The chalk dust still lingered in the air.
Rivat stood silently in the corridor, facing the blackboard like a criminal on trial. Twenty lines written in clean, forced handwriting glared back at him:
"I will not disrespect school rules."
The punishment was over. But for Rivat, the sentence had just begun. Behind him, footsteps echoed—lazy, confident.
"Good job, teacher's pet," came the taunt.
Veer.
Followed, as always, by his cronies — Adi and Manav, the unofficial princes of torment in this school.
"So obedient, writing lines like a good little boy," Adi added with a grin.
"Maybe tomorrow they'll let you sweep the floors too."
Rivat didn't react. He had learned not to. His silence made them angrier. That silence... was a shield now.
But they still pushed him. Literally.
A hard shove to the shoulder, a rough whisper in the ear:
"Speak up, loser. Or have you forgotten how?"
The bell rang, breaking the tension. Lunch.
The trio walked away, laughing, shoving each other. Their kingdom awaited them in the cafeteria.
Rivat stood for a second longer, staring at the last sentence he had written. The chalk was beginning to fade.
Just like his patience.
The Gathering
Minutes later, the lunch break was interrupted by an unusual announcement. A sharp bell rang across the campus.
"All students to the school ground immediately. This is a general assembly."
The field was buzzing with heat and confusion as students assembled, still munching on sandwiches, chips, and whispered gossip.
Principal Sharma stood on a temporary stage, holding a mic, flanked by the PE teachers and a couple of stern-faced staff members.
"Students," he began, "I hope your lunch hasn't made you too lazy, because I come bearing important news."
The murmuring stilled.
"Next week, we begin our Annual Sports and Fitness Competition. As always, every student will be ranked based on their performance in various physical challenges."
He paused for effect.
"But this year, we're adding a twist. The Top 100 ranked students will receive academic bonus marks — scaled according to their ranks."
Gasps. Whispers. Excitement and anxiety rippled through the crowd.
Some were already dreaming of their grades improving. Others, like Veer, smirked — confident.
And Rivat?
He stood at the back, the sunlight hitting his face, expression unreadable.
"You heard that?" Veer leaned in beside him again. "Now the school rewards strength too. No more hiding behind books, Baba Rivu."
He tapped Rivat's shoulder mockingly.
"This time, you'll be crushed in front of the whole school."
Rivat didn't flinch.
Something in him had stopped reacting to Veer. Or maybe... something new was waking up.
Back Home
The sun was beginning to fade as Rivat pedaled his worn-out bicycle through the narrow lanes of his colony. His bag bounced against the carrier — torn, stitched, and barely holding together.
Home was a small one-bedroom flat at the edge of a dusty lane, squeezed between two aging buildings. When he reached the door, he didn't even knock.
He never had to.
"Bhaiya!"
A blur of energy ran into his legs — Ritu, his six-year-old sister, her hands covered in crayons.
"Look what I made today!" she beamed, holding up a crumpled paper.
On it was a child's drawing — a tall figure standing under a starry sky, holding a massive weapon. A farsa.
Rivat froze.
"Who's this?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.
"You," she giggled. "You came in my dream. You were fighting monsters like a superhero!"
His mother called from the kitchen, her voice tired.
The smell of roti filled the house, but her hands trembled as she worked. The stress was eating her alive.
Later that evening, as Rivat helped rinse the plates, she sat beside him with a heavy sigh.
"Beta, we need to talk. Your father's factory has cut his shifts again. Money is tighter than ever. We... might not be able to pay your school fees this month."
He didn't speak.
She looked at her son — her boy, who had stopped asking for things long ago. The boy who never complained when the dinner was thin or the lights were dimmed to save electricity.
"I'll figure something out," she whispered. But her eyes said otherwise.
Rivat looked at her hands — cracked, red, marked with years of quiet sacrifice.
"Maa," he said softly, "if I win that competition... and get into the Top 100… it'll help, right?"
She paused.
And then, for the first time in days, she smiled. Weak, but real.
"It will help a lot."
The Dream
That night, sleep did not come easily.
But when it did, it pulled him deep — deeper than ever before.
He was not in his bed. Not in his house.
He was standing on blackened soil, beneath a sky filled with red stars. Ash floated through the air like snow, and before him stood an ancient battlefield, echoing with forgotten screams.
In his hand — the farsa. Heavy, yet weightless. Familiar.
And in the distance, through the smoke, a voice.
"Shatrantak..."
It was not a name. It was a calling.
"You sleep... while your enemies awaken. Will you rise? Or will you hide behind your fear... as they burn your destiny?"
Rivat turned in the dream, eyes wide. He could feel the power humming through him, through the weapon, through the ground itself.
And then, he saw them — eyes glowing in the dark, figures watching from the shadows.
Waiting.
Rivat woke with a start.
Sweat trickled down his neck. The morning light was still far away, but something had already shifted within him.
This wasn't just a school competition anymore.
This was the beginning.
[End of Chapter 2]