The world was quiet.
Aarav was back in his old room in Delhi. The ceiling fan whirred rhythmically overhead, cutting through the heavy summer heat. He could hear the distant, familiar melody of a street vendor calling out and the low hum of a neighbor's air conditioner. The mattress felt soft, the pillow smelled like home, and for a moment, the nightmare of the palace was gone. He reached out to grab his phone, expecting the familiar glow of a notification.
SPLASH!
"AAAGH! SHIT! WHAT?!"
The dream didn't just end; it was assassinated.
Aarav jolted upright, his lungs burning as ice-cold water surged into his mouth and nose. He gasped, coughing and sputtering, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The stifling heat of Delhi was gone, replaced by the damp, biting chill of a stone-walled bedchamber. He wiped the stinging water from his eyes, his vision blurred and watery.
Riven stood at the foot of the bed. He looked like a statue carved from shadow, silhouetted against the harsh morning light flooding through the arched windows. In his hand, he held a large, empty wooden bucket.
"Training grounds," Riven said. His voice was flat, emotionless, cutting through Aarav's confusion. "Five minutes."
Aarav shivered violently, his teeth literally clacking together.
"Five… five minutes? Are you insane? You almost drowned me! It's still dark outside!"
Riven didn't respond. He didn't even blink. He simply turned on his heel, his dark cloak swirling behind him, and walked out. The heavy oak door creaked shut with a final, echoing thud that seemed to vibrate in Aarav's very bones.
"Unbelievable…" Aarav muttered, dragging himself out of the sodden bed. His bare feet hit the cold stone floor, and a fresh wave of shivers raced up his spine.
As he fumbled with a clean tunic, his hands shaking from the cold, he caught his reflection in the polished silver mirror in the corner. He looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked nothing like a powerful prince. He paused, his fingers gripping the edge of the dresser.
*Meera…* The memory of the farm hit him.
Meera's farm—how they would be waking up right now, probably making tea or tending to the fields. He felt a pang of guilt. *They think I'm a Prince… someone who can protect them. But if I don't get my act together, if Aris finds out I'm just a fraud who can't even survive a morning wake-up call… they pay the price.*
He took a deep, shaky breath, straightened his tunic, and headed for the door. *Five minutes. I can do this.*
---
Miles away, the sun was a sliver of gold on the horizon. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of pine needles and woodsmoke.
Meera was already at the well, her breath visible in the morning air as a faint white mist. The rope was rough and icy against her palms as she hauled up the first bucket of water.
CRASH!
"DIEEE, YOU FOUL BEAST!"
Meera jumped, nearly losing her grip on the rope. She looked over to see Rian sprinting through a patch of thick mud. He had a laundry basket jammed onto his head like a clumsy helmet and was wielding a crooked wooden branch with wild abandon. He was currently "charging" a very confused goat.
"Rian! Stop terrorizing the animals!" Meera shouted, leaning against the stone well to catch her breath.
"I'm training, Meera!" Rian panted, pausing to adjust his 'helmet' which kept sliding over his eyes. "Aarav is probably in the middle of a grand royal duel right now. I have to be ready! When he comes back for us, I'm going to be his General!"
Meera looked toward the distant, jagged spires of the Capital. They looked like teeth against the morning sky. A shadow of genuine worry crossed her face.
"A duel? I just hope someone taught that boy which end of the spoon to eat with before they handed him a sword."
---
The courtyard was a vast, open expanse of weathered grey stone, surrounded by high walls that trapped the morning echoes. Riven was already there, standing in the center like a silent sentinel. Next to him, a massive steel sword was driven deep into the ground. Its blade was nearly as wide as Aarav's torso, and the metal shimmered with a cold, unforgiving light.
Aarav stepped onto the courtyard, feeling tiny. *Is that it?* he thought, his pulse quickening. *My legendary weapon? The 'Excalibur' moment?*
"Pick it up," Riven commanded.
Aarav walked toward the weapon, rubbing his palms together. *Okay, Aarav. Think. Anime logic 101: The sword chooses the master. Just breathe, center your spirit, and pull.*
He gripped the hilt with both hands, planted his feet, and heaved.
"HNNNNGGHH!"
Nothing. The sword didn't move a millimeter. He leaned back, using his entire body weight, his face turning an alarming shade of dark purple. His veins were bulging, his muscles screaming, but the sword stayed perfectly still.
"What… is this thing… made of… neutron star material?!" Aarav wheezed, letting go and collapsing onto his backside, gasping for air.
"It is a fifty-kilogram training weight," Riven said, his voice dry. "You lack the Aura to even tilt it. I told you to pick up the sword."
