"Finally." I stretched my arms above my head as we walked out of history class. "Something different from studies."
Mukund adjusted his glasses. "You say that like we've been here for weeks. It's been one day."
"One day too long."
Ruchi laughed. "Wait until you fail the next test. Then you'll beg to go back to studying."
I ignored her. The day had been long—too long—and I needed to move. To use my body. To do something that didn't involve books and equations and old teachers with blind eyes.
As we walked, I started noticing things I'd missed before.
The Gurukul was huge. And it wasn't just one building—it was three.
Three circles.
That's how the whole place was designed. Like the Sudarshan Chakra we'd heard about. Three concentric rings, connected by long corridors, with an enormous open ground in the very center.
We'd entered through the outermost circle this morning. Now, walking toward the center, I finally understood how it was organized.
Mukund was already explaining—he'd probably studied the map last night.
"Outer circle," he said, pointing at the buildings around us. "Split in two. Half is the library."
I looked. Massive windows. Multiple floors. Students carrying stacks of books in and out.
"They say there are endless books in there," Ruchi added. "Some from ancient times. Before the Gurukul even existed."
I made a face. "Great. More books."
Mukund ignored me. "The other half of the outer circle has science, maths, and research labs. Plus the development wing—where they study new ways to use powers."
"Where we suffered all morning," I muttered.
"Exactly."
We kept walking, entering a corridor that led to the second circle.
This one felt different. Older. The walls were lined with glass cases, and inside those cases—
Weapons.
Swords. Spears. Axes. Bows. Things I didn't have names for. Some were simple metal. Others glowed faintly, like they were alive. Like they were waiting.
"This is where they keep the ancient weapons," Ruchi said softly. "Passed down through generations."
Mukund nodded. "They say we get our own weapon after third year."
I stared at a sword that seemed to flicker with fire, even though no flames touched it. "Can I choose that one?"
"No."
"How about that—"
"No."
Ruchi laughed. "You don't choose, Rag. The weapon chooses you."
I looked at her. "What does that even mean?"
She shrugged. "Magic weapon stuff. It'll pick its own owner. If you're worthy."
I looked back at the fire sword. Pick me, I thought. Please pick me.
It didn't move. Obviously.
We passed through the second circle quickly. Mukund pointed out more sections—history halls, geography rooms, political science, business studies. More places I'd probably suffer in later.
But ahead, I could see it.
The third circle.
And beyond it—
The ground.
The third circle was pure combat. Training rooms. Fighting pits. Sparring arenas. Through open doors I could see students controlling wind, raising walls of sand, moving so fast they blurred. Older students. Stronger students.
That'll be me someday, I thought. If I survive the first week.
And then we stepped out into the open.
The ground at the center.
It was massive—bigger than I'd imagined. Open sky above, dirt below, training dummies and obstacle courses scattered everywhere. Students ran laps. Others fought in pairs. A few just sat on the edges, catching their breath.
The afternoon sun hit my face. Warm. Almost comfortable.
"Finally," I breathed. "Physical training. This I can do."
Mukund raised an eyebrow. "You? Physical?"
I puffed out my chest—which, with my beer belly, wasn't very impressive. "I'll have you know I'm very athletic."
Ruchi snorted. "When?"
"In my dreams."
She laughed. Mukund almost smiled.
And for a moment—just a moment—the day didn't feel so heavy.
Then a whistle blew.
"Incoming first-years! Line up! NOW!"
We ran toward the voice, found our locker rooms, changed faster than I'd ever changed in my life, and stumbled back out onto the ground.
And stopped.
Our teacher stood in the center of the field, waiting.
He was massive.
Tall—taller than anyone I'd ever seen. Broad shoulders. Arms like tree trunks. His training clothes did nothing to hide the sheer size of him. But that wasn't what made me freeze.
It was his chest.
Right over his heart, a YODHA pattern was carved into his skin—except it wasn't carved. It looked like someone had ripped his chest open. Scar tissue formed the pattern. Jagged. Permanent. Like he'd been torn apart and healed wrong.
No. Not wrong.
On purpose.
A student next to me whispered to his friend: "That's the pattern of Hanuman ji. He tore his own chest open to show that Lord Ram lived in his heart."
I couldn't look away.
And the scars—they weren't just on his chest. They covered him. Arms. Neck. Face. Old wounds. Battle scars. So many that his skin looked like a map of wars fought and survived.
Another whisper: "He was in the great war. He's one of the survivors."
The great war. The one the teacher mentioned in history class. The one that happened just a few years ago.
The statue outside.
The fallen heroes.
He lived through that.
He looked at us.
All of us first-years, standing in lines, trying not to shake.
And he smiled.
Not a cruel smile. Not a mean smile. A warm one. Encouraging. Like he was genuinely happy to see us.
