"Hey."
A new voice. Deep. Calm. It cut through the chaos like a knife.
We looked toward the cafeteria entrance.
A guy stood there. Tall—easily six feet. His presence filled the room. He was looking kinda frustrated
He wore a chestplate. Not old armor—modern. Sleek metal with glowing lines, almost robotic, but carved with patterns like something from a royal palace. Ancient and futuristic at the same time.
And his Prana...
Fabulous. The way he walks so confidently.
Behind him stood two people.
One was a short, masculine guy. Arms crossed. Smiling. Just watching. His beard was pretty good though.....
The other was a 4th yearer girl. She stood perfectly still. And she had no Prana at all. None. Zero.
Poorvi's grip loosened. Avi dropped to the floor, gasping for air. He stood up
They both looked at the tall guy.
And spoke at the same time:
"Oh... you."
"Why do you guys always create such a mess?" He sighed in frustration, walking toward them. "The principal lectures me because of you guys. You know that?"
He kept walking, his voice rising.
"You guys know how hard it is to be the leader of Parakastha? All the responsibility of monitoring the whole Gurukul—"
WHACK.
Poorvi punched him in the face.
"Just shut up—"
"The moment you entered, you started yapping about yourself," Avi added. "And nothing else."
Samarth laughed.
In the blink of an eye, his chestplate moved. It shifted, unfolded, transformed—covering his entire body in smooth metal armor. Only his face remained visible.
From the back of his hands, two long blades emerged. Gleaming. Deadly.
Poorvi and Avi dropped into fighting stances. Ready.
Samarth charged.
He raised his blades. Aimed. Swung—
SLAM.
Prayan appeared out of nowhere.
He stood between them, both hands gripping the blades mid-swing. Metal bit into his palms. Blood dripped down his wrists.
His face showed nothing. No pain. No fear. No emotion at all. He just stood there, holding the blades like they were nothing.
Samarth stopped.
Prayan released the blades. His hands stayed open, bleeding, still expressionless.
"Why are you always fighting, Samarht bhaiya?"
A femiliour voice. Calm. Confident.
Everyone looked behind.
Trayaksh walked toward them, head wrapped, tripundra on his forehead, a small smile on his face like he'd seen this all before.
"Avi bhaiya. Poorvi di."
He greeted them both by name, then turned to Samarth.
"All of you. Fighting again."
The girl with Samarth—the one with no Prana—looked at Trayaksh with a mean face.
Trayaksh didn't seem bothered. He just smiled wider.
"Yo Vishesh bhaiya. And Drishti ." He greeted them both casually. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."
Drishti looked away from him. Her face didn't change. Empty. Cold.
But something about her looking away felt... important. Like she'd chosen to ignore him instead of something worse.
After Trayaksh appeared, everyone stopped fighting.
Trayaksh looked at the scene—blood on Prayan's hands, floating tables, bhindi on the floor, Avi holding his throat, Poorvi's nose still dripping—and laughed.
Actually laughed.
"Bhaiya. Di." He was smiling. Genuinely smiling. "You know what the first-years are going to say about this, right? 'I saw the leaders fight on my first day. They threw tables. And bhindi.'"
Poorvi's face went red. "That's not—"
"Samarth bhaiya pulled out blades. In the cafeteria. Over bhindi."
Samarth's armor flickered. His jaw tightened. "It wasn't over—"
"And Prayan ." Trayaksh looked at Prayan's bleeding hands—still dripping, still expressionless.
Trayaksh shook his head, still smiling. "Go. All of you. Before the principal hears about this and we all get cleaning duty for a month."
Avi snorted, still rubbing his throat. "Cleaning duty. With my bhindi hair."
Poorvi almost smiled. Almost. But she caught herself.
Samarth's armor retracted fully. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. Drishti followed silently behind him. The tall masculine guy—Vishesh—walked with them, still saying nothing.
Poorvi wiped blood from her nose one last time, then followed.
Avi limped after them, muttering about his ruined hair. "Wasted my whole look... first day ruined..."
Prayan stood there a moment longer, blood dripping from his palms onto the floor.
Trayaksh watched them leave, that same calm smile on his face. Then he turned.
Toward our corner.
"You three. Come on out."
Mukund, Ruchi, and I looked at each other. Caught.
