The grand welcome ceremony had ended, but its magic still clung to the air like morning mist on sacred ground. As the final echoes faded from Grand Celestia Hall, students slowly filtered into the corridors of Triveni Gurukul-still glowing from the headmaster's words, their hearts buzzing with a strange blend of excitement and nerves.

  Laughter danced across marble floors. Holo-screens lit up with new schedules. Dozens of languages whispered simultaneously in passing groups-voices from across the four continents, brought together under one roof.

  "So... what now?" Aditya asked, adjusting the sleeve of his navy-blue jacket, still crisp from orientation.

  Krishna's eyes sparkled, his energy almost vibrating off the stone tiles.

  "What else? Let's explore! Maybe find a secret dragon vault-or a hidden treasure chamber. Oh! What if there's a room where time flows backward?"

  Arnav, ever the realist, didn't even look up as he tapped his wristband and summoned a flickering blue schedule projection.

  "Let's go to class. You know, like... actual students?"

  Krishna groaned, dramatically tossing his arms up.

  "You really know how to crush a guy's sense of destiny."

  Arnav ignored him, scrolling through the holo-display with calm precision.

  "First session-Martial Arts / Combat Class. Group A. Starts in twenty-five minutes. Anyone else in?"

  Pawan raised a brow, arching it at Arnav.

  "Didn't you choose Tech Theory for morning hours?"

  Arnav smirked.

  "Yup. But I want to see what kind of physical training Triveni throws at us. Besides..."-he glanced between Krishna and Pawan-"someone has to keep you two from dying before lunch."

  "Wow," Krishna muttered. "You volunteered for trauma. That's friendship."

  Behind them, Ashish swung his bag over his shoulder with a calm chuckle.

  "Honestly, I'm curious too. If the combat teachings here are anything like the ancient manuals I read in the archives... we're in for something intense."

  Their group nodded in silent agreement, legs falling into stride as they walked through the heart of the campus.

  ---

  Sunlight filtered through the vast translucent ceiling that arched above the main corridor-glass fused with enchanted crystal that changed hue with the time of day. It refracted light into soft pastel beams, casting gentle rainbows over polished white floors.

  Students passed in clusters-some discussing Vardaan compatibility theories, others exchanging spells and training tips. A few floated, others vanished mid-step and reappeared ahead. Magic pulsed in every wall, every plant, every breath of air.

  Along the sides of the walkways, rest gardens bloomed with flora unique to the Gurukul-plants that glowed faintly, whispered lullabies, or blinked like sleepy fireflies when someone walked past them.

  Aditya paused for a moment, spinning slowly to take it all in.

  "This place... it feels unreal."

  Pawan nodded, his voice quieter.

  "Because it is. Triveni doesn't just teach mortals or Devas. It prepares legends. You don't build that with classrooms alone."

  Krishna grinned, walking slightly ahead.

  "Then let's find out what kind of legend I get to be."

  They approached the gateway to the Combat Training Zone, and everything around them began to shift.

  ---

  The polished marble turned into aged stone tiles, worn by generations of warriors. The temperature subtly dropped. The scent of blossoms faded, replaced by iron, dust, and something deeper-discipline.

  Towering statues lined the entrance-ancient warriors, their eyes forever cast in stone. Some were human, others were otherworldly-multi-armed, horned, or crowned with fire. Weapons crossed over their chests. Magic seals glowed beneath their feet.

  As they passed beneath the arch, the space expanded into a massive, glowing dome. Within it: the Martial Arena.

  It was breathtaking.

  Multiple sparring zones were divided across the field-each hosting a different style of combat. Hand-to-hand. Weaponry. Tactical illusions. Magical reinforcement. Elemental control. Some students practiced in synchronized motion, others meditated in battle stances that pulsed with raw energy.

  A holographic panel floated above the center, rotating slowly.

  Beginner Combat - Group A | 08:00 AM

  Instructor: Master Nyra

  The name alone sent whispers through the students.

