The path leading to the Ashvattha Vidya Mandala – Indranagar Branch – was paved with glimmering stones that pulsed faintly beneath the feet of Aryan and his group. After the confrontation with Ramesh and Kartik, silence had stretched between them like an invisible veil. Emotions stirred, but none dared break the calm.
It was Prateek who finally found the courage.
"H-Hey, Aryan…" he began, voice low and awkward. "I'm really sorry. You got into trouble because of me…"
Aryan turned to him with a soft smile, brushing his hair out of his face.
Before he could speak, Ayush clapped a hand on Prateek's shoulder.
"Don't overthink it, man. Aryan gets into trouble like it's his part-time job."
Abhishek burst out laughing. "Nah, not part-time. Trouble doesn't find him he throws it a welcome party!"
Even Prateek chuckled, the guilt on his face easing slightly. The mood lightened just enough as they reached the gates.
And there it stood the Ashvattha Vidya Mandala, a fortress of knowledge wrapped around the trunk of the mighty World Tree. Towering spires shimmered in the sunlight, etched with divine scripts. The gates themselves were massive, carved from stone fused with spirit ore, and lined with glowing veins of Vidya. The hum of power in the air made their skin tingle.
At the front stood a man, arms folded and expression unreadable. Tarun.
"Took you long enough," he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "Did you already manage to stir up trouble?"
The boys exchanged guilty glances. Aryan scratched his head sheepishly.
"It wasn't my fault! They were... aggressively annoying."
Tarun sighed and stepped forward. He reached out and twisted Aryan's ear without warning.
"OW-OWW! Okay, Uncle! I get it!"
Laughter erupted from the group, even from Prateek. Aryan's exaggerated flailing broke the last of the tension—until the ground began to vibrate.
A sudden gust of wind swept over them.
All heads turned to the sky.
From the clouds above, royal chariots descended like divine birds of prey. Each floated with grace, drawn by energy-beasts bound in elegant imperial harnesses. Guarding the chariots were elite Yodhaks, clad in armor that pulsed with elemental glow, riding on levitating battle pods.
The crowd at the gate fell silent. Eyes widened. Mouths hung open.
From the largest crimson chariot, a tall figure stepped down.
His eyes burned like embers, his expression sharp and unwavering. His flowing red robes bore the crest of fire Prince Shivam of the Agni Empire.
His aura was hot enough to make the air shimmer.
Then, from a neighboring chariot descending like a falling snowflake, another figure emerged Princess Shreya of the Jala Empire. Her silver hair fluttered like silk in the breeze, and her presence carried the chill grace of moonlight.
Prateek's jaw dropped.
"She's… like a goddess…" he whispered, eyes wide.
But he had spoken aloud and Shivam heard him.
The prince's gaze snapped to Prateek, his expression twisting into disgust.
"How dare a lowly commoner gaze upon the princess with such lustful eyes?!" he bellowed, voice echoing through the crowd.
Gasps followed. All attention fell on Prateek, who flinched, pale.
"W-What?!" he stammered. "I didn't mean anything! I didn't even say"
"Butler!" Shivam snapped. "Bring him here. He needs to learn his place."
A tall, grim-faced man stepped forward from behind the prince. His sharp features, aged eyes, and pristine black suit made him look more executioner than servant. The Butler, a figure feared even among nobles.
As he marched toward Prateek, the boy stumbled back
But a shadow stepped in his way.
Aryan.
He stood tall, arms loose at his sides but gaze locked onto the approaching man.
"What are you doing?" Aryan asked calmly. "You think beating someone over a glance is nobility?"
Shivam sneered. "Another dog with a bark? Then both of you shall"
Before he could finish, the butler raised his hand ready to strike.
Crack!
The motion was halted mid-air.
Tarun stood there, fingers wrapped tightly around the butler's wrist.
A sudden hush fell.
Tarun's voice came low, but it struck with the weight of mountains.
"Old man," he said, his tone thunderous despite the softness. "Remember this… arrogance leads only to disaster."
And then his aura exploded.
The earth cracked beneath his feet. An invisible wave of pressure swept out, silencing the crowd and making even the levitating Yodhaks hesitate.
A gust of wind whipped the flags on the spires. Loose stones trembled. The air itself seemed to pause.
Even the butler froze.
Shivam's eyes widened. For just a heartbeat—he flinched.
Tarun slowly released the man's wrist and stepped back.
"Let the academy decide who belongs here," he said flatly. "Not bloodlines. Not fear."
Aryan looked at him in awe.
Then, he turned to Shivam, a glint of defiance in his eyes.
"Looks like your royal ego met its first real wall."
Shivam didn't respond, but the fury in his gaze was unmistakable.
The tension between them wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
But no one moved.
The gates to the Ashvattha Vidya Mandala remained closed, the massive stone doors standing tall, as if waiting.
The crowd watched in silence, still shaken by Tarun's display.
And the butler, his hand still hovering in the air, stared at Tarun not with fear… but with curiosity and caution.
The world around them held its breath.
Because the spark had been lit.
And the fire was only getting started