Chapter 7 Karn and Nitya
At twelve years old, Rudra was already known among the instructors. Not because he was the strongest. But because he learned faster than anyone else.
His movements were efficient. Controlled. Almost… instinctive.
"Your stance is off." The voice came from behind him.
Rudra didn't need to turn. "Karn," he said.
Karn stepped beside him, wooden spear resting lightly in his grip. His expression was calm, but his eyes were always sharp—watching, measuring. There was nothing flashy about him at first glance—no loud presence, no exaggerated movements. But the longer one looked, the more unsettling he became. His posture was always steady, his gaze sharp, as if he were constantly measuring the world around him.
Being the son of Atmika, the Soul Weaver, had shaped him in ways most couldn't see. Where others relied on instinct alone, Karn carried a quiet awareness—an ability to read movement, intent, even hesitation.
They had grown up together in this new world. When Aryavarta was still forming, When survivors were still scattered. Their mothers—Meera and Atmika, the Soul Weaver—had worked side by side, healing the wounded, holding what remained of humanity together and so, the two boys had never been apart.
Not during the early days of fear.
Not during training.
Not now.
"You're holding back," Karn said.
Rudra exhaled slowly "So are you."
A faint smirk crossed Karn's face.
"Then stop."
Rudra turned, and without another word, both he and Karn stepped into the sparring circle.
Nearby students paused mid-training, their attention snapping toward the two. Conversations died down as more gathered around, forming a loose ring. Even a few instructors drifted closer, arms crossed, eyes sharp with interest.
A low murmur of excitement spread through the crowd.
Everyone knew what was coming.
Whenever these two faced each other, it wasn't just a spar—it was a lesson. Their clashes were fast, precise, and unpredictable, each exchange revealing something new to those watching.
And just as importantly… no one mistook it for hostility. This was nothing unusual. Rudra and Karn had fought like this countless times—not as rivals driven by ego, but as childhood friend sharpening each other's edge.
"CLACK!"
Wooden blade met spear. Karn's thrust was direct, precise—aimed for the chest. Rudra twisted, redirecting the strike and countering with a low sweep.
Karn stepped back instantly.
"Predictable."
Rudra's eyes narrowed slightly. "You've said that before."
"And you haven't fixed it."
Their movements accelerated—each strike sharper, faster, more refined. Around them, other trainees slowed, watching the exchange.
"CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!"
Wood collided again and again, faster with each exchange. The watching students leaned forward, eyes wide, trying to follow their movements.
"They're faster than last week…"
"Look at that footwork…"
Even the instructors nodded subtly.
Karn thrust again—faster, sharper but Rudra didn't block and he stepped aside. A small movement but barely noticeable.
In that instant, Rudra slipped past Karn's guard, his blade stopping just short of Karn's neck.
Silence.
Then—
"...He won."
A murmur spread through the crowd. Karn exhaled slowly, lowering his spear and said "…You've improved."
Rudra smiled faintly. "So have you."
As the duel ended, the students and instructor began to disperse, still talking excitedly.
Rudra and Karn also turned and ready to leave the circle. As they were leaving soon a voice come from behind.
"STOP"
The word hit like a hammer, they both froze. They slowly turned back. A girl stepped forward, Nitya. The atmosphere shifted instantly as if something big trouble has come what they fear most.
If Rudra and Karn were respected—Nitya was feared. From a young age, her physical strength surpassed that of most children, and as she grew, so did her dominance. Her fighting style reflected her nature—direct, overwhelming, and relentless. She did not rely on complex techniques, she fight brutally with pure form of force.
Among the trainees, she was feared. Among her peers, respected. And among Rudra and Karn She was the only one who could match them… and at times, surpass them.
Karn immediately straightened his back and said solemnly, bowing slightly "My lady."
Rudra followed without hesitation "we seek your forgiveness"
Nitya narrowed his eyes "you forgot me"
Karn shook his head quickly. "Impossible." Rudra added, "Unthinkable"
Karn continued, perfectly straight-faced, "We were merely… preserving your strength" And Rudra nodded "Yes. For more important battles"
A pause.
Silence.
Then—
"…Idiots."
But her expression softened—just slightly. "Fine," she said. "I'll forgive you." Both boys relaxed—"On one condition."
They froze again.
"You're buying me food."
Karn blinked. Rudra sighed quietly. Around them, a few students almost laughed—but quickly suppressed it.
Nitya turned, already walking away. "Well?" she said without looking back. "Or do you want to fight me now?"
Karn immediately shook his head. "Food is good." Rudra followed. "Food is very good"
As the three walked off together, the tension dissolved. Behind them, the students finally exhaled.
"…They survived"
"…Barely"
"…Nitya didn't even hit them today."
Ahead, Nitya was already talking about what she wanted to eat. Karn muttered under his breath, "This is going to be expensive"
Rudra smiled slightly "For now… this was enough"
During those years, Aryavarta had transformed into something unimaginable.
What once began as a refuge of survivors had now grown into a thriving capital. Towering structures rose across the skyline, their designs blending ancient craftsmanship with newly developed technology. The streets were alive—lined with countless shops selling weapons, potions, cultivation tools, and advanced equipment crafted to combat the ever-evolving threat of monsters.
War had forced progress and progress had reshaped the world. Aryavarta was no longer just a sanctuary— It had become the greatest hub of power, knowledge, and survival.
By the time Rudra, Karn, and Nitya arrived at the food district, the atmosphere had shifted completely.
The sharp clang of weapons and training calls faded into something warmer.
Gentler.
The street was alive with sound—soft chimes of hanging bells swaying in the evening breeze, laughter echoing between stalls, and the rich aroma of freshly prepared food filling the air. Lanterns of gold and crimson light stretched across the street, casting a festive glow over everything.
For a moment… it didn't feel like a world at war.
It felt… normal. Alive.