  Pawan's eyes scanned the field, his heart thudding with anticipation.

  "So this is it. Let's see if all that training in Nandgaon actually means anything."

  Krishna cracked his knuckles, eyes gleaming.

  "This is where I prove I'm not just pretty-I'm legendary."

  "This is where your ego fractures," Aditya replied with a smirk.

  Arnav tapped his device again, checking the time.

  "We've got ten minutes. Let's not get ourselves expelled before our first punch."

  The six of them stood there for a moment.

  Taking it in.

  Not the scale. Not the tech.

  But what it meant.

  This was the first battlefield. The first measure of who they were... and who they might become.

  Every great tale begins somewhere.

  For them, it started here-with open ground, open hearts, and the silent echo of battles yet to come.

  ---

  The Martial Arena buzzed with electric anticipation.

  Students practiced stances in synchronized patterns, their movements slicing through the charged air. Instructors barked instructions as glowing sigils lit up training zones, shifting the very terrain beneath their feet. The scent of polished stone and ozone filled the dome, mixing with the soft hum of energy shields and the distant clang of weapon strikes.

  Pawan and his group stood at the edge, marveling at the scope of it all.

  That is-until he showed up.

  "Well, well, well. What are you beggars doing in a place like this?"

  The voice was sharp. Condescending. And familiar enough to make Pawan's eye twitch.

  They turned to see Ravi Kumar, a second-year student, striding toward them with a swagger that screamed insecurity wearing confidence like a crown. His uniform was the same-navy and black-but the bold yellow jacket over his shoulders marked him as a senior. It fluttered behind him like he thought it was a cape.

  Krishna exhaled sharply.

  "Uh-oh. Looks like Ravi the Ridiculous is still nursing a grudge."

  Pawan folded his arms, already tired.

  "Krishna, you handle him. I don't have the energy to argue with decorative trash."

  Aditya blinked. "Wait-you know this guy?"

  Krishna smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief.

  "Oh, they know each other alright. Ravi thinks he's Pawan's love rival."

  Pawan snapped toward him.

  "What?! Are you insane? Love rival? With who?!"

  Krishna leaned in, whispering with mock secrecy.

  "You know who. That fireball girl. Always angry. Always glaring. Big sword, bigger attitude..."

  He paused for effect, then clicked his fingers.

  "Ah yes. Vyra."

  Pawan groaned, throwing his hands up.

  "Please. Me? Interested in that walking forest fire with a sword? She's a storm cloud in combat boots! A heatwave with a grudge!"

  He stopped mid-rant.

  Because the air... shifted.

  It dropped a degree. Then two. Then reversed-heat built, like standing too close to a bonfire.

  Slowly, Pawan turned.

  Vyra was right behind him.

  Her amber eyes blazed-not metaphorically, but literally. The crimson streaks in her hair shimmered beneath the arena lights, and her presence hit like a furnace wrapped in fury.

  "What... did you just say?" she asked, voice low and sharp.

  Pawan's throat tightened. "Wh-wha-what did I say? I-I... I don't recall...?"

  And then, like a devil summoned from chaos, Krishna casually stepped in from the side, smiling like a child lighting a match.

  "Oh, didi! I heard him very clearly. He said you were a hot-headed, broom-riding, tantrum-throwing witch. His words, not mine."

  "What?!" Pawan barked. "When the hell did I say that?!"

  Krishna shrugged innocently, now peeking from behind Vyra's shoulder.

  "Bro, you just said it. Don't deny the truth. Witnessed and logged."

  Aditya. Arnav. Ashish. Anand.

  They all stood frozen-watching with the horrified stillness of people seeing a comet about to hit earth.

  Why is he doing this?

  Has Krishna lost his survival instincts?

  Is this his new hobby-starting wars?

  Vyra's aura flared. The ground beneath her boots cracked. Sparks flickered around her fists, and even the air trembled.

  And that's when Ravi Kumar swaggered in again, flashing his most smug grin.

