"Huff… huff… huff…"
Ajay ran.
Not because he wanted to.
Not because he could.
He ran because stopping was not an option.
The stone path beneath his feet burned as if heated from below, each uneven slab sending shocks up his legs. His lungs screamed, every breath scraping his throat raw. Sweat drenched his back, his vision blurring at the edges.
Ahead of him, the old man walked.
Not ran. Walked.
Hands clasped behind his back, posture straight, steps unhurried—as if the terrain itself bent to his will.
Ajay stumbled.
His foot caught a crack in the stone, and the world tilted. He hit the ground hard, the air punched from his lungs. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the sky, chest heaving.
Silence.
Then—
"Up."
The voice was calm. Cold. Absolute.
Ajay groaned, pushing against the ground. His arms trembled, refusing to obey.
"I—can't—" he rasped.
The old man didn't turn.
"If you collapse again," he said evenly, "crawl. If you cannot crawl, drag yourself."
Ajay clenched his teeth.
Something inside him snapped—not loudly, but firmly. A quiet refusal to stay down.
With a broken gasp, he forced himself up and ran again.
"Damn that old ma— I mean… Master," Ajay corrected himself mentally, teeth clenched.
Easy for him to say… how am I supposed to run this much on my first day?
His face had turned an alarming shade of red, blood roaring in his ears like a raging river. Every heartbeat felt too loud, too fast.
Yet no matter how much he struggled, his mind kept replaying that moment.
The old man's gaze—calm, piercing, immovable.
"Ajay. From today onward, you will do exactly as I say. The moment you back down, you will no longer be my disciple. You will be sent back. Is that clear?"
Ajay hadn't hesitated then. Not even for a second.
But now… now he understood why Meera had asked him—again and again—if he was truly prepared to become the old man spirit's disciple.
This wasn't training.
This was a trial of survival.
The place the Master had chosen was anything but ordinary.
In another world, it might have been called a hill. Here, within the dungeon, it was an island of scorched stone suspended amidst rivers of slowly flowing magma. The ground beneath Ajay's feet radiated faint heat, and the air shimmered faintly, warped by unseen mana currents.
There were no trees. No grass. Only cracked black stone stretching outward for kilometers—barren, lifeless, hostile.
"This location was chosen deliberately," the Master had said earlier, standing with his hands behind his back. "It will force your body to adapt quickly."
Ajay knew what he hadn't said.
There was no escape.
With magma encircling the elevated ground, leaving on his own was impossible. If Ajay wanted to flee, he would need help—from the very people pushing him to his limits.
The monsters that once roamed the surrounding ten-kilometer radius were gone. Not chased away. Not wounded.
Erased.
The Master had dealt with them a day earlier, leaving behind an eerie stillness that unsettled Ajay more than roars or claws ever could.
Even so, Meera had taken precautions.
Invisible magical sensors formed a wide detection ring nearly twenty kilometers out. Any monster foolish enough to wander close—or any powerful entity attempting to suppress their aura—would be detected immediately.
High ground. Early warning. Absolute control.
This wasn't just training.
It was a fortress.
"So… if you killed all the monsters yesterday," Ajay had asked back then, staring at the desolate landscape, "why did you only bring one disciple?"
The Master hadn't even looked at him.
"Because only one was needed."
The answer had chilled Ajay more than the magma below.
Now, as Ajay staggered forward, Meera followed silently from above, floating just far enough that he wouldn't sense her presence. She had made it clear—this was his trial. She would not allow him to rely on her, not even subconsciously.
"Oh?" she said lightly, her voice carrying a teasing edge layered with genuine concern. "What's this? Thinking of giving up already?"
Ajay forced air into his lungs and spat the words out through clenched teeth.
"Give up? I'd never give up," a voice echoed in Ajay's mind.
It wasn't his own voice. It was a memory.
"And I'd never let you two give up either," Kali said, pointing at them with a grin. "You're part of the KAK gang!"
"It's not KAK," Ajay had corrected him back then, wiping mud from his face. "It's AKK. Ajay, Kalam, Kali."
"What?!" Kali snapped. "I'm the leader! No way am I last. It's KAK! Or maybe KKA!"
"That's not important right now, guys!" Kalam had interrupted, his voice cracking with frustration. "We're trying to escape this place and you two are fighting over a name?"
The two of them had sat quietly as Kalam scolded them like a disappointed mother. "Fine, 'Mom,'" Kali had joked. "We'll stay ready. We're leaving this shithole."
"Let's do this," Ajay said, and the three of them pounded their fists together.
"Ajay." A suffocating voice broke through the memory.
"Ajay!"
"AJAY!"
Ajay jolted awake. He was on the ground, his face pressed into something warm and soft. Wait... this feeling again?
"What's this similar feeling?" he muttered aloud, his mind still foggy from fainting.
WHACK!
A fist descended heavily onto his head.
"Ouch!" Ajay whined, clutching his skull.
"Are you awake now, or do you want another 'similar feeling'?" Meera asked, her fist still clenched and trembling with irritation.
Ajay scrambled backward, nearly losing his balance. "S-sorry! I don't know why it happened again!" His face was now red for a completely different reason.
