The heat of the Nila-Giri forge was more than a physical temperature; it was a living, breathing weight. Ten-year-old Arjun felt it in his marrow as he swung the heavy iron mallet. Clang. Clang. Clang. The rhythm was the only heartbeat he had ever known. His silver eyes—a strange, metallic trait that had earned him many suspicious glares from the local children—remained fixed on the glowing orange ingot.
Beside him, his father Kaelas stood like a mountain carved from basalt. Kaelas was a man of few words and even fewer smiles. His arms, thick as banyan roots and scarred by decades of sparks, moved with a precision that bordered on the supernatural.
"Hold the breath, Arjun," Kaelas grunted, his voice a low vibration that seemed to synchronize with the roar of the bellows. "The metal doesn't lie. If there is a tremor in your heart, a crack will form in the steel. A blacksmith's soul is mirrored in his work."
Arjun adjusted his stance, his small muscles screaming in protest. Most children his age were playing in the crystal-clear streams of the Western Ghats today, for it was the day of the Prana Awakening. But Kaelas had insisted on one final forging session.
"Father," Arjun panted, the soot staining his bronze skin. "The Envoy... he is already in the village square. Should we not go?"
Kaelas stopped. He plunged the red-hot blade into a trough of oil. The hiss was violent, a plume of dark smoke rising to the thatched rafters. "The Sanctuary's light is bright, Arjun, but it casts long, hungry shadows. Do not be in such a hurry to step into it."
The Square of Destinies
The village square of Nila-Giri was transformed. The smell of jasmine and mountain air was drowned out by the heavy scent of expensive incense. At the center stood a pedestal of white marble, and atop it, the Envoy of the Dharma Sanctuary.
He was a man who looked more like a statue than a human. His robes were woven from golden silk, and his forehead bore the mark of the Sun—the symbol of the Rank 80 Maha-Gurus who ruled the continent from the Capital. In his hand, he held the Crystal Needle of Awakening, a relic that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat.
"Step forward!" the Envoy commanded. His voice wasn't loud, yet it echoed in the ears of every villager as if he were standing inches away.
The children of the village went one by one.
Bhim, the baker's son, manifested a Stone Rolling Pin (Rank 2 Tool Swarupa).
Meera, the headman's daughter, manifested a Sandalwood Flute (Rank 5 Support Swarupa).
The villagers cheered for Meera. A Rank 5 was enough to get her into a regional academy. But for the Envoy, these were mere pebbles in a river of mediocrity. He looked bored, his eyes drifting toward the peaks of the Himalayas, until Arjun stepped onto the marble.
The Dual Revelation
The Envoy's eyes sharpened. He saw the silver eyes of the boy and felt a sudden, inexplicable chill. "Name and lineage?"
"Arjun. Son of Kaelas, the smith," the boy replied, his voice steady despite the trembling of his knees.
The Envoy didn't speak. He grabbed Arjun's hand and pricked the tip of his finger with the Crystal Needle.
Normally, the needle would glow with a color representing the element of the soul. But as Arjun's blood touched the crystal, the world seemed to go silent. The birds stopped singing. The wind died.
A soft, ethereal blue glow began to emanate from Arjun's right hand. Slowly, petal by petal, a shimmering Blue Lotus blossomed from his palm. It was breathtakingly beautiful, emitting a fragrance that made the wounded feel healed and the tired feel rejuvenated.
"A Sanjeevani Lotus!" the Envoy cried out, his composure finally breaking. "An Immortal-grade Healing Swarupa! In this backwater province? This is a miracle of the gods!"
But the miracle was only half-finished.
Inside Arjun's chest, something else was waking up. It felt like a dormant volcano suddenly struck by lightning. A dark, violent energy surged down his left arm. He felt a searing heat—a hunger to destroy that stood in total opposition to the healing peace of the Lotus.
CRACK.
The Crystal Needle in the Envoy's hand began to turn a bruised, sickly purple. It vibrated so violently that the Envoy dropped it. Before it hit the stone, the needle shattered into a thousand shards.
In that split second, a silhouette flickered in Arjun's left hand. It was an obsidian-black Trident, three-pronged and cruel, wreathed in chaotic purple lightning that seemed to swallow the light around it.
Arjun gasped, the agony of the dual souls tearing at his consciousness. Instinctively, he remembered his father's words—Hold the breath. He slammed his left fist closed, burying the dark energy deep within his marrow.
The Envoy stood frozen. He hadn't seen the Trident clearly, but he had seen the needle shatter—something that only happened when a soul was too powerful for the ritual to contain.
The Golden Cage
"Innate... Full... Prana..." the Envoy whispered, his voice cracking. He grabbed Arjun's shoulders, his fingers digging in like talons. "Boy, do you realize what you are? You have awakened with Rank 10 power. You are a genius that appears once in a millennium!"
The village erupted into a roar. A Rank 10 Innate Full Power meant that Arjun didn't need to train to reach the first milestone; he was born at the peak of the first tier.
"The Sanjeevani Lotus," the Envoy continued, his eyes burning with a greedy light. "With this, the High Priests can extend their lives indefinitely. You are no longer a smith's son, Arjun. You are the property of the Dharma Sanctuary."
In the back of the crowd, Kaelas watched. His hand was white-knuckled around the handle of a hidden hammer. He saw the way the Envoy looked at his son—not as a hero, but as a resource. A battery.
Arjun looked at his right hand, where the beautiful blue flower remained, and then at his left hand, which was still smoking and numb. He realized then that his life in Nila-Giri was over. The smithy, the streams, the quiet nights—they were gone.
"You have three days to say your goodbyes," the Envoy declared, turning to the village headman. "Guard him with your lives. If so much as a hair is harmed on this boy, the Sanctuary will level this village to the ground."
As the golden warriors of the Envoy surrounded Arjun to 'escort' him home, Arjun caught his father's eye. Kaelas gave a single, imperceptible nod. The message was clear: The forge is hot. The metal is ready. Now, we fight.
World Lore: The First Rank
In the world of Bharatavarsha, the journey of a cultivator is measured in ten ranks per tier.
TierRankTitleDescriptionTier 11–10Prana ScholarThe stage of awakening and internalizing energy.Tier 211–20Prana MasterThe stage where one can manifest soul skills externally.
Arjun has achieved Rank 10 at the moment of birth. While the village celebrates his "Healing Lotus," the dark Vajra Trident remains a ticking time bomb in his left hand, a weapon that represents the "Asura" path—the forbidden enemy of the Dharma Sanctuary.