The island never slept, but that night the silence was sharper, heavier, as if the air itself waited. Mukul was led to a stone arena at the heart of the island, torches burning with a strange blue flame. The twenty Masters stood in a circle, their gazes piercing.
The Master of Breath stepped forward. "Tonight, the boy awakens—or he breaks. His trial begins."
Mukul's small hands trembled, but he clenched them into fists. At only five years old, he felt tiny against the towering presences around him. Yet the mark of the seven stars on his neck glowed faintly, pulsing with each beat of his heart.
The trial began without warning.
The Master of Chaos snapped his fingers, and the arena floor shifted—sharp spikes rising from stone, shifting platforms tilting dangerously. A growl echoed. From the shadows, a massive beast emerged, a hybrid of wolf and serpent, its eyes glowing crimson.
Mukul stumbled backward, terror flooding him. His breath came short, his body wanted to run.
"Survive!" thundered the Master of Endurance. "Survive or be forgotten!"
The beast lunged. Mukul barely rolled aside, the wind of its strike grazing his cheek. His body ached, his lungs burned, but he remembered the lessons whispered during his early training: Breathe. Always breathe.
He forced his panicked gasps into steady inhalations. His heart slowed, his vision sharpened. The Master of Breath nodded faintly.
The beast struck again. This time, Mukul dodged smoother, rolling across stone. He snatched a jagged rock and hurled it—not to harm, but to distract. The wolf-serpent turned, snarling.
From the shadows, the Master of Silence whispered, "Hide your presence."
Mukul pressed himself low, slowing even his breath. The beast sniffed, confused for a moment. That pause was enough. Mukul darted to the other side of the arena, legs burning, chest heaving.
The ground shifted suddenly—the Master of Movement had tilted the platform. Mukul fell, landing painfully on his arm. He cried out, but the Master of Endurance's voice cut through: "Pain is weakness leaving you. Rise!"
Gritting his teeth, Mukul staggered up. The beast charged again, faster, hungrier.
Then came the voice of the Master of Mind: "Focus, boy. Fear is not your enemy. Chaos is your weapon. Use it."
The words struck something deep. Mukul looked at the uneven floor, the spikes, the tilts. The beast was larger, stronger—but clumsier. Mukul darted left, then cut right at the last moment, guiding the beast into a collapsing section of stone. The wolf-serpent stumbled, crashing into a spike. It howled, writhing in rage.
For the first time, Mukul's eyes lit with fire. He had not beaten it, but he had survived.
The Master of Flame extended his hand, a torch burning. "Strike, child. End this!"
Mukul hesitated, staring at the torch. His hands were small, his body weak. But he thought of his family—his father's stern kindness, his mother's warm embrace, Anand's protective strength, Kavya's gentle smile. He thought of the stars on his neck, the prophecy whispered by Acharya Raghunandan.
"I must live… to see them again."
With a cry far too fierce for his age, Mukul seized the torch and drove it into the beast's wound. Fire erupted, the serpent's roar shaking the island. In a burst of blue flame, the monster collapsed into smoke, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.
The arena fell silent.
The Masters watched. Some smiled faintly, others remained stoic, but all acknowledged what they had witnessed.
The Master of Flame lowered his torch. "The boy bleeds, yet does not break."
The Master of Memory added softly, "He will never forget this night. Nor should he."
Mukul collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, tears streaming down his soot-streaked face. But amidst the exhaustion, his heart burned with a strange new strength.
He had faced death—and chosen to live.
The Master of Networks spoke at last: "Tonight, he is no longer a child. He is a seed of destiny. The world does not know it yet, but its protector has begun to awaken."
The blue flames dimmed, the arena faded into darkness. Mukul curled on the stone floor, torchlight flickering on the mark of seven stars on his neck.
The first trial was over. The journey had only just begun.