The first light of dawn barely touched the peaks of the Kaaldhara mountains as Ravi sat cross-legged on the stone terrace of the monastery, his palms pressed together in meditation. Around him, the ancient chants of the monks blended with the whispering wind, carrying secrets of the Devaang and the long-forgotten wars.
His body still tingled with the residue of last night's training — the Void Palm was awakening, but unstable. Every strike sent a ripple of emptiness through the air, but his mind struggled to control the growing hunger inside him: the Void was not just a power; it was a void inside his soul.
Kiran arrived with a grin, carrying a bundle of firewood. "Ravi! You've been at it since before dawn. Come, eat something before you vanish into thin air."
Ravi smiled faintly but did not open his eyes. "Soon. The Void demands balance. If I lose focus... I might lose myself."
Meera appeared then, her soft footsteps barely audible. "You're pushing too hard," she said gently. "Your body and spirit need rest — even warriors of the Void."
Her presence was a calm balm to his restless mind. She knelt beside him, placing a cool hand on his forehead. "Remember, power without control is destruction."
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed from the nearby forest. Ravi's eyes snapped open. "Kiran, Meera — stay close."
From the shadows emerged a figure clad in black robes, masked and silent. The assassin's eyes glowed faintly with the power of Ākāśa-Netra — the Sky Eye — piercing through the morning mist.
Before they could react, the assassin disappeared into a gust of wind, leaving behind a chilling whisper:
"The warlords are watching. The Void cannot remain unclaimed."
Ravi's heart pounded. The hunt had begun.