A smile lingered in the dark—crooked, quiet, and cold.
Around him, the four knelt beneath the cracked dome of the ruined Shaivite monastery, their eyes lowered, their bodies still, as if movement might wake something they weren't ready to face.
Then, the pendant at his neck began to pulse.
A stone the color of dried blood, carved into the shape of a jagged eye, beat once, then again—its rhythm quickening like a heart remembering the taste of war.
And from beneath the shadows of the collapsed roof, he stepped into the moonlight.
The Bloodborn King, Lakshay.
His feet were bare, yet the stone welcomed him. Dust clung to nothing he touched.
His hair, long and black, curled like fire caught in shadow.
His eyes, glowing the color of burning coals, held the stillness of a predator who had long since stopped chasing—because everything eventually came to him.
His robes were dark, embroidered in ancient glyphs that shimmered in silver and blood-red thread, almost alive beneath the moon.
And around his chest, scars—ritual scars, like mantras etched in pain.
He did not speak at first. He simply stood, as if the night itself bowed to make space for him.
Even Aghori, usually twitching with manic energy, sat frozen, smiling but silent.
Then, at last, Vaashisht rose slightly from his kneel—just enough to speak.
Vaashisht (low, deliberate): "Shouldn't we wait a little longer before returning to Nalanda…? The last time, you were—"
He hesitated.
Netraksha (shrugging): "—obliterated. Come on, let's not dance around it. Ahaman didn't just beat you. He broke half the eastern wing with that mantra seal."
Aghori (giggling softly): "Turned your spine into glass and your blood into bells… hehehe…"
Sauri said nothing. But his gaze flicked upward—watching the moonlight shift across Lakshay's face.
The Bloodborn King looked at them all, eyes steady. He took a step forward, the ground beneath his foot whispering with static.
Then, he spoke—
voice calm, smooth… but threaded with something ancient. Something terrible.
Lakshay: "I was already dying before I stepped into Nalanda."
The words fell like ash.
Lakshay (continued): "I had bled through five battles. My aura was cracked. My seals, fractured.
And I attacked not as a tactician… but as a man on fire."
He let the silence hang, like a blade just short of a throat.
Lakshay: "That was my mistake. I attacked out of rage.
Not design."
Vaashisht bowed his head slightly.
Netraksha (half-smirking): "So you're saying we do burn it down… just smarter this time."
Lakshay: "I do not seek to burn Nalanda.
I seek to end it.
Brick by thought. Word by silence. Root by soul."
The pendant at his chest pulsed faster now—deep, red, and alive.
Aghori (softly): "It remembers the fire."
Lakshay turned his eyes to the broken altar at the center of the monastery. His gaze passed over the bloodstains etched into the stone—remnants of the vow they all once took.
He raised his hand. The air thickened.
Above them, the clouds parted—moonlight striking the pendant fully.
Lakshay: "This time… we go with plan. With power.
And with purpose."
The sun at Nalanda now sat high, casting sharp shadows across the Martial Pathyam courtyard—a vast arena surrounded by stone pillars etched with the history of ancient warrior-saints.
The air was alive with movement—disciples in white and ochre robes whirled staffs, sparred with twin daggers, struck and dodged to the rhythm of breath and barked command.
At the center stood Yogi Arjun Devendra—towering, silver-bearded, eyes like hammered steel. His spine held the memory of war. His voice carried like thunder through the courtyard.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Focus is not held in the arms—it begins in the spine.
Strength is not speed—it is control.
Again."
The disciples broke into synchronized movement, repeating the Trikaal Defence Form, a technique of flowing blocks and counters meant to mimic the shifting weight of past, present, and future attacks.
But Pralay's movements stood out—not for skill, but for lack of it.
His feet were a second late. His hands too tight. The motion—awkward, forced. He tried to mirror the others, but it was like tracing a flame with cold fingers.
Across the circle, Ravi tried not to wince. A few disciples exchanged glances.
Then came the voice.
Sharp. Public.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Pralay! Step forward."
The sparring stopped. Silence cracked across the courtyard.
Pralay (tense): "Yes, Yogi."
He stepped forward, shoulders stiff, trying to keep his breath steady.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (stern): "Your form lacks both rhythm and root. You grip like a farmer plowing sand. You strike like a monk apologizing to his target."
A few snickers rose—quickly silenced by Arjun's glare.
The yogi walked a slow circle around Pralay, gaze dissecting every inch of his stance.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Does Yogi Satya, Head of Dhyanaalayam, not teach even the basics of body awareness?"
Pralay (quietly): "He does. We focus on breath, posture, and alignment of inner flow—"
Yogi Arjun Devendra (cutting in): "Then either he teaches poorly, or you learn slowly."
Pralay (firm, but restrained): "I… haven't trained in combat before. Not like this."
