The gates of the academy were no longer silent.
Every morning, the sound of boots on stone echoed like a heartbeat. Villagers, survivors, even former soldiers - young and old - all came. Some carried swords, others simply carried pain.But they all came with a purpose.
The day after yesterday, standing in the middle of the training ground, watching them. Once this place had seemed like a graveyard of broken hopes. Now it had come alive again.
"Begin!" Master Bhishma's voice echoed through the air.
Hundreds of students raised their wooden weapons and began their drill. The clash of swords, the roar of effort, the roar of determination - it all filled the sky.
Rustam stood beside Parashu, arms crossed.
"So many new faces," Parashu said.
Rustam shook his head. "Most of them have lost everything. Families. Homes. Futures. But not hope."
Master Bhishma walked among the trainees, adjusted his posture, shouted orders.
"Your enemy will not wait for you to be ready!" he barked. "You must turn into fire before the storm reaches your door!"
Some struggled to hold onto their swords. Some fell as they ran. But none gave up.
One boy was bleeding from his hand from holding his spear too tightly.
A girl fell during a stamina drill but stood up again, tears in her eyes.
"This is where they will become warriors," Bhishma whispered to Parashu, "or fall trying."
At night, the academy's fireplaces burned brightly.
The recruits shared stories of their lost lives, and the dreams they still dared to chase. Rustom sat quietly, his eyes fixed on the fire. Shivam cracked jokes to lighten the mood. Parashu listened. Saw. Learned.
Because it wasn't just about training anymore.
It was about rising.
Together.
The sun had not yet fully risen.
The academy grounds were shrouded in mist, the recruits dragging their weary bodies. The training had just begun, and already the air was heavy with fatigue.
Master Bhishma stood silently today, his hands behind his back.
Everyone was confused.
Then, the gates of the academy swung open.
A tall figure in battle-worn armor entered, a long cloak hanging behind him, and a scar on his cheek that had never been there before.
Rustam froze.The day after tomorrow opened his eyes and looked.
And the recruits whispered among themselves.
"Who is that?"
Finally, Master Bhishma spoke.
"In war... only a few come back strong. Most are broken. Very few become great."
He turned to the crowd.
"This man broke... and built himself up again."
The statue removed its cloak.
It was Shivam.Older. Sharper. Wiser.
Rustom smiled softly, pain and pride in his eyes.
Shivam looked at the recruits and said quietly, "You're not just training to fight. You're training to overcome your sorrows. To stand up when all else fails."
He walked past Parashu and muttered, "I can hear the academy breathing again."
Parashu nodded.
"That's right. And it's waiting for someone to guide that breathing.That evening, Shivam conducted his first session.
It wasn't about weapons, it was about mental strength.
"How many of you have buried your loved ones?" he asked.
The hands slowly rose.
"Okay," he said. "Now get yourselves out."
Later, by the fire, Rustom finally spoke to him.
"You left without saying a word."
Shivam smiled softly, "I didn't think I would survive. But I wanted to come back stronger… if you ever needed me."
Rustom looked down. "I need you now."
They shook hands.
Not just as old friends.
But warriors are reborn.