My name is Siddharth.
I am sixteen years old, a student of Ayodhya Gurukul, born in the land of Kosala, where Dharma is valued above all else. From the outside, I look like any other ordinary disciple wearing the plain robes of the Normal Class. But inside these walls, everyone knows me for a different reason.
I am the one who fell.
In this world where power rules all
This world has a clean, structured way to immortality
Cultivation System
There are 8 major cultivation levels.
Each level is divided into 9 ranks (1st → 9th).
Cultivation Levels (Lowest to Highest):
Shishya
Sadhak
Yogi
Acharya
Rishi
Maharishi
Paramrishi
Brahmarishi
I study in Ayodhya Gurukul in Ayodhya city in Kosala Desh (country) of an empire called Bharat.
At Ayodhya Gurukul, there are 3 classes:
Normal Class led by Devdutt
Expert Class led by Vashishth
Genius Class led by Somdev
"Move aside, useless waste."
A sharp shove struck my shoulder, sending me stumbling across the stone courtyard. I barely managed to keep my balance before another push came from behind. Laughter echoed around me—mocking, cruel, familiar.
Garvit.
I didn't even need to turn to know it was him.
Garvit stood there with his arms crossed, his cultivation aura deliberately leaking out. Shishya Rank 6. The strongest student in the Normal Class. His presence alone made weaker disciples instinctively step back.
"Well?" he sneered. "Still stuck at Shishya Rank 2, Siddharth? Or did you finally break through in your dreams?"
The surrounding students chuckled. Some looked away in embarrassment. Others watched eagerly, as if this humiliation was part of their daily entertainment.
I clenched my fists but said nothing.
Two years.
For two long years, I hadn't moved even a single step forward.
They didn't know—or perhaps they didn't care—that once upon a time, I was called a genius.
At fourteen, when most disciples were struggling to stabilise Shishya Rank 1, I had already reached Shishya Rank 2. My teachers praised me. My peers envied me. Even Garvit had stood far below me back then.
I still remember the pride in my parents' eyes.
My chest tightened.
Two years ago, when I was fourteen, my parents died.
They fell on the battlefield in a brutal war against the Asuras, defending the borders of Bharat. Their bodies were never brought back—only a sealed message from the empire and a single object handed to me in silence.
A necklace.
Simple in appearance, ancient in feeling. I had worn it every day since. I had never taken it off. Somehow, I couldn't.
After their deaths… everything stopped.
No matter how hard I trained.
No matter how perfectly I circulated my prana.
No matter how deeply I studied cultivation theory.
My cultivation refused to advance.
Garvit's fist slammed into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs.
"Pathetic," he spat. "A so-called genius who can't even fight back."
I collapsed to my knees as another kick struck my ribs. Pain exploded through my body. My vision blurred, but I didn't scream. I refused to give them that satisfaction.
Eventually, Garvit grew bored.
"Clean the courtyard after class," he said dismissively, turning away. "Maybe that's all you're good for."
When it was finally over, I dragged myself back to my small room in the dormitory. Every breath hurt. My body trembled as I collapsed onto the wooden bed.
Exhaustion swallowed me whole.
Darkness took over.
I found myself standing in an endless void.
No sky. No ground. Only a vast, ancient presence pressing down on my soul.
"So… you are Siddharth."
A deep, calm voice echoed through the emptiness.
Before me appeared an old man, his long hair tied neatly, eyes sharp as if they could see through time itself. He wore simple robes, yet his presence alone made my heart pound.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The old man smiled faintly."My name is Kaushik. I am your ancestor."
My breath caught.
"Ancestor…?"
"Yes," Kaushik said. "And I am bound to the necklace your parents left you."
My hand instinctively reached for my chest. Even here, I could feel its warmth.
Kaushik's gaze softened. "Your cultivation did not stop because you are untalented, Siddharth. It stopped because I was incomplete."
"What do you mean?"
"For the past two years," he said calmly, "my fragmented soul has been feeding on your prana to revive itself. A slow process… one that drained your progress without you ever realising it."
So that was it.
The confusion. The stagnation. The despair.
"I am now fully revived," Kaushik continued, his aura subtly changing—deeper, vaster. "From this moment on, I will no longer take from you."
He stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Instead," he said, his voice carrying unshakable confidence,"I will be your master."
My heart thundered.
"I will guide you. I will train you. And I will make you one of the strongest cultivators this world has ever seen."
The void trembled.
For the first time in two years—
I felt hope.