Morning sun filtered over the horizon, its initial beam slicing through the chill, antiseptic air of the laboratory. Dhruv and Anika were already on the training mat, their faces set with a new determination. Yang Lee stood before them, a diminutive, modest man now an enormous figure of authority. The easy, banana-wielding old man was no more; in his place stood a master in his art.
"Before you learn to fight, first you must learn to stand," Yang Lee growled. "A tree with a shallow root is no match for the wind. Your body is a tree. Your feet are your roots."
He showed them a simple stance: shoulder-width feet, knees slightly bent, back straight, hands loosely clasped in front of the chest. It looked easy, but when Dhruv attempted to replicate it, his legs started shaking within a few seconds. Anika, who danced a lot in her school days , maintained the stance with unexpected elegance. Yang Lee observed them for a moment, his hawk-like eyes, before quietly disappearing into the direction they were from, leaving them to their work.
The initial day was a torture of endurance and patience. The simple stance that was once so easy became a tormenting ordeal. Dhruv's mind, which grew used to the immediate satisfaction of his powers, rebelled in horror. His legs were on fire, his back protested, and perspiration streamed down his forehead. He wished to collapse, but the visage of Yang Lee's steadfast gaze kept him rooted.
Day by day, the routine was a repeat. The lab was like a silent torture room, the only noises the gentle whir of equipment and the slight shaking of Dhruv's legs. He fell repeatedly, his brain shouting in anger. Anika, however, appeared to adjust at an almost disconcerting rate. By the fourth day, her posture was unshakeable. She stood with an immobility that belied her years, a prove of her natural focus and control.
On the fifth day, when Dhruv again fell in a heap of spent limbs, Dr. Rudra went to him, a rare expression of concern on his face. He knelt beside the boy, who was panting on the cold floor.
"Dhruv," Rudra said, his voice gentle but resolute. "You have to do this. You have to go on."
Dhruv gazed up at him, his eyes brimming with despair and rage. "I can't, Dr. Rudra. I don't see how it's possible. Every muscle in my body aches. What's the use? I have powers. I can just fly out of any battle."
Rudra's face grew stern. "No, you can't. You know the Dashanan will not stop. They are relentless. They will keep coming, no matter where you go. And they will hurt the ones you love." He glanced at Anika, who was still standing perfectly still, her eyes closed in deep concentration. "They will harm Anika. And if you are not strong enough to defend her, to defend yourself, you will lose her too. Just like your family."
The words strike Dhruv like a body blow. The naked anguish of his parents' demise flooded through him, combined with a fierce resolve. He remembered his mother, his father, and the fear in their eyes as they shoved him and Anika to safety. He remembered Anika, her steadfast support, her unflinching courage. He had something to fight for. He needed to be strong. For them. For vengeance.
He thrust himself up, every fiber of muscle protesting, and willed himself back into position. He swayed, he shuddered, but he did not collapse. He stood there the remainder of the day, a singular purpose now propelling him.
By day ten, something changed. The searing burn in his muscles turned into a dull, persistent throb. His thoughts, once a tempest of frustration and impatience, had become a peaceful lake. He was no longer battling his body; he was listening to it. He was a tree with roots that plunged deep, deep into the earth.
When Yang Lee finally made them come to a halt, Dhruv felt an overwhelming sense of achievement. He had not merely survived; he had conquered. He had mastered the stance.
"One with the body, one with the mind," Yang Lee spoke in a low whisper. "Now we begin."
The following day, training resumed but the rules had changed entirely. Yang Lee had the chamber darkened, the only illumination from the dim, buzzing console of Dr. Rudra's devices. Anika and Dhruv stood at the perimeter of the room, lost.
"Your eyes are a falsehood," Yang Lee's voice sounded through the darkness. "They reveal to you what is, but they do not reveal to you what will be. Real vision comes from the heart."
He blindfolded them both, the thick fabric extinguishing the last ray of light. "You will make your way through this room," he ordered. "You will not run, you will not stagger. You will move from one end to the other without so much as brushing against an obstacle. And don't take off your blindfolds, or the punishment will be. unpleasant."
Dhruv, who was used to viewing the world in a manner beyond anyone's capabilities, was at a loss. He moved one confident step ahead and instantly collided with a stack of metal crates. His foot had gotten caught in a loose wire, and he stumbled backwards hard, a surge of anger flooding him. He was useless, his most powerful sense—his eyes—made useless. He attempted to use his mind to chart the room, but the blackness was complete, an impenetrable wall. He stumbled and fell again and again, losing confidence with each fall.
Anika, though, started to get her bearings. She inched forward, slowly, carefully, her hands extended, sensing the surfaces of the walls, the chill of the metal gear. She heard the muted echoes in the room, the whisper of a temperature fluctuation in the air, the steady thrum of the machines that was the background hum of Rudra's lab. Her own mind, so adept at disentangling logical knots, started to chart the room in her head, creating a map of where she was. She was a river, flowing through the darkness, bending and twisting with every new change.
Yang Lee's voice, a specter in the blackness, was ever-present. "The greatest warrior is not the one who sees the most, but the one who knows the most." He was speaking to Dhruv, who now moved on hands and knees, vanquished. "Your body is a machine. You must be aware of what it can do without seeing. You must sense the world, not merely see it."
Dhruv gritted his teeth, his anger growing into a strong, impenetrable wall. He wanted to shout. He wanted to insist Yang Lee cease this absurd training. But he recalled Rudra's warning: He will hurt the ones you love. He imagined Anika, gliding so purposefully through the shadows, her own quiet resolve a light in the darkness. He drew a breath, and rather than charging on, he halted. He listened.
He sensed Anika's gentle footsteps. He sensed the distant drip of water from a leaky pipe. He sensed the chill of air from a vent on his cheek. He started putting together the world around him, not visually, but with his other senses. He crawled slowly initially, a foot at a time, his hands tentatively sensing the air ahead of him. He was not stone anymore, tumbling through darkness, but a quiet hunter, a specter in the machine.
When Yang Lee finally gave the order to halt and permitted them to take off their blindfolds, Anika stood mere feet from the door, a quiet smile on her face. Dhruv stood behind her, his clothes covered in dust, but his face no longer that of one who is defeated. He had been introduced to the world in a new light.
"You are learning to see with your minds," Yang Lee had told him, his own voice now laced with a touch of approval. "The eyes are for fools. The mind is for warriors."