As Ayaan looked up, his mind went dangerously blank. The man who had seemed like a ragged, eccentric relic in the alleyway now stood before him like a pillar of ancient, terrifying light. To Ayaan's mortal eyes, he was no longer a man; he was a catastrophe wrapped in human skin.
"W... what are you?" Ayaan finally managed to stammer, his voice thin and brittle.
Before the Sage could answer, the world simply... ceased. The graveyard, the rusted iron gates, and the smell of damp earth vanished in a heartbeat. In its place was a colossal, infinite void—a sea of absolute blackness where neither light nor shadow existed. Ayaan stood on nothing, yet he did not fall. In front of him, the Sage remained, his expression carved from cold stone, his gaze as distant as a dying star.
Suddenly, the Sage vanished.
Ayaan didn't see him move; he only felt the consequence of it. A sharp, searing line of agony erupted across his shoulder. It felt as if a blade of pure ice had sliced through his flesh. He gasped, clutching his arm, and watched in horror as dark crimson blood began to seep between his fingers, drifting into the black void like smoke.
"AHHHH! Whe... where am I?" Ayaan screamed, but the sound died the moment it left his lips. There was no echo. No resonance. The void swallowed his fear as if it were nothing.
"Don't scream like a child," a deep, resonant voice boomed, vibrating through Ayaan's very marrow. It came from the front, the back, and from within the void itself. "You have lived a pathetic life, haven't you? Tell me, boy—don't you feel any shame? To be stepped on like a worm, to be ignored by the world... even the blood flowing in your veins must be ashamed to belong to a coward like you."
The Sage materialized again, but he was transformed. The tattered rags were gone, replaced by a warrior's garb that seemed woven from the hide of a celestial predator. His hair flowed long and wild, glowing with an ethereal luster. He carried the weight of a thousand wars on his shoulders. He didn't look like the peaceful monks Ayaan had seen in books; he looked like a Maharathi—a supreme warrior-sage who had cleared the world of filth with an axe in one hand and a mantra in the other.
Ayaan looked at the terrifying expanse and back at the man. He realized then that he was a speck of dust in the presence of a mountain. He did the only thing his soul prompted: he folded his hands and bowed his head in a deep, trembling mark of respect.
"I don't know how I should have lived... what I should have done," Ayaan whispered. "But if you are willing to show me... I will follow your every word. I am yours to command."
"SHUT UP!"
The voice hit Ayaan like a physical blow, sent him reeling back. "That is the first thing you must cast into the fire, boy! Let go of this hollow behavior—this instinct to bow your head to everyone who shows a flicker of power! A lion does not bow to the storm; he roars at it!"
The Sage snapped his fingers.
The black void shattered like glass. In an eye-blink, Ayaan was standing in a lush, ancient forest. The air was thick with the scent of blooming lotuses and ozone. The canopy above was so green it hurt his eyes.
"From today, you are my disciple," the Sage stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "What I say, you do. What I break, you endure. You are in the Prithvi-Kshétra now. Here, your university and your slums do not exist. Only your will matters."
Ayaan was dazed, but he knew one truth: this place would either forge him into a diamond or grind him into dust.
The training began without mercy.
There was no tea, no warm breakfast, no comforts of the home Sunidhi had built for him. Ayaan slept on the bare, uneven earth with only the stars for a blanket. At exactly five in the morning, a bucket of freezing spring water slammed into his face, jolting his heart into a frantic rhythm.
"Rise before the sun, or the sun will burn your potential away," the Sage commanded.
Shuddering, his clothes soaked and clinging to his bruised skin, Ayaan stumbled out of the small hut. The morning air felt like a thousand tiny needles pressing against his pores.
"Sit," the Sage ordered, pointing to a patch of ground. As Ayaan sat, the grass beneath him—sharp and strangely stiff—started to prick his skin like thorns.
"Close your eyes," the Sage continued. "The world is not just bricks and mortar, Ayaan. It is far more complex than the lies you were taught. Money is a toy for the weak. This universe is woven from Prana—the breath of the cosmos. The grass beneath you, the air in your lungs, the fire in the stars... it is all Prana."
The Sage stepped forward and pressed a thumb to the center of Ayaan's forehead. A jolt of electric heat surged through Ayaan's skull, spiraling down his spine.
"I have ignited the spark. That energy flowing through you is your foundation. Feel it. Embrace it. And do not dare to move until I tell you."
The Sage began a low, guttural chant in a language that sounded older than the earth itself. With a swift movement, he drew a circle in the dirt around Ayaan.
Instantly, the air inside the circle fractured. From the left, a scorching heat erupted, smelling of molten lava. From the right, a wind as cold as the peaks of the Himalayas began to howl. Ayaan was trapped in the center—half his body blistering, the other half turning blue with frost.
"Do not break your focus," the Sage warned, retreating to a nearby rock. He sat down, lighting his pipe, the silver smoke curling around his warrior's frame. He watched Ayaan with a look of deep, hidden melancholy.
"I never thought I would find your descendant in a gutter, Master," the Sage muttered under his breath, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "I hope I can teach him half of what you once taught me. For his sake... and for the world's."
Inside the circle, Ayaan's world became a nightmare of duality. Every time he tried to grasp the flickering thread of energy in his chest, the searing heat or the biting cold would shatter his concentration. He gasped for air, his mind screaming to jump out of the circle, but the Sage's voice remained a constant, heavy weight.
"If you cannot grasp the Prana, you will receive no food. No water. You will not leave this spot. You will sit until you become the energy, or until you die trying."
Ayaan gritted his teeth, his sweat freezing on one cheek while his skin turned red on the other. He closed his eyes tighter, searching for the spark amidst the agony.