The morning sun spread its golden light over the vast expanse of ancient forest, and the golden mountain shone like a jewel-encrusted peak, radiating light and beauty.
The sacred peak of Mount Meru stood tall, its grandeur whispered about in countless legends. Myths of this golden mountain were spread among the villagers of Vrindavan, which lay nestled near the edge of the sacred mountain. A pristine river flowed between the village and the mountain, the view of the golden peak reflecting in the water and making the natural scenery even more ethereal and beautiful.
Yuan Qi, the vital essence of heaven and earth, flowed through the environment, from the ancient forest to the village, which was surrounded by dense ancient woods. Yet it pooled into a profound, heavy mist near the sacred mountain…
Life in Vrindavan unfolded peacefully beneath the beautiful morning light. Every villager was occupied with their daily work: children played, merchants traded, and many were immersed in their cultivation.
In the midst of this tranquil activity, a child barely five or six years old sat inside his hut.
The child's small frame was bathed in the warm sunlight streaming through the window, his eyes fixed intently on the majestic peak of the sacred mountain. His gaze was unwavering, his pupils gleaming with a mixture of wonder and longing. A gentle breeze rustled his hair, but he didn't flinch, his attention transfixed by the mountain's grandeur.
As he stared, his breathing slowed, and his chest rose and fell with an almost imperceptible rhythm. His lips parted slightly, and a soft sigh escaped, carrying with it the whispers of ancient myths and legends. His eyes shone like stars on a clear night, reflecting the grandeur of the mountain and the limitless potential that lay within it.
The child's fingers grasped the windowsill, his small hands white-knuckled, as if trying to anchor himself to the present while his spirit soared toward the mountain's peak. His face was tilted upward, his chin lifted and his neck stretched, as if straining to reach the heavens.
In his mind's eye, he saw himself standing atop the mountain, arms outstretched, defying natural laws and soaring into the skies. He felt the rush of wind in his hair, the thrill of power coursing through his veins, and the limitless possibilities stretching out before him like an endless ocean.
As the daydream deepened, the child's eyes lost focus, and his gaze became distant, as if piercing through the veil of reality and looking into the very fabric of the universe. The world around him melted away, leaving only the sacred mountain, his dreams, and the boundless potential that lay within him.
In this state, the child was oblivious to the passing of time, lost in the realm of his own imagination, where the boundaries of reality stretched and the impossible became possible.
The boy had heard countless legends about gods and immortals who could fly through the sky, flip rivers with their power, and turn mountains to dust with a single punch. Every night, he dreamed of becoming like them. He had also heard a myth about Mount Meru: that in ancient times, a god descended from a higher realm, created this golden mountain with his power, and entered seclusion inside it—and that he was still cultivating deep within the mountain even now.
Ahaan sat by the window, his hair fluttering in the wind that slipped through the opening. His small hand was tightly clasped on the windowsill, his bright, dreamy eyes fixed on the mountain, and his face calm and unreadable.
Soon, a voice called from outside, breaking the stillness.
"Ahaan, come outside!"
As the voice pierced the air, Ahaan's face twitched slightly. His eyes shifted in the direction of the sound, and his head slowly followed.
Ahaan replied in a hurried manner, "Coming…" Then he quickly walked out of his room and moved toward the door.
As soon as he stepped outside, his eyes fell on an old man sitting in the lotus position. The elder's eyes were closed, his face calm and relaxed. His body was slightly lean yet straight, and both his hands rested upon his knees, with two fingers of each hand curled to form a circle-like shape.
Nearby, a group of older children, around ten to fourteen years of age, were immersed in their daily practice. Their faces were relaxed, yet their fists struck out with force, each punch creating a booming sound in the air. Sweat was clearly visible on their faces, while their bright eyes burned with fire and determination.
Their clothes clung to their bodies, drenched in sweat as they practiced diligently, and their shouting echoed through the yard:
"Hu! Hiya! Hao! Hu! Haa! Hiya! Hao!"
