Two days had passed since we left our hometown. Two days of roots underfoot, birdsong above, and the cold breath of the forest brushing against our faces. The woods seemed endless, a green corridor stretching in all directions, shifting with every step we took. The path thinned, widened, then vanished altogether, leaving us to follow instinct and the river's faint murmur.
By noon of the third day, even my legs began to ache. Varun stopped first, planting his sword in the soil dramatically as if he'd just survived a war.
"Guys," he groaned, "we've been walking for two days straight. Two days. Through trees that all look the same. If we don't rest, one of you will have to drag my body to the Gurukul."
I smirked. "Aye-aye, my prince. Has the royal lifestyle finally caught up to you? You do understand you're weaker than your sister, right?"
He pointed his sword at me. "You wound me, Aryaman. My honour bleeds."
Lakshmika crossed her arms. "You two do realize a girl is standing right here, yes? And I can hear everything."
We both shut up.
She huffed but her tone softened. "Anyway, Varun's right. We have three days before the admission ceremony. A day of rest won't kill us. I'm going to bathe in the river. When I'm back, I expect a campfire—warm—and food. Good food. Not forest garbage."
Before either of us could reply, she strode toward the riverbank with the confidence of someone used to giving orders.
Varun watched her go, jaw tightening. "See? This is what happens when Father spoils someone. She treats us like servants."
I shrugged. "She's royalty. And let's be honest—she's the most elegant royal I've ever met. Born to be a queen."
He clicked his tongue but didn't disagree.
"Rest. I'll find fruits," I said.
He lowered himself under a tree, exhaustion melting across his features. For a moment, I saw him not as a prince, not as a sparring rival, but as a boy my age who carried the weight of expectations on his shoulders—expectations even heavier than my father's blade.
I walked deeper into the woods.
The Forest Breathes Differently
The trees here were older. Taller. Their branches entwined like fingers clasped in prayer toward the heavens. Shafts of sunlight slipped through the gaps, painting gold upon green. I picked berries and fruits cautiously—my mother had drilled enough survival training into me to avoid anything suspiciously bright or glowing.
Yet something felt strange.
The wind stilled.The birds quieted.Even the river's whisper faded.
It was as if the world inhaled… and forgot to exhale.
A faint tremor stirred inside me—not under my feet, not in the ground, but in my core, vibrating like a warning whispered through bone.
My father once told me:When your soul trembles, danger is not coming. It is already here.
I straightened.
And then the world… shifted.
Scene Shift — Unknown Realm
"The thread moves," a voice said.
"Yes. He approaches the first gate."
"Touch his destiny. Just enough."
A pause.A presence older than the forest, watching.Waiting.
"Begin with Aryaman."
Light flickered.
Back to Reality
A shadow swept overhead—soundless, weightless, yet impossibly heavy.A figure of darkness glided above the treetops, its hollow form dripping tendrils of smoke.
A Black Hollow.
My heart jolted.
An Asura.
Even a weak one was beyond us. We weren't trained in mantras, didn't know chakra manipulation, and had no battlefield experience.
And it was heading straight for our camp.
I sprinted, branches whipping my face, lungs burning. My fingers tightened around the fruits in my hands, crushing them accidentally—but I didn't stop.
Not until I burst into the clearing.
Varun was on his feet, sword drawn. Lakshmika had returned from the river, half-wet, blade in hand. Both stood back-to-back as the Asura hovered above them—twisting, gurgling, its form flickering like a dying flame.
Cold fear crawled up my spine.
This was the first time I had ever seen an Asura.
And it was horrifying.
Its hollow eyes stared into us as though we were prey waiting to be butchered.
I didn't think.Didn't breathe.
Vajra slid out of its sheath, its steel catching the dim sunlight and reflecting it like a sliver of hope.
"Varun! Lakshmika!" I shouted. "I'm here!"
Varun exhaled shakily. "Good. Whatever happens, don't let it touch Lakshmika."
Lakshmika elbowed him. "I don't need protecting—"
"Yes you do," Varun and I said together.
Her eyes softened, but fear flickered in them.
We charged.
Our blades slashed through nothing.The Asura drifted aside, moving like liquid shadow, effortlessly dodging every strike.
