"Ma'am, were you talking about us?"
A deep voice came from the classroom door.
I turned.
Two people.
One had dark black eyes, black hair, fair skin, a curtain-style haircut. On his forehead, a tripundra—Shivji's mark—wrapped in a headband. And wearing a hoodie
The other was tall. Muscular. Dark skin, black hair buzzed short. He stood their in a serious mode.
As they entered, I felt their Prana. It was heavy. Like my Bhaiya when he was in third or fourth year.
They both touched Kiara's feet.
"Here are the files for the new first-years," the one with the headband said.
"Oh, nice timing."
Kiara pointed at him.
"This is Trayaksh. One of our fourth-year S+ rank YODHAs."
Trayaksh smiled—warm, friendly—but his eyes moved slowly across the room, observing every face, every pattern, every reaction. He didn't miss anything.
"Hi. I'm Trayaksh. If you have any problem, any doubt, just come to me. I'll help you like your own bhaiya."
"And this is Prayan. Fourth-year S-rank."
Prayan stood behind him like a shadow. He didn't smile. Didn't look at us. Didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the door—like he was counting seconds until he could leave.
But his Prana... his Prana was strong. Heavy. Primal. It felt like a YODHA with animal instincts.
I didn't want to be alone in a room with him.
"Sorry, ma'am. We have to go. Banshi sir is waiting."
They left.
Kiara sighed.
"Okay. Open your textbooks. Chapter one."
Already? No introductions. No icebreakers. Just... books.
I opened mine.
The next hour was the Big Bang theory. Formation of the universe. Planetary alignments. I thought it couldn't get worse.
It got worse.
Next was Physics. Our teacher, Tejas, had white hair and a pattern of gears on his face—like machinery carved into his skin. Forty-five minutes of lecture. Then he handed out sheets.
"Every day. Fifteen-minute test. Be prepared."
I looked at the paper. Question one might as well have been written in Sanskrit. Ancient Sanskrit. From a script no one uses anymore.
Even the guy in front of me—the one who'd been answering everything all class—looked panicked.
Then Maths. Bansi sir didn't teach. He screamed. He screamed at for not knowing the formulas of some basic shapes and said if we can't solve these how r we going to do calculus in next year. He screamed about how we were the worst batch he'd seen in twenty years.
I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it.
Finally—lunch.
Me, Mukund, and Ruchi walked to the cafeteria like corpses. Fresh corpses. Corpses that had been dragged through three classes and a surprise test.
"I wasn't expecting this," I mumbled.
Mukund adjusted his glasses. "What did you expect? Flowers?"
"I expected to at least survive the first day."
Ruchi patted my back—a little too hard. "Don't worry. Only five more years of this."
I wasn't sure if she was joking.
I hoped she was joking.
As we walked toward the cafeteria, Mukund stopped suddenly.
"There."
I followed his gaze. A massive wooden board covered the wall—old, dark, covered in papers pinned in layers. Some were fresh and white. Others were yellowing with age, their edges curled and torn. It looked like it had been here for decades, watching generations of students stand right where we were standing now.
Students crowded around it, pointing, whispering, planning. I heard fragments of conversations:
Mukund pushed forward. I followed.
The header was carved into the wood at the top:
गुरुकुल समूह – GURUKUL GROUPS
Join a group within one week. Failure = expulsion.
Below it, seven names.
1. PARAKASHTHA (The Excellence)LeaderSamarht (5th Year, Special Tier, Rank S)MethodPhysical test + power control test. Selected by top leaders.
A note at the bottom in smaller handwriting: "For those who seek the peak."
I'd heard of Samarht. Everyone had. Special Tier. S rank. The kind of name parents whispered when they wanted their children to dream bigger.
Mukund nodded slowly. Respect.
2. RAJASA (The Royals)LeaderNakul (5th Year, Tier None, Rank C)MethodSelected by top members
"Where legacy matters more than power."
Mukund snorted. "Useless."
He wasn't wrong. Rich kids. Business families. Nobles who'd never held a weapon. No thanks.
3. SHAKTI (The Power)LeaderPoorvi (5th Year, Tier 2, Rank A-)MethodMust be female. Selected by top leaders.
"Strength knows no gender—but sisterhood helps."
Ruchi went very still.
I glanced at her. She was staring at that line—must be female—like it meant something. Like she'd found something she didn't know she was looking for.
I looked away quickly. Not my place.
4. ANVASADA (The Resilient)LeaderAvi (5th Year, Tier None, Rank B-)MethodSelected by top leaders
"We fall. We rise. We endure."
Mukund raised an eyebrow. "Tier None leading a group. That's... rare."
Underdogs. Those who refused to give up. If Avi could do it with no tier...
I filed that thought away.
5. UDYAMA (The Effort)LeaderTrayaksh (4th Year, Special Tier, Rank S+)MethodAnyone can join. Small test required.
"Effort over birth. Action over status."
Trayaksh. The senior who'd smiled at us in class—the one whose eyes missed nothing. His group was new. New could mean anything. New could be nothing.
Or new could be something great.
The words "anyone can join" felt warm. Inviting. Like the group was saying you belong here, whoever you are.
6. ANUSANDHĀNA (The Research)LeaderVenya (4th Year, Tier 2, Rank S)MethodTest in Physics, Maths, Chemistry, Biology, and Astrology
"To understand power is to master it."
I stared at this one.
Five subjects. All the ones we'd just suffered through. Physics. Maths. Chemistry. Biology. Astrology.
People actually chose to take more tests? Voluntarily?