  "Hey Vyra," he said, flicking his hair. "Don't waste your temper on these first-years. They're not worth it. You could train with someone... better."

  Vyra didn't even look at him.

  "F*** off, Ravi."

  The words landed like a divine thunderclap.

  Ravi's smile died mid-air. Krishna's jaw dropped. Even Pawan blinked.

  "Did she just-"

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  But Vyra was already walking-no, storming-toward him. Each step was deliberate, her bootfalls echoing like warning drums.

  She stopped inches from Pawan's face, close enough for him to feel the rising temperature in her breath.

  Her glare could've melted steel.

  "Looks like someone needs a lesson," she hissed, "in how to speak to a lady."

  Pawan stammered, every ounce of bravado gone.

  "L-Look... this is a huge misunderstanding! Krishna twisted my words!"

  "Nope!" Krishna chirped from behind her. "Verbatim. Vyra di. I'm practically a stenographer."

  Vyra's eyes darkened. A spark crackled at her heel.

  Pawan turned to his friends-his supposed brothers in arms.

  Nothing.

  Aditya looked away, pretending to admire a training weapon.

  Arnav began tapping his holo-band like he was checking planetary schedules.

  Ashish flipped an invisible book open and read it like gospel.

  Anand was now very, very invested in staring at his shoes.

  Pawan groaned, shoulders slumping.

  "Great. About to be incinerated by fury incarnate... and my friends have staged a tactical retreat."

  ---

  Vyra's voice cut through the Martial Arena like a crack of lightning.

  "Instructor! I believe someone here is in desperate need of my guidance."

  Her tone was laced with smoldering restraint-a furnace sealed behind steel-and the moment the words left her lips, the atmosphere shifted. The energy in the air thickened, charged with a tension that made even second-years pause.

  Students stopped mid-motion. Conversations died out. The soft humming of the arena's ambient shields became the only sound for a brief, electric heartbeat.

  At the far end of the field, a tall woman glanced up from her holopad.

  Clad in flowing black-and-silver robes, her back straight as a spear and an actual gilded spear strapped diagonally across it, she radiated precision and discipline. Her long braid swayed slightly as she turned.

  "Vyra," the instructor asked with cool authority, "what exactly are you talking about?"

  Vyra didn't reply.

  Her blazing amber gaze remained locked on Pawan, and every step she took toward him echoed across the stone tiles like war drums. Each click of her boots was a countdown.

  She stopped just a few strides away from him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

  "Well?" she snapped. "What are you waiting for?"

  She raised one fist, her knuckles glowing faintly with searing heat.

  "Do I need to formally invite you... to your humiliation?"

  Pawan blinked, startled.

  His eyes darted toward Krishna, who was already edging away from the blast zone, whistling innocently with his hands behind his back.

  Krishna, I swear... I will repay this humiliation a hundred times over.

  Pawan raised a hand, attempting a peace offering.

  "Okay, look. I didn't mean anything by it. I was just talking to Krishna and he twisted the-"

  But Vyra's stare silenced him mid-sentence.

  It was a look that could peel skin, a warning that another word might summon fire.

  The instructor-Master Nyra-stepped between them, her expression unreadable but her presence enough to calm even aggressive mana.

  "So... the two of you wish to spar?"

  Pawan was quick to react, hands up.

  "No, absolutely not. I don't want-"

  "Yes," Vyra interrupted coldly, her voice low, controlled, and filled with promise. "He needs to learn the consequences of mocking fire."

  Whispers surged like a wave through the watching crowd.

  Dozens of first-years abandoned their drills.

  Second-years turned with interested smirks.

  "Wait, it's him! The guy from the freshers' test!"

  "Didn't he land on her head?"

  "She's gonna kill him."

  "Honestly, they've got unresolved tension. I'm calling it now-future couple."

  "Couple? He's about to be ashes."

  If Vyra heard the commentary, she didn't flinch.

  But she felt it-emotion, pressure, fire-and it only sharpened her focus.

