The early morning sun spilled golden light over the Gurukul as Maarun stepped into the training yard of Agnigriha, his hands clutching the mythic lighter, Dviprakāsha. The stones within it shimmered faintly, eager, as if urging him to summon the fire within.
Around him, other trainees practiced their fire forms—some casting elegant arcs of flame, others sculpting heat into shifting barriers. Maarun sat cross-legged in front of a flat stone and clicked the lighter again. A small flicker ignited.
He tried to focus—he envisioned a spiral, maybe a fire whip. But the flame sputtered, coughed, and died out.
He growled. "Stupid thing..."
"Dviprakāsha doesn't fail," came Tejodhāra's voice from behind. "Only the one who wields it does."
Maarun flinched and stood quickly. "Sorry, Guruji."
Tejodhāra stepped forward. His robes, touched with red and gold, rustled like flame itself. "You think fire is born to obey? It's not water that flows or air that dances. Fire resists. Fire fights. You must not just summon it—you must earn its respect."
He crouched and touched the burnt patch on the stone. "Fire is not only destruction. It is purification. It destroys the old so something new can emerge. Transformation. Understand this, and the flames will begin to answer."
Maarun nodded, his eyes fixed on the lighter again, determined.
Elsewhere, in Bhūmigriha, Dev was mid-training too. He stood in the open courtyard wearing a half-formed rocky shell. The earth armor shimmered with cracks as he tried to expand it across his arms and chest.
"I command you, Earth!" he shouted theatrically.
The armor suddenly bulged at his waist, knocked him backward, and dropped him flat with a groan. A few other students chuckled from the sides.
Rajyashrī, standing nearby, shook her head with a grin. "You're not making a statue of yourself. You have to feel the weight of it. Let it anchor you."
"Oh, I feel the weight," Dev groaned, "Mostly on my butt."
Rajyashrī laughed and offered a hand to pull him up. "Start smaller. Try a gauntlet next."
In Jalāgriha, Roshan was knee-deep in a tank, eyes shut, hands stretched over the water. He focused, whispering the chant Neeravāhni had taught him.
A spiral began forming. Water started to swirl.
"Almost..." Roshan said to himself.
Then a bubble popped. The spiral wobbled. And a giant splash surged up and drenched him head to toe.
He blinked, dripping. "Perfect. I summoned a waterfall."
Neeravāhni chuckled in the distance. "You'll get there. Water listens—but it also tests. Just like your own emotions."
By late evening, training ended. All three met again at Devakunta, tired but grinning.
"You look like a wet squirrel," Dev teased Roshan.
"And you look like a cracked wall," Roshan shot back.
Maarun dropped beside them with a groan. "At least you guys made something happen. My fire fizzles like a lazy candle."
"You'll get there," Dev said. "With that lighter thing—"
"Dviprakāsha," Maarun corrected proudly.
"—yeah, yeah. Sounds like a toothpaste brand."
They laughed together. Then Maarun leaned in, suddenly thoughtful.
"Hey... I saw Aksharā today. She was training with others. Looks around our age — twenty or twenty-one?"
Rajyashrī, who had just joined them with a handful of berries, raised an eyebrow. "She is. Twenty-one exactly."
Maarun frowned. "Then how does she already have such a high rank?"
Rajyashrī smiled. "Because here, rank is earned by skill and will—not by age. Aksharā has been training since she was five. You? You just got in yesterday."
Dev snorted. "That explains it. I barely had a shovel at five."
Maarun nodded slowly, watching Aksharā's flame take the shape of a bird mid-air. "She's incredible."
"She is," Rajyashrī agreed. "And if you work hard, maybe you'll earn a duel with her someday."
"A duel or a date?" Dev whispered to Maarun, who elbowed him in the ribs.
They burst into laughter, the tiredness of the day giving way to the warmth of friendship.
As the stars appeared, the trio sat back, each one silently replaying their training in their heads—some with bruises, some with wet clothes, and one with a flickering flame.
Maarun stared at the Dviprakāsha in his palm. The stone shimmered again. This time, it felt... warmer.
The fire within him was just beginning to wake.