The Royal Academy of Conquerors (RAC) stood at the pinnacle of the nation—an institution where the brightest minds were shaped and presented to society.
The grand hall was overflowing.
Teachers, ministers, guardians, parents—everyone had gathered for the award ceremony of the hardest examination in the country.
Yet one thing felt wrong.
The seat reserved for Rank One stood empty.
Because the top student wasn't in the hall.
He lay on the rooftop instead.
Flat on his back, arms beneath his head, staring at the open sky as clouds drifted slowly above him—unbothered by borders, ranks, or recognition.
Aarav.
He stared at the drifting clouds, his thoughts still tied to the shooting star from the previous night.
Was that really just a dream?
Then why does everything feel… different ?
The wind brushed past him—gentle, almost nostalgic.
Then footsteps.
His childhood friend,
Mira stopped beside him, arms crossed, frustration barely contained.
"I can ignore you skipping the annual academy awards," she said, voice tight.
"But this? This was the nation's highest rank. Do you know how many people were watching? Do you know how hard it was to handle the mess you created?"
"…Umm," he replied lazily.
She stared at him. "That's it?"
"But you always do," he added calmly.
He sat up and looked at her.
His eyes were empty—no arrogance, no pride. Just depth.
The wind rose, tousling his hair and tugging at his school blazer, making that emptiness look almost beautiful.
"Mira," he said softly, "you know why I never wanted those awards."
She said nothing.
"I wouldn't have even participated if you hadn't forced me."
Something in her expression cracked—not anger, but grief.
She sighed.
I know, she thought.
You see through it all—jealousy, envy, hatred, greed, recognition.
You see the rot behind the applause.
But…
One day, you might reject everyone along with it.
Before she could speak—
He stepped forward and leapt.
"Aarav—!"
She rushed to the edge, heart stuttering.
But below, he was already moving—landing safely on a lower structure, disappearing from sight with effortless control.
Only she had seen it.
The wild wind never announced itself.
then disappear as he moved down the structure with practiced ease.
She exhaled slowly.
Of course he was fine.
The wind had never failed itself.
Her fingers tightened around the railing as she looked out at the academy below.
I know why you hate those ceremonies, she thought.
No—
Hate wasn't the right word.
I know why you can see through them.
The smiles were too practiced.
The applause too loud.
The air heavy with jealousy, envy, hatred disguised as praise, greed hidden behind handshakes.
Recognition that meant nothing once the lights turned off.
She understood all of that.
But…
Her gaze drifted to the sky, the same one he always chased.
But knowing the truth doesn't mean you have to face it alone.
And that was what scared her.
Not that he rejected the world—
But that one day, he might reject everyone with it.
She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Just don't disappear too far," she whispered to the wind.
The morning breeze brushed his face as he sat by the classroom window, chin resting on his palm, eyes following the clouds.
The sunlight made him look calm—almost unreal.
The new teacher noticed.
"If you have time to stare outside," he said sharply, "solve this."
A difficult problem appeared on the board.
Aarav stood, walked up, glanced once, solved it cleanly, and returned to his seat.
Silence.
The teacher stared.
The new students whispered.
His classmates looked away—used to it.
Moments later, Aarav felt something shift—
a brief distortion, like space tightening and letting go.
He packed his bag.
Mira stiffened. "No. Don't even think—"
"What do you think you're doing?" the teacher snapped.
Aarav already had one foot on the window.
"I have something to do," he said calmly. "Mira will explain."
"Don't drag me into this again!" she shouted.
Too late.
He was gone—moving over rooftops, railings, crowds—until he disappeared from sight.
---
The principal's office filled quickly.
"He's reckless!" the teacher complained. "Disrespectful! He jumped out without thinking!"
"That brat did this again…" the Principal muttered, rubbing his temples.
"Mira, I told you to handle this wind."
He sighed. "Let him be."
A sharp voice cut in.
"Why is he never punished?" a transfer student asked. "Is it because he's a genius?"
"I worked endlessly," she continued, "and he surpassed me effortlessly."
The Principal nodded once. "You're right. He is a genius. But not a born one."
---
Mira took him to Aarav's room,
Aarav's room was nothing like a student's room.
Books filled the shelves—psychology, mythology, history, politics, martial arts.
A punching bag darkened by old blood stains.
Training logs. Research drafts—hundreds of failures for a single topic.
Emails from top institutes around the world.
And emails he had written himself—to philosophers, scientists, researchers—seeking understanding, not praise.
Mira opened a closet and pulled out an old guitar.
"He wasn't always like this," she said softly. "He used to believe in people."
She paused.
"And then… he understood them."
This was the truth Aarav never said aloud:
He didn't hate the world.
He simply stopped expecting anything from it.
Morals felt like stories people told to look good.
Equality? A convenient joke.
Smiles?
Most were just masks worn to impress.
"He saw that," Mira continued. "And instead of fighting it… he stepped away."
He didn't become cruel.
He didn't become bitter.
He became quiet.
Detached.
Walking through life without expectations—
finding freedom only in the wind and the open sky.
---
The room slowly emptied.
Mira stayed behind, staring at an old photo of her and Aarav laughing under the sun.
Outside the window, the Principal watched a lone figure cycling toward the outskirts of town.
---
Far from the city's noise, Aarav lay beneath a tree in the open grassland.
This time, he wasn't looking at the sky.
He closed his eyes.
And looked inward.
Something shifted.
A faint glow ignited.
Space bent—subtly, silently.
His eyes opened, reflecting a blue light as an unseen force wrapped around him.
His hand moved without thought.
The air tore open.
A portal.
He stared at it—confused, but not afraid.
And for the first time in a long while…
He smiled.
He thought of the sky.
Of the town.
Of Mira.
Then he stepped forward—
And vanished.
To be continued.