In front of the group, an adult man stood like a military general. His body was built like a tiger, and a sword rested against his shoulder. His calm eyes were fixed on the group of children, both hands clasped behind his back, his face relaxed.
Then he spoke in a commanding voice,
"Practice harder! If you want to join the Beast Hunter Group, push yourselves further! Only those who are truly capable will be allowed to join my Beast Hunter Group!"
As the man finished speaking, the children's training grew even more intense. Their movements became faster and faster, the booming sound of their punches echoing louder through the air. Their faces flushed red, and their bright eyes shone with even greater determination and burning fire.The morning sun, scattering its golden radiance, passed over the vast expanse, warming the ancient, sprawling forest and the colossal mountain peak. The peak shone with an intense sacred and divine luminescence, its slopes draped in gold. This was Mount Meru, a place of profound legendary power. Countless famous myths were ingrained in the history of Vrindavan village, which lay nestled in the shadow of the mountain. Between the village and the immensity of the peak, a pristine river flowed, its waters flawlessly reflecting the mountainous majesty, rendering the natural scene utterly breathtaking.
Spiritual Qi, the very essence of creation, permeated the entire environment. This abundant life-force, known locally as Hiranya Qi, was the undisputed source for all living beings. Critically, this Spiritual Qi was extraordinarily dense and vigorous near the foot of Mount Meru. Life in Vrindavan unfolded peacefully beneath the beautiful morning light. Every villager was occupied in their daily discipline: children played, merchants traded, and many others were already immersed in their Cultivation.
In the midst of this tranquil activity, a child, barely five or six years of age, sat within his simple hut. His attention was wholly captivated by the sight of the golden mountain framed by his window. His dreamy eyes focused on the peak with unyielding curiosity. He had long internalized the myths spoken by his grandfather: in the primeval era, a mighty Ancient God descended from the Higher Realm, shaping the mountain with his divine power before entering it for perpetual seclusion. Many villagers held the belief that the Ancient God remained within the peak, diligently Cultivating. Yet, others treated these potent folktales as mere fantasy.
The child often pondered the tales of Immortals and Gods, beings who wielded such overwhelming power that they could walk upon the empty air, soar through the heavens, and obliterate a mountain with a single, devastating strike. He yearned to achieve that level of might, dreaming every day of becoming powerful enough to fly across the sky.
Ahaan, deep in his daily fantasy, was suddenly roused by a commanding voice from outside the hut.
"Little one, come here!"
"Coming!" Ahaan responded, shaking off his thoughts and quickly walking toward the village training ground.
There, he saw an old man, Chief Mahendra, sitting in the lotus posture, wholly lost in profound meditation. Nearby, a cohort of older children, spanning ten to fifteen years of age, were engaged in fierce practice. Their faces bore expressions of strict focus and diligence. Their shouted movements, "Hu! Hiya! Hu! Haa!", carried through the morning, full of ferocious spirit. With every strike, a muffled, booming sound cracked the air.
Standing before the practicing cohort was a stern, muscular man, built like a tiger or a leopard, dressed in the functional attire of a warrior, with a large sword strapped across his back. He spoke with a commanding, dominant voice: "Practice harder! If you seek the strength to join the Beast Hunter Gang, protect the village from the magical beasts, and survive the arduous hunt, you must push beyond your limits!"
This imposing figure was Aarav Rawat, the Beast Hunter leader, who often protected the village and hunted magical beasts with his team. He served as the trusted assistant to Chief Mahendra Singh Rawat, the village chief of Vrindavan, who also happened to be Ahaan's grandfather.
Ahaan emerged from the house, approached his grandfather, bowed deeply in respect, and stood silently, patiently awaiting his elder's attention.
After a deliberate period, Chief Mahendra slowly opened his eyes, directing a gentle smile toward Ahaan. "Little one," he instructed, "go sit there and observe their training ritual. You will internalize many lessons. When your body is ready, I will certainly permit you to begin Cultivation."