Ravi (trying to help): "Yogi, he's from Bhoolok-Mool. His focus was survival, not stance—"
Yogi Arjun Devendra (raising a hand): "Survival is a flinch. Combat is a choice."
He turned back to Pralay.
Yogi Arjun Devendra: "Do not confuse spiritual potential with readiness. You carry stillness. Good. But if you cannot channel it through motion, it is just silence."
He stepped back.
Yogi Arjun Devendra (commanding): "Again. The Trikaal Form. Now."
Pralay (under breath): "Breathe. Align. Flow."
He moved again—this time slower. More deliberate. The breath led the hand. The posture held. The tension softened.
Still rough. Still unfinished.
But not empty.
And from the shade of the western pillar, Yogi Satya Suryavanshi watched. Silent. Observing.
The stone corridors of the Nalanda hostel echoed with distant chants and the occasional clang of metal from a late-training disciple. But inside their shared quarters, the world had finally begun to quiet.
Pralay sat on his straw mat, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his robe. His arms ached. His legs felt like they no longer belonged to him.
Across from him, Ravi lay sprawled out like a corpse post-battle, a damp cloth draped over his forehead and one sandal still half-on.
Ravi (groaning): "That… was not a class. That was reincarnation through trauma."
Pralay (tiredly): "I didn't know my knees could scream."
Ravi (mumbling): "That was just Yogi Arjun's warm-up. He didn't even raise his voice today. You should see him when someone actually challenges him. I saw him snap a staff mid-spin once—with his knee."
Pralay (half-laughing): "Remind me again why we do this voluntarily?"
Ravi (grinning): "Because apparently enlightenment comes after suffering. Or was that a fever dream I had in Tattva Bhawan?"
They both laughed, quietly.
Then the laughter faded.
Pralay (looking at the ceiling): "Tomorrow's going to be worse, isn't it?"
Ravi (without hesitation): "Oh, undoubtedly. Two sessions.
Morning with Yogini Maitri—Shastra Kosha. That's philosophical combat. She can twist your mind in a sentence and then expect you to thank her."
Pralay: "I've barely recovered from Arjun today."
Ravi: "And after that? Guess who we have again."
Pralay (closing his eyes): "Let me guess… Arjun."
Ravi (grinning darkly): "Yup. Martial Pathyam, afternoon cycle. The double kill."
He groaned and pulled the cloth back over his face like a burial shroud.
Ravi: "We're not disciples. We're ingredients in Nalanda's recipe for divine madness."
Pralay (quietly, but smiling): "Then we better survive long enough to be well-cooked."
From the corridor outside, the wind carried the faint sound of temple bells and chanting—the heartbeat of Nalanda, tireless, ancient, always watching.
Nalanda – Shastra Kosha, Morning Session
The Shastra Kosha was not a building—it was a sanctum carved from the very stone of Nalanda's oldest hill. Ancient inscriptions pulsed faintly along the walls, glowing with ink that responded to thought, not touch. Domes of polished onyx channeled soft light into the circular amphitheater where two dozen disciples sat cross-legged.
At the center stood Yogini Maitri Kashyapi—her posture regal, voice precise, presence as sharp as a blade dipped in honey. She wore indigo robes embroidered with silver constellations, and a faint hum of chakra resonance rippled through the air around her.
Yogini Maitri: "Today's lesson is not theory. It is survival.
If you cannot feel your chakras in stillness, you will lose them in motion."
She glanced around the circle, pausing briefly on Pralay, then on Ravi, who was half-slouched.
Yogini Maitri: "Tomorrow, in Martial Pathyam, you will be forced to move with power. But power is useless without flow.
So today, we understand the spine. The ladder of light.
The seven gates of the subtle body."
She raised a hand.
Above her palm, seven glowing lotus symbols floated, slowly spinning in a vertical arc.
Yogini Maitri: "First—Muladhara. The Root. Located at the base of the spine.
It governs stability, resilience, and survival. Element: Earth.
Color: Deep red. Mantra: LAM.
When awakened, it grants you focus under pressure and an unshakable stance—essential for combat grounding."
The red lotus pulsed and rotated.
Yogini Maitri: "Second—Svadhisthana. The Sacral Chakra, just below the navel.
Element: Water. Color: Orange. Mantra: VAM.
It gives you emotional fluidity, intuitive reflexes, and enhanced agility."
The orange lotus spun next.
Yogini Maitri: "Third—Manipura. The Core Flame. The solar engine behind your strikes.
Located in the upper abdomen. Element: Fire. Color: Golden yellow. Mantra: RAM.
It governs raw power, speed, and energy projection."
She took a slow breath, and the lotus glowed like a coiled sun.
