'All of us can walk the Samyama Marga.' The revelation echoed in Ashan's mind. 'What a twist of fate. Now our potential is quantified, we'll be under a microscope. The elder's gaze lingered on me... He suspects something. I need to wait, to watch. Prove my loyalty, reap the benefits, and grow stronger.'
He kept his face a mask of appropriate shock as the elder's voice turned to ice.
"You have great potential. Dedicate your lives to the Order, and you will reach heights you cannot fathom. Rest now. Tomorrow, your new life begins."
"We understand, Elder!" Team 7 bowed in unison and filed out.
Inira watched them go, her voice crisp. "If even two or three of them reach the 'Atlya' rank, it would be a significant boon."
Zarah's response was a low, chilling murmur. "What if one of them becomes a 'Rishi'?"
The air in the room stilled. Inira and Ress exchanged a stunned glance. A Rishi—a being of legend who could topple mountains with a gesture and command the skies with a look.
"Do not be surprised," Zarah continued, his calm unnerving. "The Samyama Marga is the true path. Sadhana is a dance with death. We are merely the guides for a new tide in this era. Our forces must be ready."
"Yes, Elder!"
"For the Order of Arishadvarga! For the House of Sins!"
"Glory to the Asuras!"
***
The bathhouse was empty save for the sounds of water and Team 7's boys.
"Can you believe it?" Dris splashed water, his voice booming with excitement. "We get to do both! I thought I'd be stuck with Prana, but Mantra too?"
"It's hard to process," Ballio chimed in. "I was hoping for the Atma Marga."
"The facts are what they are," Rodric countered, his voice tight. "Practicing the union of body and soul... it will be exponentially more dangerous than the other paths."
Dris snorted. "Don't be a wimp, Rodric. I'll be fine."
"You should be cautious," Ashan's smooth, calm voice cut through the steam. "Who knows? Your Sadhana might manifest as a cluster of dicks growing on your back."
A stiff silence was broken by Ballio's choked laugh. Rodric let out a strained chuckle. "Ashan, I can't tell if that's a warning or a humiliation delivered with a deadpan."
"Stop laughing!" Dris snarled, his face red. "And you, Ashan, you better watch your back before you're the one sprouting new parts!"
'That's a uniquely horrifying image,' Ashan thought, his mouth twitching. 'Mercy for neither gender.'
"Enough," he said, his tone shifting to one of command. The laughter died instantly, leaving only the splash of water. Ashan stood, drying himself and changing into the new uniform—the mark of an Arashen of the Order.
The battle-fitted suit was black with a golden hue, flexible and severe. A dark belt wrapped his waist, and over it all, a layered blackish-gold cloak was draped from his right shoulder. Finally, he picked up the mask. A golden serpent.
'Now I look the part of a true cultist. Clothes do indeed manufacture confidence.'
"Wow, these uniforms are amazing!" Dris exclaimed, practically vibrating.
Soon, they were all masked: a Scarlet Tiger, a Silver Peacock, a Purple Owl, and a Golden Serpent.
'And so the Animal Masquerade is complete,' Ashan jested internally.
***
Back in their hut, lit only by pale moonlight, Ashan addressed his masked team.
"We are no longer helpless children. We are part of something vast. Something that will consume us if we do not tread with care." He let the weight of his words settle in the silence.
"Sadhana, as you've seen, is a path of immense danger and opportunity. Your mind must be a calm lake, empty of turbulent thoughts. That is all. Tomorrow, we begin in earnest."
His team processed this, their thoughts laid bare to his unseen gaze.
Dris: 'He's using us. Fine. I'll use him right back. It's mutual. Just gotta stay sharp.'
Rodric: 'Always ten steps ahead. That calm is unnerving. But he's the smartest bet for survival—for now.'
Ballio: 'He guides us, but what does he want? He never demands loyalty, just... leads. And honestly? Being near him feels safe.'
Damara: 'There's always a distance with him. A wall. But then, doesn't everyone have walls here?'
Helma: 'His truths send a chill down my spine. Those eyes see too much.'
Imla: 'Outlive everyone... that's his core. He'll play the mentor as long as it serves that end. But for how long? What happens when we're no longer useful? Guard up. Always.'
'Their thoughts are an open book,' Ashan observed, a faint grayish-white swirl ghosting through his eyes before vanishing. 'If I see all this, will I become disgusted with them all? Perhaps. But connections are necessary chains... until they become a weight. True freedom isn't severing them; it's knowing you can.'
"Time to sleep," he said aloud, removing his mask. The others followed, a silent, wary agreement.
***
'Now, to see what I've become.'
'[Viksana].'
His hazel-gold eyes vanished, replaced by swirling vortexes of grayish-white. He gazed upon his own form, and a detailed information panel materialized alongside a phantom projection of his body.
[Information Panel]
Name: Ashan
Race: Human
Rank: Bodnir
Marga: Samyama Marga
Age: 11 years
Date of Birth: 9 Julvan, 304 DC
Current State: Fatigued, Mentally Alert
Sharir Vidya: Binding Coil Path
Atma Vidya: Hidden State Path
Anupamah Siddhi: Viksana
Description: The user is the 'Gazer' who perceives the essence of being, fate, and time.
Abilities:
[Analyse] - Discerns information of any target, living or non-living, at high speed.
[Memory Drive] - Access and experience the memories of a target through physical contact.
[Conceal] - Shrouds the user in an aura imperceptible to prying senses.
[Foresee] - Gazes five seconds into the future.
[Scrying] - Affinity with fate, divination, and revelations. Provides random, uncontrollable glimpses of possible futures.
'My head doesn't hurt this time,' he noted as the vision faded and his normal eyes returned. 'Either I'm adapting, or gazing upon myself is less taxing.'
'So the vision of the fire was this "scrying" ability, now unlocked with my Bodnir rank. But the first vision occurred as I unlocked the Siddhi, when the ability was still locked. An anomaly? A catalyst?'
He contemplated the nature of fate. 'The crucial lesson from all tales of prophecy is this: treat a vision as a possibility, not a sentence. The future is a river with countless branches, and the mere act of observing it can change its course.'
With a final, weary yawn, he closed his eyes. The questions could wait. For now, there was only the dark and the slow, steady burn of his ambition within it.