"Welcome," his voice boomed, "to physical training. I am Guru Paratapavat. For the next five years, I will make sure your bodies don't fail you when your powers do."
He walked along the front row, looking at each of us.
"I don't care about your tier. I don't care about your family name. I don't care how strong your Prana is. Here, everyone is equal. Here, you work until you drop. And then you get up and work more."
He stopped in front of a trembling boy.
"Because out there—" he pointed beyond the Gurukul walls, "—the Asuras don't care about your tier either. They'll kill you just the same. Strong or weak. Rich or poor. They don't discriminate."
He turned back to face all of us.
"So I will make you strong. All of you. Even the ones who think they can't."
He nodded once.
"Now. Ten kilometers. Run."
We ran.
Ten kilometers.
Around the ground. Through obstacle courses. Past seniors who laughed and pointed. My legs burned. My chest heaved. My beer belly bounced with every step, reminding me that I'd spent more time sleeping than training.
Mukund stayed ahead of me—not fast, but steady. Consistent. His skinny body worked like a machine.
Ruchi ran beside me for a while, then pulled ahead when she saw I was slowing down.
I didn't blame her.
By the time we finished, I was seeing spots.
No rest.
"One hundred push ups!" Guru ji's voice carried across the field. "One hundred squats! One hundred pull ups! BEGIN!"
I hit twenty push ups and my arms gave up.
Just... stopped working.
I collapsed face-first into the dirt, breathing hard, tasting mud.
Around me, students groaned and fell. Some kept going. Most didn't. A few—a very few—actually finished.
Mukund made it to fifteen squats before his legs gave out. He sat down hard, gasping, his cyan hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Ruchi did better. Forty push ups. Thirty squats. Fifteen pull ups. Then she collapsed next to me, face red, eyes closed.
"I'm dead," she whispered. "I'm actually dead."
"Same," I wheezed.
Guru Veer walked among us, stepping over fallen bodies, his expression... disappointed.
"That's it?" His voice wasn't angry. Just... sad. "twenty of you, and only one finished?"
I lifted my head, looked around.
Standing near the equipment, barely sweating, was a boy our age. Same massive build as Guru ji. Same jaw. Same eyes.
His son.
He'd finished everything. Ten kilometers. One hundred push ups. One hundred squats. One hundred pull ups. And he looked like he'd just taken a light stroll.
"He trains every day," someone muttered. "Since he was five. Of course he finished."
Guru ji looked at us—all of us lying in the dirt, defeated.
"I'm not angry," he said quietly. "I'm disappointed. But disappointment can be fixed. Effort can be taught. Weakness can become strength."
He looked at the sky.
"Tomorrow, we try again. And the day after. And the day after that. Until every single one of you can finish."
He turned and walked away.
"Same time tomorrow. Don't be late."
We lay there for a long time.
Mukund spoke first, voice flat: "This is torture."
Ruchi nodded against the dirt. "Torture."
I just groaned.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard laughing. Seniors, probably. Watching the new batch suffer. Having the time of their lives.
I wanted to be mad.
I was too tired to be mad.
"This is only day one," Mukund said. "We have five years of this."
None of us answered.
We just lay there, broken, in the middle of the ground, while the sun slowly set and the seniors laughed
The last torture of the day.
Combat training class.
We dragged ourselves across the ground, through the third circle, and into a training hall I hadn't seen before. It was round. Open. The ceiling high above. Walls covered in symbols I didn't recognize.
And in the center, sitting cross-legged on the floor—
An old man.
Meditating.
His beard was long, white, flowing down to his chest. He looked like a sage from the ancient stories. Wrinkled skin. Thin frame. Eyes closed. Completely still.
But his Prana...
I had never felt so much Prana in my life.
It filled the room. Pressed against my skin. Made it hard to breathe. Not aggressive—just present. Like standing next to an ocean and realizing how small you really are.
On his forehead, a YODHA pattern glowed faintly. A chakra symbol. Perfect. Complete.
A student near me whispered to his friend: "He has one of the pure elements. Space. Ether."
Another whisper: "They say when he was in his prime, even the Demon Lord of that time was terrified of him."
I believed it.
The old man opened his eyes.
And smiled.
It was the gentlest smile I'd seen all day. Warm. Kind. Like a grandfather welcoming his grandchildren home.
He gestured to the floor.
Everyone sat. No one spoke. No one even breathed loud.
"I am Guru Dhyan," he said softly. His voice was old but strong. "Welcome to combat training."
He looked at us—really looked—and his smile widened.
"You must be very tired. Your first day. So many classes. So much new information. And then physical training with Pratapavat." He chuckled. "He doesn't believe in easy days."
A few students nodded weakly.
"So today," Guru Dhyan said, "no physical training. Only meditation."