It countered, hurling a dagger of darkness straight at Varun's chest.
Varun froze.
And then—
A blur dropped from the treetops.
Steel clashed against shadow.
A man in flowing robes landed between us and the Asura, deflecting the strike with divine precision.
A Guru.
"Children," he growled, "run. Now."
"We can fight—!" I shouted.
"No," his voice thundered, shaking the trees, "you cannot."
He looked at Lakshmika and Varun—recognizing royalty—and instinct kicked in. He grabbed their wrists.
"Guruji, wait!" I yelled. "Don't leave me—"
His eyes flicked to mine.
And something changed.
He saw something.Around me.Through me.
Destiny? Aura? Fate-thread?
His grip tightened on the twins.
"Aryaman," he said softly, voice suddenly solemn, "your turn has come. Survive if you can."
Then he leapt into the forest, taking Varun and Lakshmika with him.
Leaving me alone.
With the Asura.
The Fight Begins
The Black Hollow twisted toward me, its form trembling with amusement.
"So. The King-to-be stands alone."
My blood froze.
It spoke.Clearly.Sinisterly.
"You… can talk?"
"Oh, little one. We can do much more than that."
It lunged.
I barely raised Vajra in time. The clash sent a sting through my hands. My stance faltered. I stumbled back, trying to regain footing, breath sharp and fast.
It struck again—dagger sweeping toward my ribs.
Clang.
I blocked.Barely.
Its speed was unreal.
Fear clawed at my insides.
I swung again, slashing with everything I had. The blade passed through shadow, creating a ripple but no wound.
The Asura chuckled.Mocking.Hungry.
"You reek of destiny," it whispered. "That makes you delicious."
"Shut up!" My voice cracked. "Stay away!"
I charged.
This time, Vajra hummed faintly—vibrating against my palm, as if responding to my desperation.
The Asura hissed and darted back, startled.
Good.
Hope flickered.
Maybe… maybe Vajra could help me. Maybe its dormant power could answer my call.
My father always told stories of blades that awakened for their wielders. Maybe this was myth… or maybe myths began here.
I pressed the flat of the blade to my forehead.
"Come on," I whispered. "Please. Even a little. Just once."
For a heartbeat, the sword warmed.
A faint blue light shimmered along the runes.
The Asura snarled.
But the light died instantly.
I wasn't awakened.I had no chakra.No mantra.No training.
Vajra rejected my plea—not cruelly, but honestly.
I steadied my breath.Fear curled inside my chest.Cold. Sharp. Real.
"I don't… I don't want to die yet."
The Asura smirked. "Good. Fear seasons the soul."
It lunged again.
This time, I couldn't follow its movement.A blur.A flicker.A sting.
The dagger pierced my stomach.
White-hot pain exploded through me. Air fled my lungs. My fingers loosened around Vajra's hilt.
The world tilted.
I fell to my knees, blood soaking into the forest floor. My vision blurred, colours melting into each other.
The Asura leaned close, whispering into my ear like a cruel lullaby:
"The King must be killed before he is born."
It yanked the dagger free.
I gasped—a broken, wet sound—and collapsed fully.
Vajra slipped from my fingers.Its metal dimmed.Its runes flickered sorrowfully as if watching me fade.
Between Life and Death
The world dulled.The trees blurred.The forest dimmed.
I could no longer hear the river.Or the wind.Or my own breath.
"I don't… want to die. Not yet…"
My voice felt like it belonged to someone else.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Calm. Unhurried.
A presence approached—vast, serene, ancient. Not Asura. Not human. Something far beyond.
My fading eyes lifted.
A figure walked through the haze—blue-skinned, radiant, holding a sword shaped like moonlight.
Not death.
But a Deva.
The air around him shimmered like liquid starlight. Each step pulled colour back into the world. My vision sharpened for a heartbeat—just long enough to see his calm expression, eyes glowing like polished sapphire.
He knelt beside me.
"Fear not, Aryaman," he murmured. His voice was gentle, carrying warmth deeper than sunlight. "Your story does not end here."
The world finally closed.
Darkness embraced me.
But it felt different this time.
Not empty.Not void.
Warm.Guiding.Alive.
As if the darkness itself waited to show me something.
And so I let go.