The single thread of Prana in Ayaan's heart wasn't a gift; it was a siege. His veins felt like they were being filled with liquid lead, the heat increasing tenfold until his very skin began to shimmer with a feverish haze. He was a vessel too small for the ocean he was trying to hold.
I'm going to explode, Ayaan thought, his vision blurring into a world of red.
Suddenly, a cool pressure settled over his chest. In an instant, the Sage had appeared before him, his palm flat against Ayaan's erratic heart. The fire didn't vanish, but it calmed, receding like a tide. A wave of unnatural stillness washed over Ayaan, and he collapsed into a seated position, gasping for air.
"Master... what was that?" Ayaan croaked. "It was... too much."
"That was a single thread of the world breathing through you," the Sage said, calmly lighting his smoking pipe. "Prana is the song of the birds, the growth of the grass, and the strike of the lightning. It is everywhere, yet most men live their entire lives deaf to it."
"How long must I do this?" Ayaan asked, looking at his shaking hands. "And why me? With your power, you could have chosen anyone. You could have been the richest man on Earth."
The Sage took a slow puff, the smoke curling around his weathered face. "Money is just paper, kid. If a man is about to die, if a bullet is inches from his skull, can his bank account stop the lead? Can a mountain of gold buy a second of true life?"
"No, but... it gives you influence," Ayaan argued. "In my world, that's the only thing that matters."
"Then your world is built on sand," the Sage replied. "There are things far greater than currency. Things that cannot be bought—only earned through blood."
Thousands of miles away, the "world of sand" was loud and indifferent.
Sunidhi stood behind the glass counter of a high-end boutique, her eyes tired but focused. Where did he go? she thought, her heart heavy. He hasn't called. He hasn't texted. That idiot brother of mine... I just hope he's eating.
"Hey! Lady! Are you dozing off or are you here to work?"
A sharp, arrogant voice shattered her thoughts. A young man stood there, draped in designer clothes that cost more than Sunidhi's yearly rent. He was handsome in a cold, artificial way.
"Right away, sir," Sunidhi said, her voice humble and practiced. "How can I help you?"
The man, Jack Rivers, didn't look at the clothes. He looked at Sunidhi. His eyes traveled over her face, lingering with a predatory curiosity. "How long have you been wasting your life in this shop, girl?"
"A year, sir," she replied, keeping her gaze downward.
"Come with me," Jack said, leaning over the counter, a smug grin on his face. "I am Jack Rivers—the youngest son of the Rivers family. I can give you a life of luxury you can't even dream of. You'll never have to stand behind a desk again."
Sunidhi let out a small, amused huff. "The youngest son... yet so much noise."
She finally looked up, meeting Jack's gaze directly. In that instant, the air in the boutique seemed to turn to stone. Jack felt an invisible mountain slam into his shoulders. His knees buckled, and his breath hitched in his throat. It felt as if he were bound by spectral chains, staring into the eyes of a predator that could erase him with a thought.
Within the deep brown of Sunidhi's eyes, a faint, rhythmic gold began to pulse.
Jack's face turned paper-white. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over a display rack. Without a word, the "Prince" of the Rivers family bolted out of the store, his heart hammering against his ribs in pure, instinctual terror.
At the same time, across a crowded university campus, Ishani moved like a ghost through the chaos. Her long hair nearly touched the ground, and her blue eyes—hidden behind thick glasses—searched every face in the hallway.
"Where are you, Ayaan?" she whispered, the sadness in her voice swallowed by the chatter of students. Her eyes flickered with a blue light so cold it seemed to freeze the air around her.
Back on the Sun-Peak, days bled into weeks.
Ayaan sat like a statue. He had moved past the stage of simple breathing. He was now a sponge, and the world was his water. Blood had oozed from his eyes and nose so many times that the stone beneath him was permanently stained, but he didn't stop.
Suddenly, a sound like dry wood snapping echoed across the peak. CRACK.
Ayaan's bones were breaking and resetting in real-time, fueled by the torrent of Prana he was finally absorbing effortlessly. His body began to emit a dual glow—a fierce, burning red and a deep, regal gold.
Above his head, the air shimmered, and a halo of golden light manifested, casting a shadow that didn't belong to a boy, but to a giant.
The Sage dropped his pipe, his eyes widening in genuine shock. He had seen many walk the path, but this... this was different.
"Heh," the Sage whispered, a jagged smile forming on his face. "To receive the Ancestral Blessing just by entering the path... You're close, kid. You're starting to realize what blood flows in those veins. Just don't die before the transformation is complete."