  The sigil of Agni flickered faintly on her forearm, glowing beneath the surface of her skin like molten gold sealed under glass.

  Master Nyra sighed quietly, lifting a hand toward the central console.

  "Very well. A friendly duel may serve as a useful demonstration for our new students."

  She activated the arena's protocol with a flick of her wrist.

  A soft hum erupted beneath their feet as light walls rose around the sparring zone, sealing off a thirty-meter radius. A golden timer hovered in the air, ticking down from 60 seconds to start.

  "Standard training rules," Nyra declared. "No lethal force. Duel ends when one yields or is rendered unable to continue."

  Krishna, now safely behind a bench, nudged Aditya.

  "I take no responsibility if Pawan gets launched across the campus."

  Aditya sighed.

  "You did throw him under the bus..."

  Krishna shrugged with a grin.

  "Technically... he tripped and fell under it himself."

  ---

  The students now circled the glowing ring-leaning on stone railings, sitting on floating hover-cushions, or watching from marble benches. The sky dome overhead shimmered with a radiant golden hue, filtering beams of warm light directly onto the two combatants.

  In the center stood Pawan-shoulders squared, posture calm, but eyes flickering with silent regret.

  "Why do I always end up in these messes..." he muttered.

  Across from him, Vyra stood poised, the very image of controlled fury.

  She raised one arm, rotating her shoulder lazily, cracking her neck with a tilt.

  Then, without warning, her sword materialized-not drawn, but summoned. A flame ignited mid-air, then elongated, hardened, and shaped itself into a slender blade-pulsing with heat and shimmering embers. She didn't raise it.

  She simply let it exist.

  She didn't need to threaten.

  Her presence was the challenge.

  Pawan exhaled slowly, fingers twitching near his side. No weapon. No armor. No power active. Just wits and raw nerve.

  Alright... if I'm going down, I'll do it with dignity. Or at least sarcasm.

  From the center of the arena, Master Nyra's voice rang out like a bell.

  "Combatants-ready your stance."

  A pause.

  "Begin."

  Master Nyra's voice cracked through the arena like thunder on glass.

  In that instant, Vyra moved-no hesitation, no wasted motion.

  She was a flame unbound.

  With a flick of her wrist, three searing fireballs burst into existence, white-hot and blinding, cutting through the air like falling stars. They weren't just projectiles-they were promises of pain, guided with frightening precision.

  Pawan reacted on instinct.

  Years of growing up in chaotic village backstreets, evading wild beasts, tech bandits, and worse-it had taught him one thing: survive first, explain later.

  He dove to the side, rolling across the stone floor as the fireballs exploded behind him with deafening whoomphs. The heat licked at his jacket as he slid behind one of the arena's barrier posts, coughing through the rising smoke.

  Damn. She's fast.

  With a shimmer of blue circuitry across his wrist, a sleek Desert Eagle blinked into his hand-crafted steel, embedded with glowing symbols.

  But only one.

  His fingers twitched at the absence of the second.

  Right. Gave it to Nisha. That promise...

  He clenched his jaw, raising his eyes above the barrier.

  Across the arena, Vyra stood still, her face composed, breathing even. But her silence spoke volumes.

  She's not trying to kill me... but she wants me to suffer.

  Still crouched, he raised his voice.

  "Vyra-look, I know Krishna runs his mouth like a broken faucet, but I swear, what I said wasn't meant like that-"

  She didn't reply.

  Instead, another volley-five this time-arced toward him like homing meteors.

  Pawan ducked, letting one explode against the stone, then rolled and fired.

  BANG.

  The bullet screamed through the air.

  But Vyra didn't flinch.

  Her forearm ignited-the sigil of Agni's Blessing glowing like molten gold beneath her skin.

  With a swift upward slash, her flame-forged sword materialized mid-swing, cutting the bullet in half before it even reached her chest. The two molten pieces dissolved before touching the ground.

  Gasps echoed across the crowd.

