then at the unyielding rock. The rational part of his brain screamed. It's a trick. He just wants to see how many times you're willing to break yourself. His nerves twitched with the memory of the searing pain.
The mind is a liar. The mantra was a lifeline. His fear was the lie.
He took a breath. He returned to the boulder. The act itself was a monumental victory over his own instincts.
"Do not think of destruction," Parashurama instructed, his voice a low growl. "Your Anahata is awake. Use it. The rock is not your enemy. It is a part of the world, just as you are. Feel its presence. Listen to its story. Connect with it before you seek to change it."
Connect with a rock? The idea was absurd. But he had already climbed a cliff by feeling its bones. He placed his healed palm on the boulder's rough, sun-warmed surface. He closed his eyes, filtering out the fear and the memory of pain. He reached out with his Anahata, the gentle hum in his chest.
He wasn't looking for structural weakness or feeling for Prana. He was just... listening.
For a long time, there was nothing. It was a dense, silent thing. But he held the connection. He felt the slow, patient vibrations of the mountain around it. He felt the memory of the sun's heat from that morning, the faint coolness of the shadows now creeping into the canyon. He felt its incredible, patient, stillness. It had a presence. A deep, stubborn Dharma of simply being.
It wasn't an enemy. It was a fact of existence. And he was about to argue with it.
He resumed the stance. He drew the red energy from the earth, the stability of Muladhara. He circulated the orange energy of Svadhisthana, the liquid grace of flow. The two energies swirled inside him, a chaotic internal storm. The key, he realized, wasn't to smash them together. It was to find their harmony.
He overlaid the third frequency—the green, steady hum of his Anahata. The connection. He channeled it into the swirling mix of red and orange Prana.
Something new happened. The clashing energies didn't fight. They found a common purpose. The green energy of the Anahata acted as a binding agent, a forge that allowed the raw material of Earth (Muladhara) and the liquid motion of Water (Svadhisthana) to merge. They formed a new, potent energy in his core, a vibrant yellow-gold light he had never felt before. It hummed with contained, focused power.
The Solar Plexus. The Manipura Chakra.
The Power Core.
It was not a flood. It was a spark. A single, contained point of brilliant, controlled energy gathering in his core. Parashurama had told him to find the heart of the rock. Now, he had found his own.
He exhaled. The power didn't surge wildly. It flowed, calm and disciplined, down his arm and into his fist. It was not a feeling of overwhelming strength. It was a feeling of perfect, frictionless efficiency.
He didn't pull back. He executed the same, short, one-inch punch.
Tap.
The sound was identical to Parashurama's. Quiet. Final.
He held his fist to the rock for a second, feeling the connection, feeling the focused energy transfer from his core into the stone's. He stepped back.
The boulder remained intact. There were no cracks. There was no groaning sound.
His heart sank. Failure again.
But Parashurama watched, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration. "Wait for it," he rumbled.
Kalpit looked closer. A faint, golden light, the same color as the energy he had felt in his core, was now glowing from within the boulder. It pulsed, softly at first, then with growing intensity. The light wasn't shattering the rock; it was resonating with it, finding its fundamental frequency and amplifying it.
The boulder began to hum. The hum grew into a low, vibrating drone.
VMMMMMMMMMMMM...
The very atoms of the stone were being excited to a point of instability. He hadn't broken the rock's body; he had unraveled its spirit.
With a soft, implosive sigh, the man-sized boulder collapsed into a pile of warm, glittering sand. Not gravel. Sand. Its form had been utterly and completely undone.
FSSSSSHHHHH...
Kalpit stared at his hand. It was not broken. It was not even bruised. It tingled with a faint, pleasant warmth. He looked at the pile of shimmering sand, then at Parashurama.
The giant warrior-sage did not smile. He simply nodded, a slow, deep gesture of approval that felt more profound than any cheer.
"You have awakened the Manipura," he stated. "The core of your personal power. You have combined the stability of the Earth, the flow of Water, and ignited them with the Fire of your own Will, born from your Heart's connection."
He picked up a handful of the warm sand, letting it run through his enormous fingers. "You did not shatter the rock. You persuaded it to become sand. This is a far greater power. Destruction is easy. Transformation... requires mastery."
He dropped the sand and his tone became hard again, the brief moment of teaching over. "Do not celebrate. This was a dead rock. A willing student. Your enemies will not be so cooperative. Their wills will fight yours. Their fire will try to extinguish yours."
He pointed a thick finger at Kalpit's chest, right where the new Manipura chakra glowed with a faint, inner light.
"You have lit the fire in your own forge. Now, you must learn to keep it lit in the heart of the storm. From now on, your every punch, every kick, every breath, will begin and end from this core. It is the engine of the warrior. It is the sun within you."
Anasuya, who had been watching the entire exchange, approached, her face a mask of utter astonishment. "He's awakened three Chakras... in a matter of days. Master Vashistha said it could take a lifetime of meditation for each one."
"Meditation is for those with lifetimes to spare," Parashurama growled, turning his gaze back to Kalpit. "He has only until Kali's patience runs out."
The immortal's eyes scanned the horizon, as if seeing threats Kalpit could not.
"And it is beginning to run very, very thin."