Silence.
Then—
What?
Everyone's eyes went wide. Mouths dropped open. We looked at each other like we'd misheard.
No training?
Only meditation?
After everything we'd been through?
It felt like a blessing. Like the gods had finally remembered we existed.
Guru Dhyan raised a hand, and we fell silent again.
He turned his head slightly. "Akshat."
We followed his gaze.
Across the hall, near the back wall, a boy was training on a punching bag. His fists moved so fast they blurred. Sweat glistened on his skin. He was focused. Intense. Completely in his own world.
But something was wrong.
He didn't have any YODHA patterns.
I looked closer. Arms. Face. Neck. Nothing. No marks. No glow.
Is he human?
At Guru Dhyan's call, the boy stopped immediately. He rushed over—not running, but moving fast, efficiently—and stopped in front of the old man, head bowed.
"This is Akshat," Guru Dhyan said. "Fourth year."
Akshat raised his head and looked at us.
His face was... terrifying. Sharp features. Intense eyes. The kind of face that made you want to step back.
But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. Quiet. Almost soft.
"Hello. I'm Akshat. If anyone wants to learn martial arts—real martial arts, not just power training—you can come to me. Any time."
He smiled. It looked strange on his intense face. But genuine.
Guru Dhyan nodded. "Akshat will teach you meditation today. Watch him. Learn from him."
Akshat showed us how to sit. How to breathe. How to empty our minds.
I tried.
I really tried.
But my mind wouldn't empty. It was too full. Too loud. Images of the fight in the cafeteria. Guru Veer's disappointed face. The history teacher's stories. The dream. The flames. Lord Ram. Father.
I couldn't sit still. Couldn't breathe right. Couldn't stop thinking.
Around me, other students seemed to be doing fine. Mukund sat like a statue, completely calm. Ruchi's breathing had slowed to almost nothing.
Me?
I fidgeted. Opened my eyes. Closed them. Opened them again.
Nothing worked.
Suddenly Guru ji decided to moniter us by themself he told Akshat to continue his training. He was walking among us, circling slowly, observing.
He stopped behind me.
Stood there for a second.
I froze. Did I do something wrong?
He moved on. I breathed again.
But then—
"Are you the son of Viraj?"
The class went silent. Every head turned. Every eye found me.
Viraj.
The name spread through the students like fire.
"Viraj—the previous YODHA leader?"
"The one who sacrificed himself in the great war?"
"That means he's—"
"He is the little brother is Ayansh. The current co-leader of the YODHAs."
Ayansh. Bhaiya.
They were talking about my brother.
They were talking about my father.
Everyone was looking at me.
Guru Dhyan's eyes were on me. Kind. Knowing.
I nodded. Just once. Didn't trust my voice.
He placed his hand on my head.
"I am sure," he said softly, "you will become as great as your father. And your big brother."
He patted my head once. Then turned and walked back to his place.
The class was silent. Staring.
Guru Dhyan sat down. Closed his eyes.
"Meditate."
No one spoke. But the looks continued. Whispers I couldn't hear but could feel.
I kept my eyes closed the rest of the class. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Just sat there.
Burning.
When the class ended, we walked out in silence.
Mukund and Ruchi stayed close, but didn't say anything. Not yet.
We left the Gurukul. Walked through the gates. Past the statue of fallen heroes. Toward home.
Finally, Ruchi couldn't take it anymore.
"Rag." She grabbed my arm, stopped me. "What's wrong? Guru ji said such nice things to you."
I pulled my arm away. Kept walking.
"Rag!" She caught up.
Mukund was there too, blocking my path. "We're your friends. Please. Share with us."
I stopped.
Looked at them.
And the words just... spilled out.
"From childhood, I've been recognized by my father and brother." My voice was rough. Tired. " 'Viraj's son.' 'Ayansh's little brother.' That's all anyone ever sees."
Ruchi's face softened. "Rag—"
"I don't want that." I shook my head. "I want them to be recognized by my name. I want people to say 'Viraj? That's Rag's father.' 'Ayansh? That's Rag's brother.'"
Mukund was quiet. Listening.
"That's why I've always been so competitive toward bhaiya. I need to prove I'm more worthy than him. I need to prove I'm not just... just his little brother."
I looked at them both.
"So I've decided. I'm going to give the exam for Parakastha. The elite group. I'm going to pass it. And I'm going to become its leader."
Ruchi's eyes widened. "Just like your brother."
I nodded.
"Just like bhaiya."
They didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then Mukund adjusted his glasses. "That's... ambitious."
Ruchi punched his arm. "That's amazing." She grabbed my shoulders. "We'll help you. Right, Mukund?"
Mukund sighed. "we will also give the exam as you do"
For the first time all day, I almost smiled.