Om practiced the Slash Art for days, refining it with every breath, every swing, until it became an extension of his body. But time, as it often does, moved quickly. And before he knew it, the day to depart for Gurukul had arrived.
He woke up early, well before the sun rose.
Today, his life would change.
He quietly packed the few items he hadn't arranged the night before. Downstairs, the house was already alive. Sharanya moved through the kitchen at double speed, preparing breakfast and fussing over last-minute details. Shreya had already left earlier for her own assignment.
Om felt a bittersweet ache in his chest. He was leaving the place where he had grown, where grief had forged his resolve, where he had first touched power. And now, he was stepping into the unknown.
He had a quick breakfast, hugged his mother goodbye, and carried his bags downstairs to the pickup point in front of the apartment complex.
Standing there, waiting, was Mark.
As Om approached, Mark offered him a small smile.
"I've got a friend inside Gurukul," Mark said, extending his hand. "If you get into trouble, contact him."
Om tapped his watch against Mark's, syncing the contact.
He smirked. "Is there any place you don't have friends?"
Mark chuckled. "Yeah. The Eternal Kingdom."
Om blinked, then burst out laughing.
"Fair enough," he said.
Mark's expression shifted to something more serious. He raised his hand, and from thin air, a sword materialized—beautiful, sleek, and unlike anything Om had ever seen.
Om's jaw dropped. "You just… conjured that out of nowhere?"
Mark winked. "Save your questions. You'll understand how this works after a few weeks at Gurukul."
He handed the sword to Om. "You'll need something reliable. This will serve you well—for now."
Om took it with a mix of awe and gratitude. Though he had trained with many weapons, he had never cared for sword quality or construction. This was different. This sword felt alive in his grip.
"Thank you," he said, more genuinely than he had ever thanked anyone before.
Mark nodded, then asked Om to extend his hand again. A file transfer pinged on Om's watch.
"What's that?" Om asked, accepting it.
"Open it only when you're in serious trouble," Mark said, his tone quiet and calm. "It's not a solution—but it'll give you confidence when you need it most."
Om gave a slow nod. "Understood."
They waited in silence for a few more minutes, the air humming with the soft buzz of an approaching engine.
The military convoy arrived—three matte black armored vehicles with the Dharma insignia emblazoned across their flanks. They stopped smoothly in front of the building.
Om glanced around, scanning for someone.
He frowned.
Rudra isn't here?
He knew they were both heading to Gurukul, and he had hoped she would at least be in the same transport. Maybe she had a different pickup location?
But then, just as the vehicle doors opened, Rudra stepped out of the building, dressed in travel-ready attire, her bag slung over one shoulder.
A wave of relief washed over Om.
She approached with a calm expression. "Hello, Om."
Her tone was polite—but distant. There was something off. Om felt it instantly, but he smiled anyway.
"Hey, Rudra."
It had been days since they last spoke, but both wore the masks of pleasant formality.
Just then, an officer stepped out of the convoy. Clad in a crisp military uniform, he stood tall and addressed them with practiced authority.
"Good morning, students. I'm Officer Nurp, representing the Dharma Kingdom. I'll be escorting you both to Gurukul today. Please hand over your luggage—it will be sent directly to your dormitories."
Om handed his bag over. Rudra did the same. The officer reached out to store the luggage and—just like Mark had done earlier—made it vanish into thin air.
Om barely blinked, but Rudra raised an eyebrow. Still, seeing Om's calm response, she said nothing.
Nurp nodded. "Please board the convoy. We'll reach Gurukul in approximately three hours."
Om and Rudra entered the middle vehicle, where most of the seats were already filled. There were only two vacant spots left.
They were the last to arrive.
As the vehicle began to move, students chattered excitedly around them.
Om scanned the crowd and recognized a familiar face.
Arun.
He turned with a bright grin. "Good morning, guys!"
Om smiled. "Morning, Arun."
Rudra glanced at Om in surprise, not expecting him to know Arun. Still, she gave a polite nod. "Good morning."
Arun introduced the person sitting beside him. "This is Nandan. A friend of mine."
Nandan—tall, broad-shouldered, and with a friendly face—reached over and shook Om's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
Om looked to the row ahead and saw two more familiar figures.
It was the pair from the Rakshakas family—Aren and Aria.
They had also chosen to ride in the convoy, following Gurukul's tradition of humility. No matter your status, no private entries were allowed. All students arrived the same way.
Aren nodded at Om with a barely concealed smirk. "Didn't expect to see you here so soon."
Om returned the nod. "Likewise."
Aria gave him a softer greeting. "Welcome aboard."
Om and Rudra sat near the back. For most of the ride, students around them excitedly discussed Gurukul—its training halls, combat divisions, elemental academies, and the legendary instructors rumored to live on the campus.
Om listened, adding his own thoughts occasionally. He began to bond with the others, sharing stories, jokes, and curiosities.
Beside him, Rudra remained quiet.
He glanced at her once—but she avoided his gaze.
He sighed internally.
She's still avoiding me.
But for now, he chose not to push.
Three hours passed quickly in the buzz of conversation and anticipation.
Then, Nurp's voice crackled through the onboard speaker.
"We are now approaching the gates of Gurukul. Please prepare to disembark."
Everyone straightened up.
Om leaned slightly toward the window, catching his first glimpse of the legendary institution.
Towering stone gates carved with ancient glyphs stretched across the horizon. A massive old man statue infront of the entrance pillars. Trees lined the perimeter like guards, and beyond the gates—barely visible—stood forest
His heart raced.
This was it.
Gurukul.