Ahaan, whose young heart had harbored the desperate hope of starting his path today, felt that hope shatter. He became visibly upset but kept silent. Chief Mahendra, observing Ahaan's crestfallen expression, remained impassive. The Chief insisted that Ahaan's constitution was still too undeveloped to safely embark on the Cultivation path.
Ahaan lowered his head and walked toward a nearby bench. As he sat, his small frame settled onto the wood, and his innocent face and dreamy eyes, filled with curiosity, fixed on the older children's powerful movements.
Soon, a familiar voice cut through the seriousness. A boy of seven or eight, his clothes soiled with earth, approached, his face beaming with excitement. He sat down heavily beside Ahaan.
"Arjun," Ahaan said. "Why did you call? Is the matter urgent?"
Arjun looked at him. "Nothing much. I was looking for you to tell you something important, but first, why the mournful expression, my friend?"
Ahaan sighed deeply. "It is the usual matter. I want to Cultivate, but Grandpa denies me as always. I believe I am already grown up enough."
Arjun regarded Ahaan with serious depth, then chuckled. "That's hardly a crisis—it's your everyday struggle! Do not burden your shoulders with worry. You will certainly begin soon. Even I have only been doing body-tempering physical training so far."
Ahaan nodded in understanding, shifting the topic. "So, what urgent matter brought you here?"
Arjun's eyes lit up. "Do you know that today there will be an intriguing duel between two accomplished Cultivators right here in the village? I want you to attend with me!"
Ahaan listened, glancing at the ongoing training, then replied with a deep breath. "I apologize, friend. While the duel sounds interesting, I cannot miss seeing the older children practice. You will have to wait until they conclude."
Arjun's enthusiasm vanished; his face darkened with annoyance. "Ahaan! Do you not ever grow bored watching this? You are perpetually lost in your own world, always so dull. It is a wonder I remain your only friend."
Ahaan simply smiled at Arjun and returned his focus to the training. Arjun, defeated, offered a bitter smile, surrendered the argument, and sat watching the children with growing boredom.
Slowly, the morning hours passed in the quiet rhythm of the village. The intense training eventually concluded as noon arrived. The serious atmosphere around the Chief's home quickly became lively with the sounds of laughter and chatter. The older children departed one by one, tired but happy, eager to receive their midday reward of beast meat and fruit.
Ahaan stood from the bench and observed Arjun, who had drifted into a deep sleep beside him. A mischievous thought entered his mind. He plucked a small leaf and began to gently tickle Arjun's nose. Arjun merely rubbed his face. Ahaan tried again, then leaned close to his friend's ear and shrieked, "BEAST!"
Arjun immediately jolted awake, screaming, "Beast! Where?!" Coming to his senses, he saw Ahaan laughing uncontrollably. Arjun understood the trick and, instead of anger, flashed a shameless grin.
"Are you still keen to witness the duel of the famous Cultivators?" Ahaan asked once he recovered.
"Naturally!" Arjun affirmed.
Ahaan then looked toward his grandfather, who was concluding a discussion with Aarav Rawat. When their talk finished, Aarav departed the Chief's dwelling. Mahendra then addressed Ahaan directly.
"I am withdrawing inside to study certain medicinal herbs," the Chief instructed. "Do not venture out without informing me, and do not interrupt my seclusion." He did not wait for a reply before entering the house.
Ahaan disregarded the warning. The instant his grandfather disappeared, he and Arjun hastened away to witness the cultivators' contest. Inside, Chief Mahendra smiled slightly, having sensed their stealthy departure. He chose not to react, focusing on his work, unwilling to suppress his grandson's inquisitive growth.
The afternoon gave way to the encroaching evening. The sunset, visible from the Chief's window, cast the world in fiery colors. The golden Mount Meru made the twilight scenery magnificent.