Yogini Maitri: "Fourth—Anahata. The Heart. Element: Air. Color: Green. Mantra: YAM.
The balance point. It is both weapon and healer.
When awakened, it grants the ability to absorb or share energy—and even levitate."
Ravi (muttering): "That's the one I need during Arjun's warm-ups…"
A few disciples stifled grins.
Yogini Maitri (without looking): "Mastering levity begins with mastering attention, Ravi Gupta."
Ravi (sitting straighter): "Yes, Yogini."
Yogini Maitri: "Fifth—Vishuddha, the Throat. Element: Ether. Color: Sky Blue. Mantra: HAM.
It governs speech, sound, and the command of mantra.
An awakened Vishuddha can stop lesser beings mid-motion… or shred spirits with a word."
Pralay blinked slowly. That… was not in his grandfather's scrolls.
Yogini Maitri: "Sixth—Ajna. The Third Eye. Between the brows.
Element: Light. Color: Indigo. Mantra: OM.
Grants perception beyond time, astral sight, and glimpses of truth in motion."
She paused here—just briefly. Her gaze touched Pralay again, this time lingering.
Yogini Maitri: "Very few in our history have awakened the Ajna Chakra fully.
One of them sits among us—Acharya Aryabhatt.
Those who reach it see more than what is… they begin to see what might be."
The indigo lotus shimmered like a distant star.
Then she raised her hand one last time, and the air stilled.
A glowing, ethereal lotus—white-violet, a thousand petals—drifted slowly above them.
Yogini Maitri (softly): "The seventh… Sahasrara. The Crown. Above the skull. The gate to spirit.
Its mantra is silence. Its power is beyond understanding.
Only a handful across millennia have opened it fully.
Those who do… leave their names etched in time."
The lotus vanished.
Yogini Maitri: "You are not here to awaken all seven.
You are here to remember they exist.
Because tomorrow, when you move… your body will forget.
And your breath must remember for you."
Silence fell, deep and resonant.
Yogini Maitri: "Now—assume the posture of breath alignment. We begin."
The chamber hummed faintly with mantra resonance as the students straightened their backs and settled into the Breath Alignment Posture.
Then, as they began centering themselves, Ravi Gupta lifted one hand, brow furrowed in confusion.
Ravi (raising an eyebrow): "Uh… Yogini Maitri? Didn't you say tomorrow's Martial Pathyam? I thought we had our dose of bruises today."
Yogini Maitri (without looking up): "Yogi Arjun has urgent business to attend to.
He's postponed your afternoon session. Consider it… borrowed time."
A beat of silence.
Then—cheers.
Half the disciples broke into grins and soft laughter. A few clapped. One boy even whispered a blessing to his knees.
Ravi (grinning): "This is the happiest I've been since breakfast."
Yogini Maitri (sharply): "Focus."
The laughter died instantly.
Yogini Maitri: "Your bodies are spared today. Your minds are not."
The room settled. Breaths deepened. Palms opened skyward.
Pralay inhaled slowly. Deeper than usual. Something inside him had shifted since arriving at Nalanda. The words about Muladhara still rang in his spine. Survival. Grounding. Root.
He focused.
Breath. Stillness. Root.
A faint tremble under his hips. A flash of red at the base of his spine—not visible, but felt.
And then—
a spark.
It didn't flicker.
It didn't whisper.
It unfolded.
The first chakra opened.
Not partially. Not briefly.
Fully.
A soft red glow shimmered around Pralay's lower body—visible only to those attuned. A few students turned their heads. Yogini Maitri opened her eyes, just slightly.
Ravi (whispering): "Whoa. Show-off."
But before the moment could settle—another pulse.
Orange. Fluid. Swirling.
Pralay opened his second chakra—Svadhisthana.
The air shifted. Three students gasped. One girl to his right blinked in disbelief.
Yogini Maitri (calm, but impressed): "Controlled awakening. Not forced. That is rare."
Ravi (wide-eyed): "I barely got my Muladhara to buzz. This guy's halfway to enlightenment before lunch."
But then—
A shout.
Clear. Loud. Commanding.
From across the room, a disciple in the outer circle sat bolt upright and called out:
Unknown Disciple: "YAM!"
A surge of green light exploded from his chest.
The fourth chakra—Anahata. The Heart—opened. Fully.
Gasps broke through the discipline like cracks in ice.
Even Yogini Maitri's posture shifted.
Yogini Maitri (under her breath): "...the heart already?"
Every pair of eyes turned to the boy at the far side of the room—tall, lean, eyes closed in perfect stillness. His breathing was soft. His aura… vast.
Pralay (stunned): "Who is that?"
Ravi (still staring): "I don't know.
But I do know one thing…"
He leaned closer with a grin.
Ravi: "He definitely just stole your limelight."
[End of Chapter]