  "She sliced a bullet..."

  "With fire?"

  "What is she?"

  Pawan gritted his teeth, narrowed his eyes, and fired again. Then again. A flurry-each shot angled high, low, fast, and unpredictably curved with trajectory modulation.

  Vyra moved like a dance of destruction. Her sword gleamed with every slash, every parry a flash of gold and crimson. Each bullet met its end in sparks and fire.

  She's toying with me...

  And she was.

  She could've closed the distance at any moment. Her footwork made that clear. But she didn't.

  She wasn't just proving superiority-she wanted him to feel it.

  The gap. The helplessness.

  With a single sweeping slash, Vyra released a crescent arc of pure flame.

  It roared across the arena, carving through the air like a blade of sunlight.

  Pawan dove-barely.

  The fire seared past, lighting the protective barrier walls in a brilliant orange hue. He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked from his lungs.

  "Tch-!"

  He coughed, pushing up with shaky arms-

  WHAM!

  A blur. A boot. A storm.

  Vyra's strike hit him square in the stomach, launching him backward into the magical arena barrier. It flared with energy as he collided, the impact reverberating across the dome. He slid down to his knees, coughing, clutching his ribs.

  Students winced. Even some second-years looked surprised.

  But Vyra didn't gloat.

  She stood tall, calm, her blade resting at her side-fire coiled beneath her skin.

  > She's not angry anymore, Pawan realized, she's disciplined. She doesn't fight with rage. She fights with purpose.

  And yet...

  He stood.

  Wobbling, breath ragged, but upright.

  "Alright," he muttered, "enough playing."

  He raised his Desert Eagle-

  -and it began to shift.

  Silver panels rotated, clicking and sliding with mechanical grace. Energy lines lit up, forming glowing inscriptions along the barrel. The weapon lengthened and reshaped itself-becoming a long-barreled phase rifle, glowing faintly blue, humming with restrained power.

  The entire crowd inhaled.

  "That's not a normal gun..."

  "Wait... that's not even tech-forged."

  "Where did he get that?"

  "Who is this guy?"

  Even Master Nyra leaned forward, brow tightening.

  "That's... not academy-issued."

  But only a few in the arena knew the truth.

  Pawan's weapons weren't from any forge.

  They weren't manufactured.

  They were living, evolving constructs.

  Born from the mind of Chee-an entity beyond human comprehension.

  These weren't just tools.

  They were extensions of Pawan's soul-bound to his thoughts, emotions, and essence.

  But even now... he wasn't trying to win.

  He was just trying to stay on his feet.

  Just survive. Make it to the end. Don't fall yet.

  He aimed, stabilizing his breath.

  Light gathered at the tip of the rifle-condensing, vibrating.

  Then-

  Vyra moved.

  Like a phoenix through wind, she closed the distance in a flash of molten heat.

  And the duel wasn't over.

  It was just beginning.

  ---

  Pawan steadied his stance.

  His chest rose and fell with controlled breath, the faint hum of the Energy Phase Rifle vibrating through his palms. The barrel shimmered with swirling blue-white plasma, locked and aimed at the figure before him.

  "Alright... you asked for this."

  He pulled the trigger.

  A piercing hum sliced through the air, followed by a blast of concentrated energy. The bolt exploded mere feet from Vyra, scorching the arena floor and casting sparks into the air.

  She moved.

  Effortlessly.

  She didn't block. She didn't counter. She simply shifted, her body flowing around the attack like fire slipping through cracks in stone.

  Pawan fired again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Each bolt of energy crackled with intensity, bursting across the arena like wild lightning. Yet Vyra danced through them all, her movements smooth and elegant-almost mocking.

  The crowd murmured behind the energy barriers.

  "She's not fighting seriously..."

  "She's avoiding him on purpose."

  "Is she testing him... or just toying with him?"

  Pawan's eyes narrowed. His hands trembled-not from fear, but from a dangerous spark of pride beginning to smolder.