We stepped out from behind the wall, feeling like children caught stealing sweets. The cafeteria was destroyed around us—tables bent, food scattered, bhindi everywhere.
Trayaksh looked at us. Studied our faces. Then his smile widened.
"Your faces were worth watching." He chuckled. "You guys were so scared... but still wanted to see the chaos."
None of us knew what to say.
Trayaksh glanced at something behind us. A clock on the wall.
"Well. Lunch break is over. Better move to your classes."
"WHAT?!"
All three of us spoke at once.
Mukund's glasses almost fell off. Ruchi's mouth dropped open. I just stared at him, hoping I'd heard wrong.
"Lunch break... over?" I managed to say.
Trayaksh nodded, still smiling. "Yeah. It's your first day, na? Well, can't blame you. This is these guys' daily drama. Happens at least twice a week."
He shrugged.
"I think there's more for you to learn about the Gurukul. But right now... you should better be going."
He tilted his head toward the exit.
"Or else..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Trayaksh gestured with his hand. Prayan appeared beside him silently—when had he come back?—and they both walked away together, leaving us standing in the ruined cafeteria.
Mukund, Ruchi, and I stood there.
Broken.
Dead inside.
We hadn't even eaten. Not one bite. And lunch was over.
"I can't believe this," Ruchi whispered.
Mukund adjusted his glasses. "We missed food. Because of a leader fight. Over bhindi."
I looked at the destroyed tables, the scattered food, the bhindi on the floor.
"Can we... can we still eat something?"
A passing senior walking by laughed. "First-years?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Yeah, you'll learn. Cafeteria closes on time. Rules are rules."
He walked away.
We stood there.
Hungry.
Tired.
And somehow, it was only the first day.
Next class was History
The history classroom smelled old.
Not dirty—just old. Like paper and dust and incense burned long ago. The walls were covered in paintings—scenes I didn't recognize at first. Battles. Gods. Flames and shadows.
Our teacher sat at the front, waiting for us to settle.
He was old. Really old. His skin was wrinkled, his back slightly bent, and the patterns on his arms were faded—barely visible, like memories of powers he once had. One of his eyes was clouded white, blind.
But the other eye?
That eye saw.
It followed each of us as we walked in, found our seats, tried to disappear into our desks.
No one spoke.
The bell rang. He stood up slowly, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote one word on the blackboard:
YODHA
His voice when he spoke was rough. Like he'd spent years shouting on battlefields.
"Do you know what that word means?"
Silence.
"Anyone? You've been calling yourselves YODHAs since you could talk. You wear the patterns. You carry the blood. But do you know what it means?"
No one moved.
He turned to face us fully.
"YODHA means warrior. But not just any warrior. A protector. Someone who stands between humanity and annihilation."
He pointed toward the door.
"Those leaders you saw fighting in the cafeteria today? The ones making fools of themselves over bhindi and basketball?"
A few students shifted uncomfortably. And some giggled.
"Their families have been YODHAs for generations. Their ancestors fought Asuras when this Gurukul was just a hut made of mud and straw. Their blood carries power that goes back thousands of years."
He picked up the chalk again.
"Today, you learn where that power came from. And why it still matters."
He began to write on the board as he spoke. Dates. Names. Places.
But his voice was what held us.
"Thousands of years ago, in ancient India, humans and Asuras lived together."
A student in front raised a hand. "Asuras? The demons?"
The teacher nodded. "Demons. Rakshasas. They looked almost human—but different. Some had red hands. Some had multiple eyes. Some had animal features. And they had one habit that made humans... uncomfortable."
He paused.
"They ate us."
The class went cold.
"They killed sages. Disturbed their yagnas. Destroyed temples.\
He drew a figure on the board—a man sitting, eyes closed.
"Then one great rishi frustrated, he had enough of it. They decided that he'd waited long enough. He sat in meditation. For years. Decades. He didn't eat. Didn't drink. Didn't move. He just... meditated."
The teacher's voice dropped lower.
"And finally, Lord Vasudev appeared."
I leaned forward without realizing it.
"Vasudev was pleased with the rishi's devotion. He offered a boon—anything the rishi wanted. And the rishi said: 'Oh Vasudev..... for how many times we have to wait for you to come to earth and save us. Give us power. Power to defeat the Asuras. Power to protect ourselves.'"
