Rays of sunlight fell on a young boy's face. He had black hair, prominent eyebrows, a long nose, and thick lips. His complexion was wheatish. He would be considered somewhere between average-looking and slightly below average by most people's standards.
After waking up, Advitya greeted his parents and began preparing for the Puja. It was a daily ritual in their home, but today's Puja was different. It was held at the heart of the village, and every villager participated—because today was the day of selection.
He and his parents made their way toward the City Hall. As they walked, Advitya remained unusually quiet, his nerves tightening with every step. His mother noticed this and gently spoke.
"Advitya, my dear son, don't be nervous. Just think of this as a natural process."
"Yes, Mother," he replied, his voice low.
By the time they reached City Hall, the place was already buzzing with villagers. Parents stood with their children, whispering encouragement or prayers. The hall itself was grand and ancient. In the center stood a towering statue of the Goddess Yali, the guardian deity worshipped throughout the nation.
Yali was depicted as a fierce woman with two horns emerging from her mouth, glowing red eyes, and four arms—two wielding weapons, and two carrying the severed heads of demons. Advitya remembered how his mother used to tell stories about Yali's triumphs on the battlefield. His parents were deeply religious. Advitya, however, while respectful, never truly believed that this statue represented the actual force behind the universe.
A large circle began forming around the statue as the village drums started to beat, each thump echoing through the stone walls like a war cry. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with anticipation, like the calm before a storm.
The village chief stepped forward, positioning himself beside the statue. He began chanting:
"All hail Yali, taste their blood and give them your blessings!"
The children who had turned fourteen this year began lining up in front of him. The expressions on their faces varied—some were wide-eyed with fear, others trembling with excitement. Their parents stood nearby, urging them on with pride or hope in their eyes.
From within his robes, the chief produced a ceremonial dagger. One by one, he cut the palms of the children. The blood from each child was offered at the feet of the goddess statue as a blood sacrifice, meant to invoke her blessing on this sacred day.
After the final drop fell, a tense silence spread through the hall.
Everyone now waited for the Magad Sect—the ones who would test the children for their cultivation potential.
Moments later, a distant shape appeared in the sky. At first, it looked like a shadow gliding between clouds, but it soon revealed itself: a giant bird-like beast, soaring rapidly toward the village. It was led by a man flying ahead on a sword, his white robes fluttering in the wind like wings of purity.
The villagers immediately fell to their knees, a show of deep respect. The chief bowed low to the ground.
The flying man was elderly, his long white beard flowing with the wind. His robe was embroidered with intricate beast patterns, signifying his high status. Behind him, a group of disciples stood on the giant bird's back—each one wearing the same white robes, their expressions calm and distant.
But among them stood an anomaly.
A young boy, dressed in tattered rags, stood with them. A bright red tilak glowed on his forehead, standing in stark contrast to his poor clothing.
The villagers couldn't help but stare. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Envy filled their eyes.
For a child in rags to be flying with cultivators... there could only be one explanation:
He had been chosen.