  She's dodging.

  Which means... she's cornerable.

  He grit his teeth.

  "Now I've got you."

  His boots dug into the ground.

  He unleashed a rapid barrage-seven precision shots, fired with blistering speed and pinpoint focus. They weren't wild guesses. They were calculated, directed, and determined.

  The arena was swallowed by blue light and smoke.

  For a moment, everything stood still.

  Dust floated.

  Heat shimmered.

  He stared into the haze, panting, every muscle taut.

  Did I-?

  She stepped out.

  Untouched.

  A glowing crimson veil surrounded her-a defensive enchantment, pulsing like a heartbeat. The tattoo of Agni's Blessing on her forearm glowed softly, her sword now resealed into flame.

  "That all you've got?" she asked, her voice like cold steel pulled from fire.

  Pawan's face darkened. He raised the rifle again.

  But Vyra's voice cut through him.

  "Try something else."

  "Or I will."

  He squeezed the trigger.

  This time-she charged.

  A streak of red and gold, fire trailing her heels.

  She dodged the next two bolts with terrifying speed, her body weaving through the blasts like wind through a battlefield.

  And then-impact.

  CRACK!

  Her fist slammed into his gut.

  Pawan's breath exploded from his lungs as his body crashed into the barrier wall, the magical shield flaring violently on impact. He slid down, coughing, struggling to keep his vision steady.

  The crowd gasped.

  Some flinched.

  Others leaned forward, mesmerized.

  Vyra didn't pause.

  She advanced-again.

  And the real lesson began.

  A flurry of precise, merciless strikes followed. Blows to his ribs. His shoulder. His leg. Controlled, practiced-painful, but not destructive. Discipline cloaked in violence.

  "You think I'm mad because of what Krishna said?"

  A sharp punch to his side.

  "I'm mad... because you said nothing."

  Another.

  "You smirked."

  Another-this one to his thigh, sending him staggering.

  "You laughed."

  Her voice didn't rise. It didn't break.

  But each word hit harder than her fists.

  Pawan couldn't respond.

  He couldn't speak.

  He could barely breathe.

  His knees buckled. The rifle clattered from his hands.

  And then came the final blow.

  THUD!

  A sharp kick to his ribs sent him crashing sideways. His body skidded across the ground-and he didn't get up.

  Darkness took him before he hit the floor.

  ---

  Later - The Infirmary

  Cool air.

  Low ambient light. The faint, sterile scent of magical healing salves and freshly pressed linen hung in the air.

  Pawan's eyes fluttered open.

  A soft blue glow surrounded him-his body resting on a rune-etched healing slab, each line of script pulsing gently to mend bones and restore breath.

  His head pounded. His ribs ached.

  But he was alive.

  Well... not dead. That's something.

  He groaned and tried to sit up.

  Every muscle protested.

  The door to the infirmary slid open with a soft chime.

  And in walked Krishna.

  Grinning like a child at a fireworks show.

  "Bro... you should've seen your face when she kicked you. Glorious."

  Pawan winced.

  "Remind me to erase you from existence when I can stand again."

  Behind Krishna, Aditya poked his head in, arms crossed.

  "To be fair... she went easy on you. She didn't even draw blood."

  Krishna added helpfully,

  "Yet."

  Despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite everything-

  Pawan laughed.

  A short, pained breath. But real.

  The boys chuckled too.

  For a moment, the infirmary was filled not with pain, but with light-hearted warmth.

  But as the laughter faded, Pawan looked down at his bruised hands.

  At the still-throbbing memory of fire and fury and silence.

  And he knew-

  She'd gone easy on him.

  Not because she had to.

  But because she chose to.

  And that mercy...

  That mercy stung more than any flame.

  The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, leaving Triveni Gurukul wrapped in a dusky veil of fading crimson and deepening indigo. Twilight brushed across the rooftops like a painter's final stroke, and as night crept in, the campus came alive in a different kind of light.