Chief Mahendra, deep in his meditative state, heard a sound—someone attempting to enter his house with secrecy. He smiled. Ahaan, having returned from the duel, was trying to slip inside unnoticed, hoping his grandfather would remain unaware of his absence. Mahendra did not stir. He had no intention of waking or intervening, unwilling to restrict the boy's learning outside his direct oversight.
As Mahendra sat, thinking of Ahaan, a powerful, indelible memory from the past surged forward, pulling him into a trance-like state...
Flashback: The Night of the Cauldron
An aged man, a heavy weapon in hand, moved with deliberate pace through the heart of the forest. Complete darkness reigned, punctuated only by the terrible sounds and towering shadows cast by powerful magical beasts. A relentless, heavy rain fell; the clouds covered the sky like a shroud, and savage lightning bolts struck the ground, filling the entire environment with a frightening atmosphere.
Many figures trailed the old man, exhausted and grievously wounded from a blood-soaked confrontation.
A person appearing to be in his twenties spoke to the elder: "Chief Mahendra, have you forgotten the path back to the village? We are severely depleted, and you know the danger of this forest tonight. If we encounter a superior beast, we will certainly perish here."
Chief Mahendra responded, his voice authoritative: "Do not fear, Aarav. We will return safely. We succeeded in killing that powerful Magical Fire-Fox, though we mourn the loss of our comrades. I am fully aware of the danger, and I have not forgotten the path."
The terrifying cold air created a chilling sound, sending a genuine shiver down the spine of the Beast Hunter Group.
As they pressed on, they suddenly heard it: the high-pitched, distressed cry of an infant, echoing from the direction of Mount Meru.
"Did you all hear the cry of an infant?" a hunter whispered.
All nodded, their agreement solemn. Another asked, "From where is this cry coming? Who would abandon a child in this deathly dangerous place? Do they not fear the beasts will make the child their prey?"
Chief Mahendra intensified his focus. Aarav, too, pinpointed the source. He looked toward the Chief. "Chief, the voice is emanating from the East—from Mount Meru."
With renewed purpose, Chief Mahendra and the Beast Hunters changed direction, moving toward the mountain along the safest paths carved during previous hunts. They eventually exited the ancient forest and began climbing toward the source of the cry.
Soon, they reached the base of the golden mountain, its peak towering and glowing. They began their ascent, and after reaching a certain elevation, they discovered a small cave. Outside, resting upon a massive piece of golden stone, was a great Cauldron. Inside the Cauldron, a small child was weeping.
When Chief Mahendra and his party reached the Cauldron, they saw the infant: skin as white as milk, and eyes of a striking dreamy color. The child was beautiful, like an adorable doll. Seeing its distress, every heart in the hardened group melted with empathy.
Chief Mahendra stepped forward, gently lifting the child from the Cauldron and drawing it into his arms. The child, who had cried for hours, instantly grew still. It looked up at the Chief with its dreamy eyes and began to smile. The pure, beautiful scene moved them all.
Mahendra, smiling at the child, then examined the Cauldron. Engraved upon it, in an ancient, powerful language, was the single word: Sengupta.
The Chief's mind immediately posed the critical questions: "Who left this child alone? What is the source of his background? This Cauldron is clearly an ancient, precious artifact. Is 'Sengupta' his surname?" He set the confusing thoughts aside, looking again at the child, who was smiling and making a small, happy sound: "Yi yia yia yaa."
Aarav, looking at the artifact, asked, "Chief Mahendra, how will we ever uncover the truth of his parents, or the reason he was abandoned here?"
Mahendra confirmed: "I do not know, Aarav, who abandoned this child, or why." The question remained unanswered in the minds of every warrior present.
Finally, one of the hunters suggested, "What name should we give this child? We must give him a name."
Chief Mahendra, looking down at the infant, declared, "From this day forth, this child's name shall be Ahaan Sengupta."