Rudra stepped into the secluded training room, the heavy iron bracelets still clinking with each movement. Instructor Surya was already there, leaning casually against the wall with a slight grin tugging at his lips.
"Ah, the walking dumbbell arrives," Surya said, giving the bracelets a quick glance. "You know, if we shine those up a little, you could start a new fashion trend—'Prison Chic: Warrior Edition.'"
Rudra wheezed out a dry laugh. "Can't say I'm enjoying the new trend, sir."
"Good. That means it's working," Surya replied with a wink. Then his voice turned serious. "Now, as you know, for whatever reason, you're unable to use your aura. That means we'll focus on what you can control—your body. Reflexes, raw toughness, and agility. The kind of stuff that keeps you alive before you get flashy."
He gestured to the four walls of the room. Rudra looked around and noticed numerous tiny pores embedded into the surface—dozens of them, maybe more.
"These," Surya continued, "are your new enemies. These pores will shoot out small pebbles—well, tennis ball-sized projectiles—at varying speeds and angles. Your job is simple: dodge them. The square you're standing in is exactly 100 square meters. Once you enter, the scanner tracks your position. You must dodge at least 80% of the incoming shots to pass the level."
Rudra nodded, stepping into the square.
A soft AI voice echoed through the chamber.
"Scanning complete. Level 1 ready. Commencing in 3... 2... 1…"
Then—SHOOT.
A blur zipped through the air, and before Rudra could even blink, a ball thudded into his abdomen. The next one cracked into his thigh. Then his shoulder. Then his face. Within moments, the blows came in relentless succession—no rhythm, no mercy. By the time the 20th projectile struck him, Rudra was hunched, breathing hard, bruises forming across his chest, arms, and jaw.
Surya let out a long sigh, crossing his arms. "Usually, we don't start this training until the second year... after students have gained enough agility to survive it. But for you? We're skipping ahead."
Rudra clenched his fists. He didn't argue. He knew the truth. With his aura sealed, he was already lagging behind his peers in cultivation—and he hated the feeling.
As the silence lingered, he suddenly remembered the mysterious man's words from the awakening cave.
"Fall as many times as you must. But if you want strength, get up every damn time."
Rudra looked up with fire in his eyes. "I'll do it again. And again. Until I'm capable."
Surya raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "Good. Then your task for this week is simple—pass the first level. Avoid 80% of the shots. You've got seven days."
And so began the bruising session again.
This time, Rudra gritted his teeth and focused—not on the pain, but the subtle air shifts, the hum of pressure in the pores, the rhythm of the machine. It didn't make him invincible, but it helped. A little.
By the end of the one-hour session, he had dodged a total of twelve balls out of two hundred.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the academy, Anika was in another chamber training under Instructor Maya—a flame controller. Maya, graceful but fierce, taught her the fundamentals of flame conjuration: heat control, stability, and intent-based burning. Every flick of the flame responded to her emotional pulse, and Anika found herself sweating not just from the heat, but from the mental strain.
Similar sessions took place across the campus. Every student was diving into specialized training suited to their abilities, guided individually on their first day after awakening.
Later that evening, as they walked home together, Anika glanced at Rudra and frowned. His face was dotted with swelling and light bruises, and one eye had started to darken.
"Don't look at me like that," Rudra muttered.
Anika went to a medical shop , bought a small vial and dabbed some ointment onto her fingers. "Hold still."
"I can do it myself."
"You'll smear it like a toddler," she shot back, grabbing his chin and tilting his face. "Don't throw tantrums. I'm not letting you look like a half-crushed tomato on day two."
Rudra sighed in defeat, letting her apply the balm. The sting was sharp—but the touch was oddly comforting.
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The next morning, Rudra jolted awake at 4 a.m., breath shallow and skin cold with sweat. That nightmare again.
It had haunted him for the past four years, an unshakable shadow that clung to his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't forget that day—the day after which he never again felt his mother's warmth. The day her love faded into silence.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, head low, letting the quiet sink in. Then, wordlessly, he got up, splashed water on his face, brushed his teeth, and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness.
He jogged toward the nearby park, a familiar routine now. The place was deserted, just how he liked it. No watchers. No distractions.
As his feet thudded against the path, he replayed the previous day's training—his failures, the bruises, the humiliating hits. To dodge, I need speed… and instinct, he reminded himself. It'll come. Eventually.
The air was crisp and still. Slowly, the first light of dawn trickled through the trees, casting a warm glow on the leaves. Birds began to chirp—soft, hopeful sounds that made the morning feel alive.
After some stretches and bodyweight exercises, Rudra returned home.
As he entered, the inviting aroma of freshly cooked poha greeted him like a long-lost friend. His grandmother stood at the stove, stirring gently, her silver hair tied back in a bun.
"You keep running before the sun rises. Are you planning to outrun the gods themselves?" she said with a teasing smile, not turning.
Rudra smirked. "Just trying to outrun my own weakness."
She chuckled and waved him over. "Eat something before it outruns you."
By 7:40, Rudra was out the door, school bag slung over his shoulder. As he walked down the lane, he spotted Anika waiting near the corner.
"Morning, bruised warrior," she grinned, eyeing the faint marks still left on his face.
"Morning, fire witch," Rudra replied with a faint smile.
They exchanged a few light words, mostly teasing, mostly sincere. Then made their way into the Academy grounds together.
By the time the clock struck eight, they were seated in their classroom. The door clicked open with military precision.
Instructor Aria walked in, her expression as unreadable as ever. "Good. Everone here," she said looking up. "Now let's see who stays awake today."