  Soft, magical lanterns flickered to life-hovering gently over stone paths and nestled within flowering trees, casting a gentle glow that shimmered on the polished stone. The great halls of Triveni buzzed quietly, not with chaos-but with anticipation.

  Somewhere in the shadows of this ancient academy, Pawan Singh limped slightly as he walked beside Krishna, the sharp aches in his ribs echoing every step.

  "Did I miss anything?" Pawan muttered, voice low, eyes hollow.

  Krishna grinned and spun to face him, walking backward.

  "Bro, you missed everything!"

  With exaggerated flair, he slung his arm around Pawan's shoulders.

  "It's already evening. Only one class left-Magic. Honestly, I thought Vyra kicked you into another dimension."

  Pawan didn't respond.

  The pain in his body was real. But the pain in his pride cut deeper.

  He had fought.

  And lost.

  Utterly.

  I didn't land a single hit...

  I was useless.

  Without Krishna or Vikram... I'm nothing.

  His hands clenched slightly at his side.

  But before the spiral could continue, Krishna suddenly grabbed his wrist and tugged him forward with that same infuriating optimism.

  "Stop thinking. Start walking. Come on-we're gonna learn to set stuff on fire with our minds!"

  Reluctantly, Pawan followed, boots echoing softly down the stone corridor.

  ---

  The Magic Wing

  They stepped into a high-arched corridor bathed in sapphire light.

  This was The Magic Wing-a place that didn't feel built, but grown from some sacred design. Blue-tinted torches lined the walls, flickering with flames that gave off no heat. Ethereal runes drifted lazily in the air like celestial fireflies, glowing and pulsing with silent rhythm. The floor beneath them shimmered faintly with traces of old spells-residue of power long since cast.

  The moment they entered the classroom, Pawan felt it.

  Pressure.

  Not the weight of gravity, but something ancient. Something alive.

  The room pulsed with unseen energy.

  Students were already seated in wide stone rows, chattering quietly. Above them, transparent diagrams floated in the air-celestial wheels, leyline maps, and shifting arcane spirals.

  Even Krishna was stunned into silence for a moment.

  "Damn... it's like... the air's alive in here."

  Pawan nodded, barely registering the words.

  "You know we can't even use magic yet, right?"

  Krishna shrugged with a devilish grin.

  "Yet. Maybe we'll unlock something. Or maybe we'll just blow up a chair. Either way-it's gonna be fun."

  And then-

  Silence.

  The temperature in the room shifted. The floating runes paused. The torches dimmed slightly, as if holding their breath.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Delicate footsteps echoed across the marble floor.

  Every student turned.

  And she entered.

  ---

  Nisha

  She didn't walk-she glided. Effortless. Composed.

  Her appearance wasn't loud-but it commanded.

  She wore a flowing grey saree, paired with a black blouse, simple yet graceful, as if stitched from mist and moonlight. Around her slender waist was tied a single black thread-unadorned, untouched, yet unmistakably sacred. Her long black hair flowed down her back like liquid shadow, catching the faint magic in the air.

  Her skin bore a soft, ethereal glow, as if the moon itself lived just beneath her surface.

  But it was her face that stilled the room.

  Expressionless.

  Serene, yet unreadable. Beautiful, yet distant.

  Like emotion was a forgotten language.

  And then-

  She spoke.

  "My name is Nisha Pawan Singh."

  Her voice was soft.

  Crystal-clear.

  But every syllable echoed like sacred scripture in a temple built by time itself.

  "And from this day forward... I will be your instructor in the principles of Magic."

  The class froze.

  Even the floating runes pulsed once, dimmed, and re-lit-as if bowing.

  Whispers broke out instantly:

  "Wait-did she just say Pawan Singh?"

  "Is she... married?"

  "She doesn't look like a student..."

  "She looks like a goddess."

  "And she's teaching us!?"

  But in the center of the shock-only one person wasn't speaking.

  Pawan.

  He sat frozen.

  Still bruised. Still sore.

