The dawn breeze over Trinetra carried both calm and an unspoken tension.
Kartik walked the stone path to the inner courtyard, where Chief Agastyan awaited him under an ancient banyan tree whose roots curled like sleeping serpents.
"Kartik," Agastyan began, his deep voice resonating with quiet authority, "before you decide, you must prove your resolve."
Agastyan spoke of the Masters—the revered warriors who embodied the three great paths: Bhairav of the Rudra, Meghna of the Nataraj, and Ranthak of the Pashupati.
Kartik was to face their tests, so they could judge if he was worthy of learning from them all and for passing their test the only thing that could help kartik was faith in shiva.
The trials were far from ordinary. For Bhairav, Kartik had to enter the Cave of Embers, where heat and smoke tested his breath and will; at the heart of the cave, he had to carry burning iron on his shoulders, walking across heated stones without losing balance or faith.
His skin burned and sweat blinded him, but he refused to kneel.
For Meghna's Nataraj test, he stepped into the Hall of Mirrors, a labyrinth that twisted perception. Within, illusions danced—figures of shadows and echoes of doubt. Kartik had to move gracefully, strike only true threats, and not be tricked by reflections of himself. Each wrong move risked him being lost inside forever.
For Ranthak's Pashupati trial, Kartik was led deep into the Heartwood Grove. There, he sat silently for hours, surrounded by wild beasts: leopards prowled the underbrush, snakes curled on branches, and birds watched from above.
Kartik had to breathe calmly, release fear, and open his spirit until the animals accepted his presence as part of the forest.
Days blurred into nights. When it was over, Agastyan summoned the three Masters to the great hall lit by oil lamps that threw dancing shadows on the walls.
"This boy," Agastyan spoke, "has shown potential in every trial. But what do we do with such a rare chance?"
Bhairav, a towering man with scars like ancient runes, spoke first. "His training has forged a strong body. With discipline, he can learn the Rudra way."
Meghna, graceful and sharp-eyed, nodded. "His mind is calm and observant. If he truly wishes, he can grasp the Nataraj arts.
But he must honor every style equally—show respect, give equal time."
Ranthak, broad and calm as an old oak, added, "He no longer carries fear. Animals sense this. They gather near him; some even follow him at a distance. He may walk the Pashupati path too."
Agastyan exhaled, the weight of the moment clear. "Then we demand much: he must split his days, train his body, spirit, and senses. It will not be easy."
The Masters agreed, but offered one final guidance: "If Kartik truly seeks balance and power, he must awaken his Kundalini. This divine energy will sharpen his focus, empower techniques that draw from the deepest well within."
That evening, Kartik sat before them, sweat-drenched but determined. "What… what is Kundalini?"
Meghna explained, her voice soft as falling petals, "It is the dormant divine energy within every human. Awaken it, and your body, mind, and spirit align.
Your training becomes more than muscle and memory —it becomes art shaped by the divine."
Ranthak taught him breathing techniques and postures, Bhairav showed him ways to channel fire through discipline, and Meghna guided his mind to stillness, until the first faint flickers of energy stirred in his spine.
After they agreed to train him, Kartik began another six months of relentless training.
His mornings started before dawn with Rudra conditioning: carrying weights through smoke and fire, strengthening body and lungs.
Midday, he practiced the graceful but demanding movements of the Nataraj, focusing on balance, speed, and foresight.
Evenings he spent deep in the jungle, meditating among animals, learning to sense their instincts and trust his own.
His body hardened, reflexes sharpened, and he felt the quiet hum of awakening energy coiling within.
Yet he also discovered the deeper struggle: balancing strength with gentleness, power with humility, and ambition with patience.
One morning, as the village bell tolled, Agastyan gathered them in the courtyard. His face, usually carved from patience, was clouded with dread.
"A Trinetra warrior was attacked… and taken by the followers of Shukracharya," he said, voice heavy. "They know our secrets, and now they may seek more."
Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to pause, waiting.
"We cannot abandon him," Veer said, jaw tight with resolve.
Agastyan nodded. "We will send a group to retrieve our brother—and learn what these shadows plan."
Kartik felt the burn of the eye on his chest, the echo of power and responsibility it carried. His choice had led him to a path few dared walk, and now the first real trial awaited—not against stone or fire, but
against living darkness itself.
Far beyond Trinetra's sacred peaks, a new storm gathered. And the true test of Kartik's choice was about to begin.