The sun hung low over the Trivaran skies, casting golden hues on the now-familiar training fields where so much had been broken — and rebuilt. Dust floated in the air, disturbed by the echoes of footsteps and sparks of aura that lingered like embers in the wind.
Ariv stood hunched, arms trembling, sweat running down his temples. His breath came in harsh bursts, but his eyes—those once unsure eyes—now held clarity. Across from him, Rohit wiped the dirt from his face, silently pressing his palm to his chest where his Terra Veil pulsed faintly, like the calm heartbeat of the earth itself.
For days, they had given themselves wholly to Rudraen's rigorous methods — drills that challenged not only their endurance, but their very identity. They'd faced illusions, fought echoes of themselves, controlled raw bursts of energy, and resisted the urge to collapse when it became too much.
Now, the field was quiet. And Rudraen stood before them — still, composed, his eyes scanning them with something like approval. It wasn't spoken. But it was felt.
> "This is where your training ends," he said, voice firm, grounded like stone. "Everything I could teach you up to this point — it's complete."
Ariv straightened, his body worn, but aura now wrapping around him like a disciplined flame. Controlled. Restrained. Unlike before.
> "You've both mastered control over your aura," Rudraen continued. "You've achieved the Fourth Form. The foundation is set — combat proficiency, energy forging, and internal stabilization. You can now channel weapons through your veils without collapse. You've both earned this."
Rohit gave a quiet nod. Ariv lowered his head, his expression unreadable — but the storm inside him had clearly calmed.
> "But understand this," Rudraen said, his tone hardening. "The Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Forms are not steps on a ladder. They are thresholds. Barriers that will only break when you're tested — in real moments, in real battles."
He stepped forward, gaze narrowing.
> "From now on, I will not be your guide. The path is yours to walk. These forms will awaken when your will demands it — or they will remain dormant forever."
The wind stirred gently, carrying the scent of the soil and distant petals. But Rudraen wasn't finished.
> "As for Neel," he added, looking toward the sky, "He has already surpassed you in form. He stands at the Fifth. He may seem quiet… but he is not idle."
Ariv blinked, briefly stunned. Rohit's expression tightened — not in envy, but with a renewed fire.
Then Rudraen turned to Vaishnavi, who had just approached from the sidelines.
> "Vaishnavi, you don't carry a Veil. But that doesn't make you lesser. You're still the chosen heir of the Soul Transferring Unit — a role far older and more vital than any of you realize. Your time will come."
She nodded slowly, silent but dignified.
Just as Rudraen was about to dismiss the group, a sudden ripple cut through the air — like a distortion of gravity itself.
A soft hum. A shimmer in the sky. And from thin air, a figure stepped forth — tall, robed in layered cloths that moved like shadows in moonlight. His presence was suffocating yet strangely calm.
Eryon.
The atmosphere dropped ten degrees.
> "So, this is where the sparks begin," he murmured, stepping into view, his silvery hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His gaze swept lazily across Ariv, Rohit, and the rest. "You're evolving, slowly… bending your limits. Crawling toward divinity."
He turned fully to Ariv.
> "But don't get too comfortable in your strength."
He leaned slightly forward, a smirk forming across his lips.
> "Because in the grand scheme of it all… you're still just human."
A pause.
> "Which makes you nothing more than an ant to me."
And then — in a flicker of light — he was gone.
Only silence remained, heavier than before.
Ariv clenched his fists, the burning fire in his chest reigniting.
The real trials… had yet to begin.
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