I can see in your eyes—confusion, disbelief, a thousand unasked questions swirling like a storm. And honestly... I can't blame them.
The world I dropped you in was a mess of half-explained rules, and no one bothered to explain, isn't that so?
So, I decided it was time to bring in someone who actually knows about this.
A beat of silence. Then—
"Heroic entry—what do you think?"
From the shadows stepped a man with a relaxed stance, sharp eyes, and a grin that suggested he enjoyed trouble more than most.
"So, I'm the guy who'll probably save your life—or teach you how to die with style." he said, voice smooth, tinged with amusement.
He took a lazy bite of fruit, gazing at the horizon where the sky frayed like torn parchment. "I hear you've got questions. Who doesn't? Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous. Let's start with the basics."
With a casual sweep of his hand toward the distance, he began:
"These realms are a wreck—hope yours isn't. Here, worlds tear at the seams, and people bleed between them. Threading through it all is Prāṇna—the breath of life—and the knife at your throat. Master Prāṇna, and you forge weapons from your soul —sharp enough to cut the stars. Sounds grand, doesn't it? But here's the catch: It doesn't bend. It burns. Every swing tastes like swallowing lightning, every parry slams the force back into your bones until they creak. One lapse?" he snapped his finger, sharp and quick... "Gone. No soul, no corpse— just a blank space where you used to be. Nasty thought, right?"
"I've seen warriors crumble under Prāṇna's weight."
His words weighed heavy—like the air itself was listening. And then, just when the silence sharpened—
He smirked. "Of course, it's not all doom and dust. In this world, storms listen, and stone itself may rise to protect—or crush you. That's why I personally prefer rivers—they remember everything. Heroes? They aren't born. They're forged—in fire, in silence, in sacrifice. And when the sky stops mid-breath, when the wind chokes on silence... that's your cue. The next chapter's written in corpses."
His grin sharpened, eyes gleaming. "Oh, and beyond the light... Kali, the Devourer of Ages. His hunger's so vast even time tries to run from him. His blood-clan, the Corrupted Lords, carry fragments of his will. Face them all... or just trip over your own sword first. Your choice."
He leaned back, hands behind his head. "There. All explained. Questions? Maybe. Headache? Probably. But stick with me, and you might survive... long enough to see why the Corrupted Lords like to eat the slow ones first."
"Wow. Truly ground-breaking. You've just explained the sky is blue and fire burns. The profound wisdom of 'don't die.' How enlightening."
He raised an eyebrow. "Ah... well, I guess. But hey, remember—Sometimes you need someone to spell it out—preferably someone like me, who can profit from keeping you alive."
After a short pause. He leaned forward with a glint in his eyes.
"You should have heard of my heroic folk tales, let me tell you about the time I saved the princess—"
"Next time," I cut in before the first puff of heroism could escape his mouth.
"No, no... you see, they deserve to witness my unmatched skill before they start doubting my credibility."
"Credibility?"
"Yes," he said solemnly, "because when they admire my form, my stance, my sheer elegance... they'll know the rest of my tales are absolutely."
And before I could stop him, he was already reaching for his sword, clearly preparing to stage the most unnecessary demonstration ever attempted.
He puffed out his chest, clearly ignoring my half-hearted warning not to start.
"So there I was," he began, "a lad of unmatched discipline, courage in my bones, wisdom in my—"
"Sindhu!"
The rough and sharp voice came from somewhere behind us.
He froze mid-sentence, smile stiff. "...in my heart," he finished quickly.
"Training. Now!"
I arched an eyebrow. "Training? I thought you said you were—"
"—on a classified monster-hunting operation," he interrupted quickly, already drifting away from the hall as if the very sound might drag him back.
"By which you mean—"
"My guru is no ordinary man—he's a beast in disguise... and I'm the only one who can stop him."
He vanished down the hall—whether hero or coward, even the shadows couldn't decide.
And just like that, my lesson dissolved—leaving me to chase its ghosts. But the word 'guru' lingered, like a storm about to break.