Riven pointed a few feet to the left. A plain, light wooden practice sword lay in the dirt.
Aarav's face flushed bright red. The embarrassment was actually worse than the physical pain.
"I… uh… I was just checking the structural integrity of the floor! Making sure it wouldn't crack under my power!" He scrambled up, dusted off his pants, and grabbed the wooden stick.
He looked at Riven, who had now picked up the 50kg steel sword with a single hand, resting the massive slab of metal on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.
"Wait, wait!" Aarav stammered, pointing at the steel blade. "You're using that? Against this?" He held up his wooden stick. "That's… that's not a fight, that's an autopsy!"
"I wasn't planning on fighting you with this," Riven replied, his eyes narrowing. "I was warming up. You are currently not worth the effort of a real blade."
Aarav felt a spark of genuine irritation.
"Oh, really? Not worth the effort? Fine. Let's see if your 'Aura' can handle a little Delhi street-smartness!"
Riven sighed, tossed the steel aside, and picked up a wooden sword. "Come."
Aarav charged. *Okay, I've seen enough Zoro and Guts to know how this works. I'll feint left, roll, and go for the legs!*
WHACK!
Aarav didn't even see the strike. One moment he was mid-roll, the next his world was spinning. He slammed into the stone floor, the wind knocked out of his lungs.
"Again," Riven said.
Aarav groaned, rolling over and pushing himself up. "Yeah… okay. Just a warm-up."
He tried again.
CLACK!
Riven parried him with a flick of his wrist, sending Aarav's sword flying across the courtyard. Aarav stumbled, losing his balance and tumbling into the dirt.
"Too much movement," Riven critiqued. "You're dancing, not fighting."
"I'm trying!" Aarav yelled, his frustration finally bubbling over.
The next three hours were a blur of pain. Whack. Fall. Rise. Whack. Fall. Rise. Aarav's tunic was torn, soaked in sweat, and covered in grey dust. His palms were raw, and his muscles felt like they were being filled with molten lead. Every breath burned. Every fall left new bruises.
Finally, Riven slowed down. He moved in close, their wooden blades locking together.
"Stop using your brain to find shortcuts," Riven whispered, his face inches from Aarav's. "You are weak. Your muscles are brittle. Your 'knowledge' is just noise."
"I'm… trying… you… jerk…" Aarav panted, his arms trembling under the pressure.
"Feel the heat in your chest," Riven commanded, his voice sinking deep. "Stop thinking about the moves. Think about the warmth. Move it into your arms. If you don't feel the Aura, you're just a boy swinging a stick in the dark."
He shoved Aarav back. Aarav's legs gave out, and he slid across the floor.
*Heat… chest… move it.* Aarav closed his eyes, blocking out the stinging sweat and the throbbing pain in his ribs. He lunged one last time, trying to "feel" the power. Riven swatted him away like a fly.
"I'm a joke," Aarav whispered, his forehead resting against the cool stone. "I've spent the whole day just being a punching bag. Where is the power-up? Where is the transformation?"
The sun was low now, casting long, dark shadows across the courtyard. Riven sheathed his wooden sword. "We are finished. You didn't give up. That is the only reason I am not leaving you in the dirt. Go."
Riven turned and began to walk away, his silhouette long and sharp against the sunset.
Aarav stayed on his knees. He looked at the wooden sword in his hand. His fingers were bruised and blistered. His pride was shattered, and he was utterly exhausted. But as he looked at the retreating back of his bodyguard, a final spark of stubbornness ignited. *Not for the Prince. Not for Aris. For me.*
He stood up, his legs shaking like jelly. He didn't scream. He didn't charge. He just stood perfectly still, closing his eyes, focusing every single drop of his remaining will on that tiny, flickering point of warmth in his chest. *Just move… please… just once!*
He swung the sword at the empty air in a clean, desperate arc.
Riven stopped mid-step. He didn't turn around, but his eyes caught the change in the light behind him.
For a split second, a tiny, electric blue spark flickered along the edge of the wooden blade. It was small, no larger than a firefly, but it hissed through the air, leaving a faint trail of light in the twilight.
Riven's hand tightened on his hilt. He didn't say a word. He didn't even look back. But the silence in the courtyard felt different now.
Aarav didn't notice Riven's reaction. He just saw that tiny spark and felt a jolt of pure energy race through his fingertips. He fell back onto the grass, gasping for air, a wide, delirious grin spreading across his face.
"Yes…" he whispered to the darkening sky, his voice trembling with relief. "The legendary power… finally come."
He closed his eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep right there on the grass, oblivious to the fact that he had just officially started a fire he wasn't yet ready to put out.
---
Chapter end —