The Tree Yard was a realm unto itself, a colossal, ancient jungle where trees, gnarled and majestic, pierced the sky like green cathedrals. Their branches, thick as lesser mountains, stretched across continents, forming a living canopy that hummed with vibrant, untamed energy. Within this emerald labyrinth, Shakti, a boy of wild spirit and keen senses, roamed free. He was a creature of the jungle, his senses finely attuned to its every whisper. He knew the scent of every exotic bloom, the call of every unseen creature, the rustle of every leaf. The Institution's records would later refer to him as a "boy," but he was more akin to a force of nature himself, lean and agile, his movements as fluid as the jungle currents.
He'd felt the pull for days, an inexplicable, magnetic draw towards the heart of the Tree Yard. It wasn't a call for help or a cry of despair; it was a deep, resonant hum that pulsed in his very bones, a song only he could hear. It led him, unerringly, towards a gargantuan tree, one so ancient its bark was a landscape of deep canyons and soaring peaks. Its canopy was a thunderhead of green, disappearing into the clouds. He journeyed for a full day, the pull intensifying with every step, until he stood at its impossibly vast base.
Exhausted but compelled, he began to climb. It was a climb unlike any he had ever attempted, defying conventional routes. His nimble fingers and toes found purchase on invisible footholds, guided by an instinct that bypassed logic. He ascended for hours, the world shrinking below him, until he reached a sprawling, flat branch, wide as a village square, hundreds of meters above the jungle floor. The air here was thin, crackling with raw, untamed magic.
And there, nestled meticulously within the living wood of the branch, not hidden, but presented, lay two objects. They were not embedded in stone or suspended in air, but seemed to have grown from the tree itself, perfectly camouflaged until his touch. They were two dagger, their hilts glimmering with an otherworldly light, twin blades forged from a dark, iridescent material that seemed to absorb the light around them. Shakti reached out, his heart pounding a furious rhythm in his chest, and his fingers closed around the cool, smooth grip of the first dagger, then the second.
As his hands closed around them, a raw, volatile blast of energy erupted. It wasn't a small surge, but a tearing, roaring force that ripped through the very tree itself, cracking ancient bark, sending splintered wood raining down into the depths below. The air shrieked, filled with the crackle of uncontrolled magic. Shakti and another figure, who had been silently and stealthily ascending behind him, were flung violently outwards, a dizzying spiral into the open air.
The figure behind him was Jack, Gurudev's pragmatic finder, who had meticulously tracked Shakti's volatile energy signature across the Western continent. Jack, anticipating the raw power of a newly awakened weapon, had timed his ascent perfectly, hoping to intercept Shakti before the full awakening. He had moved like a ghost, a master of stealth and observation, but even he was caught off guard by the jack explosive force of Shakti's power.
As they both plummeted, a blinding flash of pure, untamed light erupted from Shakti, momentarily arresting his fall just before fatal impact. It was an instinctive, unrefined burst of special magic, a raw manifestation of his unique lineage and the daggers' power, distorting reality just enough to slow his descent. He still crashed to the ground, the impact jarring, the daggers skittering from his hands, and consciousness mercifully faded into darkness.
Jack, a master of tactical landing, managed to absorb most of the impact, though he grunted with pain. He quickly recovered, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene. He saw Shakti, unconscious, sprawled on the jungle floor, the two daggers now lying inert nearby. Jack moved with professional swiftness, his face grim. The boy was breathing, alive, but utterly spent. He secured the daggers, feeling their unusual, wild energy hum against his palm. Then, with surprising strength, he lifted the unconscious Shakti onto his shoulder, adjusting his grip. The chaos of the Tree Yard, usually Shakti's solace, now seemed to murmur with a new, dangerous energy. Jack knew he had to move fast. "Another one found," he muttered, his voice terse, the mission proceeding exactly as Gurudev had predicted, but at what a cost. The long journey back to the Institution lay ahead, carrying the future of Prithvi, one unconscious hero at a time.
D.Nitin