Year 5125 --- SWAPNA GRAM, DHÀRITRÍ ( PLANET)
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A serene village lies in the lap of a forest, far away from the general civilization of the world. Houses made of bricks, mud, and wood are decorated by beautiful flower vines. People here live with peace and happiness in harmony with nature.
While the whole village enjoyed a deep sleep, a boy, with long, wavy black hair and no beard or moustache, lay on the grass in his yard, under a clear sky. Midnight had passed; it was almost three in the morning. A gentle breeze flowed, soothing the sultry night. Sharv was gazing at the Trident Constellation, his eyes intense, with an ember ring encircling his black irises. At sixteen, his fair-skinned face was gaining sharpness as it was losing baby fat.
"You didn't sleep tonight either, Sharv?" a tired, hoarse voice asked.
A man lay on a cot beside him—his father, Shyam.
Sharv turned his face to look at his father. Moonlight caught the high angle of his cheekbones and the distinct curve of his upper lip—a clear cupid's bow—though his expression remained neutral as he listened.
"It's a happy day," Shyam continued. "You've finally reached the mastery needed for the trial after rigorous training. Don't you feel happy or satisfied?"
"I am happy, Father," Sharv said in a neutral, slightly deep voice—a little unusual for a sixteen-year-old. "But I want to conquer sleep."
"Conquer sleep, huh?" Shyam said with a weak laugh. "Why?"
"Two reasons," Sharv answered. "When I started mastering the Space Chakra… I began having a dream. An army of humans and unknown creatures, enveloped in flames, stood before me. And I was the only one fighting."
He turned his gaze to the moon, his long, wavy black hair glowing faintly.
"I decided I would train until I could beat that army. But every time I fought, I died and woke up."
Shyam looked at his son with a compassionate gaze.
"So… dying in your dreams is why you stopped sleeping?"
"No," Sharv replied. "Since I am deprived of victory in sleep, I decided I would train rather than sleep."
He paused, then spoke with a determined look, "And if that army is real… it would take a year of non-stop fighting to beat them. To fight for a year, I have to stay awake. So conquering sleep became a necessity—a precaution."
"So that's why you haven't slept properly in two years." Shyam gave a long, tired sigh and spoke again, "But you should call it a nightmare, not a dream, Son."
"It's all the same to me," Sharv replied quietly. "You know… they call me…"
But before he could finish, screams erupted from the southern end of the village, filled with agony and despair.
Sharv shot up instantly. At nearly six feet tall, his shoulder-length hair flowed in the gentle breeze. He grabbed his wooden training sword and ran toward the fence.
"Son!" Shyam shouted, pushing himself up from the cot, "At least take a real sword!"
"Wooden is enough," Sharv replied, leaping over the fence and into the unknown.
After crossing two intersections, Sharv reached the southern crossroads in under half a minute. On the roads, women were running away with their children, hoping to escape and live another day, while men were trying to fight some unknown attackers.
'A car and a truck? Where did these come from?' Sharv questioned himself, his eyes glowing faintly, scanning the surroundings.
His query was answered immediately as over fifty men wearing black pants and shirts, carrying various weapons such as swords, spears, and maces, jumped out of the truck.
'Dacoits? This is a first for them,' he thought. 'Hmm, time to get some real practice.'
Sharv immediately joined the fight. His pelvis region glowed faintly in reddish brown light, signaling the use of Earth Chàkrà, and a brown, crystalline metallic material covered his sword, generating from his hand and moving towards the tip. It reinforced and sharpened the sword, fusing it to his hand. A dacoit was going to slash a woman from behind, but before one could blink, first his hand, then his head fell to the ground, lifeless. Even in death, his eyes were wide open with surprise.
"A Master! Fall back!" other Dacoits who saw this scene shouted. "Stay away from that man. He is a Chàkrà Master. We can't fight him."
'Man? Not a boy? Well, I have grown quite a lot,' Sharv thought. His wooden sword was now cloaked with a reddish brown aura, and a subtle black luminescence pulsed around his neck. With a subtle silver green light pulsing at his heart, a fierce wind seemed to carry him, as if he rode the air currents themselves. His blade cut through enemies and their weapons alike, meeting little to no resistance. It felt less like cutting matter and more like dividing it, the sword defining the boundary. Desperation and raw fear painted the faces of his foes. How could they fight what their eyes couldn't follow?
In less than a minute, limbs flew and heads rolled amidst screams of agony. Seven dacoits were dismembered, eleven decapitated, nine stabbed through the heart, and five cleaved at the waist. As their pained cries echoed into the night, a man stepped forward. Sharv stood still at the crossroads, hair stirring in the unnatural wind, sword steady, and no visible emotions on his face.
"Leader, he's a Master! We can't fight him!" the remaining dacoits cried out as the man advanced.
"He's no Master. You lot are just weak," the man growled, his voice a low rumble. Sporting a black hipster beard and a handlebar moustache, a distinct mole on his nose, he looked like an annoyed villain. Red-rimmed eyes, slick with alcohol, glared from beneath a round black hat. "Boy," he slurred, adjusting the hat, "surrender. You'd be a good addition to my crew. Don't want to kill you."
"I don't align with cowards," Sharv stated, his voice deep and steady.
"Good decision, you'll be given... wait. Did you just call me a coward?" The man's drunken rambling snagged on Sharv's reply. "Can't you sense I'm stronger than you?" A note of angst crept into his voice.
"Attacking unprepared innocents under the cover of night? That is cowardice," Sharv replied evenly. "And stronger? Who told you that?"
Sharv moved, a blur visible only to the leader. Reacting instantly, the leader erupted in flames. "I gave you a chance! Now burn!"
Fiery red flames engulfed the leader. Sharv simply flowed through the flames, untouched, reappearing in his original position.
"You have put your hands on a wasp's nest," one of the dacoits sneered at Sharv.
"That's right! Watch your village burn!" Another dacoit shouted. Many such taunts rose amongst the dacoits. And they were right to boast, at least partially. The leader roared, intensifying his flames with an explosive surge. He became a walking volcano. The extreme heat, accompanied with shockwaves, put cracks in the walls and ground nearby, turning them hot-red. Neighbouring trees caught fire alongside the wooden houses under them. And the magnitude was only going to increase.
'I can't let this escalate,' Sharv thought, his focus turning inward. He closed his eyes and with a deep breath, sky blue light joined the red brown, illuminating his lower abdomen and pelvic region. The aura around his sword shifted from reddish brown to sky blue.