  But now-completely breathless.

  Pawan... Singh...?

  The words repeated in his mind like a forgotten dream.

  Nisha's eyes-unblinking-slowly scanned the room.

  And then... she found him.

  She didn't smile.

  She didn't frown.

  She simply looked at him.

  And held that gaze.

  For one heartbeat. Then two.

  Longer than necessary. Deeper than expected.

  Krishna, whispering from beside him, broke the silence.

  "Bro... tell me I'm dreaming. Did she just say your full name in front of the entire class?"

  Pawan didn't answer.

  Because in that moment, the air shifted again.

  Not from magic.

  Not from heat.

  But from something older.

  Recognition. Fate. A thread pulled tight.

  One brave girl raised her hand, hesitant.

  "Ma'am... what's your full name again?"

  Nisha didn't answer.

  Another voice rose up-Krishna, of course.

  "Yeah, Miss! Don't keep us guessing. If you're our teacher, we deserve to know more about you, right?"

  Nisha turned her gaze toward him, her silver eyes piercing and still.

  "My name is Nisha Singh. Pawan is the name of my husband."

  The class went dead silent.

  "I come from a hidden tribe in the Alok continent-one that has studied the nature of magic since the time of the first spell. I have been hired by Triveni Gurukul to teach you the foundations of what your ancestors once feared and worshipped."

  Her voice remained as still and cold as moonlight.

  "From now on, you may address me as Miss Singh."

  A storm of whispers exploded behind her back.

  "She's married?"

  "Wait... What.?"

  "Gods, how?"

  "No way. I had hopes-"

  "Why is it always like that."

  Nisha raised a single hand.

  Silence fell again.

  She turned back to the class and spoke.

  "Let's begin. What is magic?"

  No one replied.

  So she answered herself.

  "Magic is the art of reshaping reality through force of will."

  She stepped forward.

  "It can be drawn from three sources:"

  She held up a finger.

  "One-your own mana. The purest, most stable kind. Those who are born with an internal wellspring of power."

  Another finger.

  "Two-bargained mana. Power borrowed through a contract with spirits, magical beasts, or even ancient demons. It always comes at a price."

  A third.

  "And three-life-force magic. A forbidden form. For those who have neither mana nor a willing pact. In this method, you burn away your lifespan for every spell you cast."

  Gasps.

  A few students instinctively pulled back in their seats.

  Then, a voice from the back asked-

  "Miss Singh, what's the difference between Vardaan and Magic?"

  Nisha's eyes narrowed. She didn't speak.

  She simply raised her hand-

  And snapped her fingers.

  In the blink of an eye, every student vanished from their seats.

  The classroom was gone.

  They were falling.

  Plunging from the sky high above Triveni Gurukul.

  Screams rang out.

  Students flailed helplessly in the air.

  "WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"

  "MISS SINGH! HELP!"

  "WHAT IS THIS!?"

  Wind roared past them.

  Until suddenly-they stopped.

  Suspended mid-air, floating weightlessly.

  Dozens of students hung above the campus like stars scattered in a dream. No one had seen a magic circle. No incantation. No preparation.

  Nisha floated calmly in the air, arms folded.

  "Magic," she said, her voice echoing into the wind, "is a tool. It follows rules."

  She raised her hand.

  "Vardaan is something else entirely. It is the divine will made manifest. A blessing-not crafted, not studied. But bestowed."

  "You earn magic through effort. You are chosen for a Vardaan."

  She opened her palm again-and with a blink of silver light, every student was back in the classroom.

  Back in their chairs.

  Not a single one of them remembered the landing. But their hearts pounded. Their minds raced.

  Krishna leaned over to Pawan and whispered,

  "Dude... she nearly killed us just to make a point..."

  Behind them, another student mumbled,

  "We better never make Miss Singh angry."

  A beat of silence passed.

  Nisha turned back to the chalkboard as if nothing had happened.

  "Now... let's begin your first spell."

  To be continued....

  ---