"You are late." Instructor Inira's voice was a lash of winter air. Her cold gaze swept over them, promising consequences. "Begin casting. Now."
Ashan took his place before a wooden target.
The guttural words of Ashurain fell from his lips like stones.
"𝔇𝔞𝔷𝔥𝔦𝔯 𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔷 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥!"
A bolt of dark azure energy shot from his palm, joining a volley from the other candidates.
"There are nine traditional schools of Mantra, the Nava Mantra Vijñāna," Inira lectured, her voice cutting through the din of destruction.
"They are:
Sammoha (the art of enchantment and delusion);
Ahvana (the art of invocation and calling);
Avahana (the art of summoning and manifesting);
Srjana (the art of creation and generation);
Vidhvamsa (the art of destruction and dissolution);
Raksana (the art of protection and warding);
Parivartana (the art of transformation and alteration);
Bandhana (the art of binding and restriction);
and Prakasa (the art of revelation and illumination).
The [Combat Bolt] you are using falls under Vidhvaṃsa."
"Cease." Her command silenced the chamber. From the hidden depths of her cloak, she produced a cascade of crystal orbs, tossing one to each candidate.
'Where does she store them all? A spatial pocket?' Ashan caught his, finding it perfectly transparent and cool to the touch.
"Channel your Urja—both Prana and Atmic—into the crystal. It will reveal your Bhuta, your elemental nature." She paused, allowing them to focus.
"All existence is woven from the Panca Mahabhuta, the Five Great Elements:
Prthvi (the principle of solidity and substance);
Apas (the principle of fluidity and cohesion);
Agni (the principle of energy and transformation);
Vayu (the principle of motion and vibration);
and Akasa (the principle of spatiality and the field of potential)."
Ashan let his energy flow into the orb. 'It's draining me,' he noted with alarm, feeling a steady pull on his reserves.
"Do not stop," Inira commanded.
"All Sadhakas can utilize any element, but affinity dictates efficiency. A common misconception was that one could only use their innate elements.
This is false. All beings possess a flicker of all five."
The crystals began to react. Hues swirled within, separating into distinct layers of color.
"The tiers of affinity are thus: Tier 0, Elementless—exceedingly rare.
Then, Tier 1: Dormant, a faint flicker. Tier 2: Low, a stronger flicker. Tier 3: Moderate, a streaming light. Tier 4: Strong, a floating beam. Tier 5: Innate Resonance, a surging torrent."
Ashan studied his orb.
A beam of brown light floated steadily (Pṛthvī, Tier 4).
A stream of red light flickered (Agni, Tier 3). The green light flickered with moderate strength (Vāyu, Tier 2).
Faint sputters of blue and white (Apas and Ākāśa, Tier 1) completed the spectrum.
"Look, Rodric! Your father has a red beam!" Dris boasted.
"You bastard! I have Tier 4 in Agni, too!" Rodric shot back.
"And I have Tier 4 in Apas," Damara said, cradling her blue-glowing orb.
"Prthvi," Helma stated flatly, observing her brown light.
"Vayu," Imla murmured, her gaze fixed on the green beam.
Ballio smirked, holding up his own green-glowing sphere. "It seems we share an element, Imla. Tier 4 in Vayu."
'So, Prithvi is my strongest,' Ashan concluded. 'Not the protagonist's unique void-darkness-flame, but serviceable.'
Then, his eyes caught a subtle detail beneath the five colors: a streaming light of black and another of gold.
A slow smile began to form, but Instructor Inira preempted him. "The black light represents the Chaya element, a tainted derivative of Akasa. Every member of the Order develops an affinity for it after the Baptism of Sins."
'Of course,' Ashan thought. 'The fine print. Nothing is free.'
"The other light corresponds to your innate Pāpa—your Sin. Sin energy exists outside the elemental domains. This shows your capacity to wield it."
'Golden for Greed. Tier 3 in both Chāyā and Sin. Not bad.' His analysis was interrupted by a final, almost imperceptible glow—a faint, swirling grayish-white light he hadn't noticed before. '[Scrying]... affinity to fate and revelations. That must be it.' He filed the observation away, a secret to be explored later.
Inira's gaze swept the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on the multi-hued orbs. "Satisfied? Then to practical application."
She raised her left hand.
"𝔙𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔲𝔩 𝔃𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔨!"
A crackling mass of dark-green energy coalesced around her palm and shot forth, obliterating seven wooden puppets in a straight line. The air hummed with residual power.
A collective shudder ran through the candidates.
Dris clenched his fists in a mixture of fear and awe.
'Magnificent,' Ashan thought, his earlier disappointment forgotten.
"This is [Elemental Bolt]. I used my primary element, Vāyu. You will use your highest affinity. Now, repeat the incantation."
"𝔙𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔲𝔩 𝔃𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔨!" The profane chorus filled the hall.
Ashan focused, drawing on his Tier 4 Pṛthvī affinity.
He consciously structured his power according to the taxonomy Instructor Faala had drilled into them: [Base Energy] + [Aspect/Attunement] + [Source Lineage].
'Atmic Prthvi Danava Urja, flow through me.'
The formula was a mental focusing tool, shaping intent. Dark-brown energy, carrying the faint, clean scent of freshly turned soil, crackled around his hand and lanced out, pulverizing a puppet's head.
He lowered his hand, panting slightly, his skin flushed. 'The drain is significant.' Around him, his team managed the spell with varying success. Dris and Rodric, overzealous, were promptly sentenced to ten laps by a displeased Inira.
***
Lunch in the mess hall was a somber affair.
The dual revelations of the day—the Law of Essence Continuity and the raw power of the elements—hung heavy in the air. The candidates ate in silence, the reality of their new existence as both hunters and potential prey settling upon them.
The combat class that followed was a grueling repetition of [Traya Vetra] and [Traya Dhanus].
No new techniques were taught, only the relentless honing of the old.
Ballio's arrow whispered past a puppet, missing by a hair's breadth.
'Focus,' he chided himself.
That night, in their hut, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. The seven Sadhakas of the Samyama Marga sat in a wide circle, a careful, calculated distance between them. The Law of Essence Continuity had done its work. They were a team, bound by circumstance, but each now saw the other as a walking, breathing Unified Vestige—a prize or a threat.
Ashan observed them all, his gaze cool and analytical.
'Look at them. So cautious, now that they know the price of failure.'
The bonds of shared hardship were fraying, replaced by the cold, hard calculus of survival.