The teacher drew five symbols on the board.
Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Space.
"Vasudev granted elemental powers to chosen warriors. These became the first YODHAs. They could control fire itself. Command water. Control winds. Move and shape earth. Bend reality itself."
He turned to face us.
"Your powers come from them. Every flame you summon, every wave you raise—it traces back to that moment."
Someone whispered, "What about the Asuras?"
The teacher smiled. It wasn't a happy smile.
"The Asuras weren't stupid. They saw what Vasudev had done. So three Asura brothers meditated to please lord shiva."
My breath caught. Lord Shiva.
"Lord shiva being Bhole got easily pleased by their meditation. Told him it wasn't fair that humans got powers and they didn't. And Lord Shiva—Bhole, the innocent one—felt pity."
He wrote three more symbols.
Summoning. Power Copying. Blood Manipulation.
"The first brother could summon demons from other realms. The second could copy any power he saw—each of his black eyes could hold one skill. The third and fourth could control blood—theirs and others'."
The teacher paused.
"Three brothers. Three powers. Endless destruction."
Narad Muni appeared in one of the wall paintings. I hadn't noticed him before.
"When Narad Muni heard what Shiva had done, he rushed to Vasudev. 'My Lord,' he said, 'humanity is doomed. The Asuras have powers now too.'"
The teacher's eye glinted.
"But Vasudev smiled."
He waited, letting that sink in.
"He smiled and said: 'The entire universe is made of the five elements I gave humanity. Fire. Water. Wind. Earth. Space. When YODHAs have children, their powers combine—endless combinations, endless possibilities. The Asuras' powers are fixed. Ours grow with every generation.'"
Narad Muni bowed, the painting showed. Understanding.
"The war wasn't over. But Vasudev had made sure humanity would never lose."
The teacher walked to the window, staring out at something we couldn't see.
"Centuries passed. Generations of YODHAs fought generations of Asuras. Sometimes they won. Sometimes they lost. But the line never broke."
He turned back.
"Then came Ram."
My heart stopped.
"Lord Ram. Seventh avatar of Vishnu. He had the power of fire—the strongest fire the world had ever seen. And he faced Ravana, king of the Asuras."
The teacher's voice grew quiet.
"Ram's fire arrow didn't just kill Ravana. It vaporized him. His body. His soul. His elixir of immortality. Everything."
He looked at us.
"And with Ravana's death, every Asura on Earth lost their connection to this realm. Those who survived fled. They found refuge in Patal Lok—the underworld. And there they stayed."
Someone exhaled. I realized I'd been holding my breath.
"But they didn't disappear completely."
The teacher picked up a thin book from his desk. Old. Leather-bound.
"Asuras can still reach Earth. Through portals. Summoned by manuscripts written in Sanskrit—ancient texts with power most people can't imagine."
He held up the book.
"A YODHA's job is to find these portals. Close them. Kill any Asura that slips through before they can cause harm."
He put the book down.
"Most of the time, we succeed. The attacks are occasional. Controlled. The public never even knows."
He paused.
"But sometimes..."
The room felt colder.
"Sometimes the attacks aren't small. Sometimes the Asuras find a way to open a portal big enough for an army. Sometimes they coordinate. Sometimes they catch us off guard."
He pointed toward the door. Toward the statue outside.
"That statue you passed on your way in? The fallen heroes?"
No one moved.
"That war happened a few years ago. Right here. Asuras found a way in. YODHAs fought and died stopping them."
He looked at each of us.
"Some of you lost family in that war. Some of you are here because your parents wanted to make sure you could fight if it happens again."
His eye stopped on me.
I felt pinned to my seat.
"It will happen again."
The bell rang.
No one moved.
The teacher sat down slowly, suddenly looking very old.
"Class dismissed.
Students began to gather their things. Quietly. No one spoke.
I stood up, but my legs felt weak.
Fire. Ram. War. Father.
Mukund touched my shoulder. "You okay?"
I nodded. Didn't trust my voice.
Ruchi looked at me strangely but said nothing.
We walked out together, leaving the old teacher alone in his classroom, surrounded by paintings of gods and battles and a history that never really ended.