The morning sun filtered through the neem trees of Kalp Ashram, casting dappled shadows across the cracked stone courtyard. Devpura—tucked between the Wind Kingdom's roaming valleys and the misty rivers of the Water Kingdom remained quiet, its peace broken only by the rhythmic swish of a wooden sword.
A boy stood at the center of the training ground. Aryan, nearly sixteen, with unruly hair and eyes like tempered steel, moved in silence. His blade cut the air, each strike refined, controlled… yet not enough. Sweat dripped from his brow as he reset his stance.
From the edge of the yard, Tarun a man with a strong build and a calming presence—watched quietly.
"You've improved. Your footwork's tighter," Tarun said finally.
Aryan didn't turn. "Still not good enough. The academy won't go easy on me."
"That's true," Tarun replied, stepping closer. "You're strong, Aryan… but strength alone is chaos. Control gives it shape."
"I've got two months," Aryan said, determination flaring in his tone. "I'll awaken my aura before then."
Tarun nodded, though concern crept into his eyes. "Just remember, once you're there… not everyone will see your effort. Some will only see your lack of background."
Aryan's gaze didn't waver. "I don't care where they come from. Power doesn't make anyone right. If someone steps on the weak, I'll stand up."
Tarun sighed. "You always rush into storms…"
Before he could say more, a young girl darted across the courtyard, her voice ringing like a bell.
"Aryan! Uncle Tarun! Lunch is ready!"
Aryan relaxed, letting his sword fall into the grass.
"Well," he said, brushing dust off his clothes. "Fighting injustice can wait till after food."
Two moons passed, fleeting like wind in the valley.
At the village gates, the people of Devpura gathered under the temple bell's solemn chime. Aryan stood ready, his travel pack slung over one shoulder. Beside him were his childhood companions—Ayush, quiet and sharp-eyed, and Abhishek, cheerful and curious, with a perpetual grin.
Tarun tightened the strap on Aryan's bag, his hands lingering for a moment.
From the steps of the temple, Rishi Vatsal, the elderly master of Kalp Ashram, approached slowly. His wooden staff tapped rhythmically, a sound all in Devpura knew well.
"The world outside will test you in ways we cannot," Vatsal said, voice steady despite age. "But don't lose your center. That's where your strength lives."
Aryan bowed, jaw tight. "I'll return stronger, Master."
Vatsal smiled faintly. "Return wiser."
As cheers rose and the bell rang one last time, the four travelers turned away from the village—toward Velgaon, and the path that led beyond.
Velgaon, the border town, buzzed with voices. Merchants lined the stone streets, hawking enchanted scrolls, fragrant herbs, and trinkets laced with minor charms. At the town's heart stood a glowing ring of teleportation stones, their faint hum rising like a song only mana could hear.
Aryan moved through the bustle with sharp eyes. His steps were cautious, his senses alert.
At the entrance of the teleport registry, a boy stumbled, scrolls flying from his arms.
Aryan caught one midair. "Careful. Your scrolls are escaping."
The boy looked up, flustered. "Ah—thanks. I'm Prateek. First time leaving home."
"Aryan," he replied, handing over the scroll. "You'll get used to the noise. Just don't buy anything labeled 'divine elixir' unless you want sparkling indigestion."
Prateek grinned sheepishly. "I'll try."
They laughed, and from that moment, a quiet bond began to form
As they neared the teleport gate, a mocking voice rang out like poison in the wind.
"Well, well. If it isn't Prateek the scarecrow."
Kartik, tall and sharp-eyed, stood with two smirking lackeys behind him. Prateek's posture shrank as Kartik kicked over his bag.
"Still dreaming of the academy?" Kartik sneered. "You're better off cleaning its outhouses."
Before Prateek could reply, Aryan stepped forward, silent and steady.
"Pick on someone who'll fight back."
Kartik laughed. "What's this? A hired guard?"
"More like a mirror," Aryan said, his voice like a drawn blade. "So you can see how ugly bullying looks."
For a tense moment, the square stilled. Then Kartik scoffed and turned away.
But Aryan knew. That wasn't the end.
Night fell over Velgaon like a velvet curtain.
Something gnawed at Aryan's instincts—something wrong. He slipped away from the inn, following a thread of unease into the shadows.
In a narrow alley lit by a flickering mana lamp, he found them.
Prateek stood cornered, blood on his lip, eyes wide with fear. Kartik raised a fist, flanked by his silent goons.
"STEP AWAY FROM HIM!"
The shout cracked through the night, freezing them mid-motion. Kartik turned, his smirk twisting with annoyance.
"Look who showed up. The little hero."
Aryan walked forward. Calm. Cold.
"You're brave when it's three against one. Want to try it now?"
Kartik's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret this."
"You're right," Aryan said, stepping in. "It's just beginning."
He moved like lightning. A kick to the ribs sent one thug into the wall. He ducked a wild punch, countering with a sharp jab that floored the second. Kartik managed a few swings, but Aryan's strikes were surgical—burning with purpose.
Kartik dropped to one knee, blood painting his smirk red.
"We'll remember this," he hissed. "At the academy, you'll regret it."
Aryan's reply was ice.
"I'll be waiting."
He turned and offered his hand to Prateek.
Morning came with the soft murmur of market life.
As the group gathered at the teleport ring, Prateek approached Aryan, limping slightly.
"I owe you… again."
"Don't. Just stop letting them win."
A silent nod. Respect forged in blood. From that point on, Prateek was no longer just a stranger from Velgaon.
He was a friend.
The teleportation ring glowed beneath their feet, runes swirling like stars. Around them, Velgaon began to fade—replaced by the hum of mana and the stirrings of destiny.
Tarun stood with arms crossed, watching the four boys prepare to leap into the unknown.
"Remember—don't just survive at the academy. Learn, grow… and stay out of trouble."
Aryan smirked. "No promises."
Ayush whispered, "I heard the academy gates are taller than trees…"
"I just hope they let us eat as much as we want," Abhishek added.
Prateek, quieter than usual, said, "I've never been this far from home…"
Tarun stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Aryan's shoulder.
"This path you're walking," he said gently. "Take it one step at a time. Don't rush to prove anything."
Aryan nodded, understanding only part of it but feeling the weight.
As the teleport gate flared, wind rushed through the plaza. Light swallowed them whole.
Aryan's last thought before vanishing into the glow:
Ashvattha… here I come.