"I didn't expect you to pass out from a little running," the Master said, appearing beside them. He held out a wooden cup of the familiar herbal tea. "Drink. Then back to training. Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you fainted."
Ajay took the cup with trembling hands and drank.
Warmth spread instantly through his body—soothing his muscles, dulling the pain just enough to move again.
He's a totally different person now, he thought. The kindness is gone. Only the teacher remains.
"It's your first day, so I will grant you one mercy," the Master said.
Ajay's eyes brimmed with hope. Maybe he still has a heart!
"You only have to run the remaining four kilometers not from the begining. Then we move to the secondary exercises."
Maybe not!
Ajay wanted to complain, but the memory of his promise held his tongue. He looked at Meera with desperate puppy eyes, but she instantly diverted her gaze, whistling a tuneless melody.
There is no hope in this cruel world, Ajay lamented.
The hours that followed blurred together.
Running. Collapsing. Exercises Ajay didn't know his body was capable of failing so spectacularly at. Push-ups that burned his arms numb. Sit-ups that made his stomach cramp violently. Pull-ups he couldn't even begin.
Every time he passed out, the herbal tea dragged him back.
No rest.
No sympathy.
No food.
Finally, the sun—or whatever light source governed this dimension—began to dim
When he was finally allowed to eat, Ajay nearly cried.
"Why can't I eat what you're eating?" Ajay asked, staring miserably at his bowl of boiled, tasteless vegetables while the Master cut into a juicy, perfectly seared steak.
"I can't believe a boy who can only do five pushups and ten situps is complaining about his menu," the Master said sharply. "This diet is designed to build your constitution from the ground up. We must forge the vessel before we fill it with power."
The Master finished his meal and eyed Ajay. "Are you finished?"
Ajay felt dread coil in his stomach.
"…Yes?"
"Good," the Master said calmly. "Now we begin the second round."
[Gokul Village]
The village awoke to fear.
Black-armored knights flooded the streets, their presence suffocating. Every home was searched. Every villager questioned.
The Sarpanch's announcement echoed through the streets that morning—an "important investigation," he had said. Cooperation was mandatory.
Everyone knew the truth.
Ajay.
"That damned brat," villagers whispered. "Bringing disaster even after disappearing."
Several of Raman's men were caught during the searches—thieves, hoarders, liars. Their houses exposed, their crimes dragged into the light.
But none trembled more than Ajay's parents.
The Knight Commander himself stood in their small, cramped shack, his presence suffocating.
"Believe us, sir!" Ajay's mother cried, shaking. "We're not his real parents—we found him in a dump! Yes, a dump!"
"Yes!" his father echoed desperately. "We showed him kindness! We gave him shelter!"
The commander's eyes hardened.
"Abandoning your own child," he said coldly, "then claiming kindness."
He paused.
"For a moment… I almost felt pity for that foolish boy. Having parents like you." the Knight Commander said, his voice dripping with suppressed disgust.
"Search them again. Ensure they aren't lying." he ordered.
"Do you find anything?" the Commander asked as a woman in a dark robe emerged from the shadows of the room.
"No," she whispered. "Nothing."
Before the commander could speak again—
Before the Knight Commander could speak—
"Ah… my dear friends."
The voice came from behind them.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Yet it filled the room completely, pressing against their ears like unseen weight.
The Knight Commander spun around, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
"You—" he snarled. "What are you doing here?"
The doorway was occupied by a man wrapped in layered robes of white and ash-gray. His face was visible—but somehow forgettable, as though the mind refused to hold onto it. Behind him stood several others, similarly robed, each radiating a calm, oppressive presence.
Mages.
Every one of them.
The black knights outside reacted instantly. Boots scraped stone. Weapons rose in unison. Yet none stepped forward.
They felt it too.
The mana in the air had grown… still.
"I see you're still together," the man said pleasantly, eyes drifting between the Commander and the robed woman. "How comforting. I was beginning to wonder if time had finally pulled you apart."
The Knight Commander's grip tightened on his sword.
"I asked you a question," he said coldly. "Is the Lord aware of your presence here? Or are you acting on your own—again?"
A soft chuckle escaped the man's lips.
"So hostile," he said. "You've truly worked on your temper, Commander."
The robed woman took a cautious step back.
I still can't sense him, she realized with growing unease. No aura. No fluctuation. Nothing.
That frightened her more than raw power ever could.
"Oh my," the man continued, tilting his head slightly. "Such disrespect. This is no way to address an old colleague."
His gaze sharpened—just for a moment.
"A Prophet."
The word hit the room like a falling blade.
The Knight Commander's eyes widened.
"Prophet…?" he whispered, then stiffened. "Then the Dark Ruler is already involved."
The Prophet smiled.
Not wide.
Not cruel.
Certain.
"Yes," he said simply.
Behind him, the mages shifted subtly, their presence sealing the space like a closing net.
The Prophet gestured toward the doorway with an open palm, polite to the point of mockery.
"Now then," he said calmly, "shall we continue this conversation somewhere more… appropriate?"
No one moved.
Not because they refused—
But because, for the first time, they weren't sure they were allowed to.