I shuddered.
7. RAKSHAK (The Protectors)LeaderMohit (5th Year, Tier 4, Rank C+)MethodAnyone can join. No test.
"Not all heroes fight demons. Some protect the ones who do."
Future Rakshaks. The ones who'd graduate with C+ to D- ranks. They wouldn't fight Asuras. They'd protect villages, solve disputes, handle the small problems so real YODHAs could focus on the war.
Essential work.
But not what I dreamed about.
I stepped back from the board.
Seven groups. One week.
Mukund adjusted his glasses. "Well?"
I looked at the list again, running through each one in my head.
Parakastha. The best. The elite. But that test...
Rajasa. Easy. But full of rich kids who'd look down on me. No.
Shakti. Not for me. But Ruchi...
Anvasada. Underdogs. Tier None leader.
Udyama. Trayaksh's group. Easy test. New. Unknown. But Trayaksh seemed kind. And S+ meant he knew what he was doing.
Anusandhana. More tests? After today? Absolutely not.
Rakshak. Anyone can join. But that's where C-rank students go. Future villagers. Not warriors.
I wanted to be a warrior. Like Father.
But what if I wasn't good enough?
Mukund pointed at Parakastha. "This is where the strong go."
I didn't know.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, Lord Ram's flaming eyes were still watching.
I stared at the board, my mind spinning.
Seven groups. One week.
Bhaiya was the leader of Parakastha. My own brother. To match him, I'd have to pass their test. The hardest test in the Gurukul.
Could I do it?
Before I could think more—
CRASH.
A noise from the cafeteria. Loud. Metal falling. Then shouting.
Mukund turned. "What was that?"
Ruchi was already moving. "Come on!"
We ran.
The cafeteria was huge—rows of benches, long tables, food counters at the back. But no one was eating.
Everyone was watching the center of the room.
A boy stood there, brown skin, curly hair bursting from under a head wrap like he'd just stepped off a basketball court. His clothes were sporty, loose, made for movement. But none of that was what caught my attention.
What caught my attention was the bhindi ki sabzi dripping from his hair.
Green. Slimy. Stuck in his curls like some kind of vegetable disaster.
He was screaming at a girl in front of him.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY HAIR, YOU STUPID FATTY?!"
The girl glared back. Long black hair, fair skin, wearing a black jacket like she led a motorcycle gang. She was built solid—healthy, a little thick, the kind of person you'd want on your side in a fight. Which was good, because she looked ready for one.
"I SAID IT WAS A MISTAKE!" Her voice was louder than his. "AND WHO ARE YOU CALLING FATTY?!"
Mukund leaned toward a group of watching students. "Do you know why they're fighting?"
One of them sighed—deeply, like someone who'd seen this before. "Huf. The leaders are fighting again. Now their group members will arrive and join in."
Mukund's eyes widened. "Leaders?"
Ruchi and I exchanged a look. These two?
The boy—the one with bhindi in his hair—grabbed something from the floor. A basketball. Before anyone could move, he threw it.
Straight at her face.
THUD.
The cafeteria went silent.
The ball bounced once. Twice. Rolled to a stop.
The girl stood frozen. Her nose was bleeding—a thin line of red dripping down her lips, her chin.
She touched it. Looked at her fingers.
Then she raised her head.
And the silence before the storm?
It ended.
"You—" Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. "You threw a basketball at my face."
He took a step back. "I—you threw bhindi in my hair—"
"I SAID IT WAS A MISTAKE!"
I felt it before I saw it.
Prana.
Strong. Metallic. Rising from her like heat from a fire.
On the back of her neck, where her black jacket met her skin, patterns began to glow. Silver. Bright. Spreading like veins up into her hairline.
The boy—bhindi still dripping from his curls—stopped running. His face changed. The panic faded into something else.
Something like acceptance.
I'm doomed.
"You," Poorvi's voice was quiet, "shouldn't have done that."
She raised her hand.
The tables moved.
All of them. The long metal tables where students had been eating moments ago. They ripped from the floor with a screech of tearing bolts and hovered in the air around her—dozens of them, spinning slowly, catching the light.
My breath stopped.
Mukund grabbed my arm. "Move. NOW."
We ran.
Behind us, the tables flew.
We pressed ourselves against a wall near the entrance, peeking around the corner. Ruchi was breathing hard. Mukund's glasses had fogged up. I couldn't feel my fingers.
The cafeteria was empty.
Not empty like "no one's here." Empty like everyone fled. The students who'd been cheering, filming, eating—gone. All of them.
Just us.
And Poorvi.
And Avi.
And these two leaders fighting
Poorvi walked forward slowly, tables orbiting her like a queen's guard. Each step was deliberate. Calm. Terrifying.
She's aura farming, I thought wildly. Like an RPG villain.
Avi dodged.
First table—he ducked, rolled, came up running.
Second table—he vaulted over it, using his momentum.
Third table—spun sideways, let it pass inches from his face.
His body moved like water. Like he'd been dodging projectiles his whole life. Basketball training, maybe. Or just survival instinct.
But there were too many.
A table caught his leg. He stumbled.
Another hit his shoulder. He spun.
A third slammed into his chest.
He fell.
Poorvi was on him instantly, grabbing him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. His legs dangled. His hands clawed at her arm.
"Any last words?" Her voice was sweet. Terrifyingly sweet.
Avi gasped. "You... bitc...."
She tightened her grip.
"Hey."
A new voice. Calm. Deep. Unbothered.
We looked toward the cafeteria entrance.
Too be continued....