~"They entered with light in their eyes—but shadows walked beside them."
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The following morning sun filtered through the massive canopy of banyan trees that lined the ancient stone path, their tangled aerial roots swaying gently like hanging scrolls inscribed by time. The air carried the crisp scent of dewdrops resting on moss and bark—a fragrance that whispered of timeless knowledge, discipline, and secrets buried in silence.
Ahead stood the grand gates of Vidyānanda Gurukula, one of the oldest and most prestigious institutions of learning in Vanjipura, part of the Rajvansh Samrajya.
Forged from celestial brass, the gates bore the marks of the ancients—glyphs and yantras etched into its surface with such intricacy that they seemed to shimmer and breathe in the light. At the very center of the arch, the sacred motto of the Gurukula gleamed in raised golden script:
"Yatra jñānaṁ tatra amṛtam"[1]
Then, with a slow, resonant groan, the great gates began to open.
The brass shifted, casting dappled reflections across the stone floor like ripples in a pond. From the misty bend of the road ahead, two figures emerged—shadows that grew clearer with each step.
Two boys.
One had long, oreo-colored hair, neatly braided, catching sunlight like midnight silk dipped in silver. His gait held a quiet confidence, though mischief danced at the corners of his eyes.
The other—slightly taller—had short, jade-black hair that glowed faintly in the morning light. His turquoise eyes held a serenity far beyond his years, like calm lakes that had seen storms and remembered stillness.
Clad in matching cyber-yellow uniforms stitched with glowing indigo runes, they appeared both foreign and familiar—a harmony of ancient dharma and futuristic craft. Though not born of the same blood, their bond ran deeper than most brothers—one forged through scars, survival, and shared silences.
As they walked side by side toward the gates, a hush fell over some of the senior students watching from the sidelines. Whispers bloomed.
"Who is he?"
"Is he... from the border camps?"
"But the guy with the silver-black hair... he doesn't look like someone from the border camps. And not a beginner either."
Unbothered by the attention, the black-haired boy sighed, glancing sideways with an expression that mixed fondness, exasperation, and just a hint of elder-brotherly trauma.
"You have no idea how worried I was."
His voice was soft but sharp, like a silk thread pulled taut.
"First, you blew up the Aushadhi Shala[2] at home—two months before we were due to arrive at Gurukul. The explosion left your legs so mangled, you couldn't walk for weeks. And when you did get back up…"
He winced dramatically.
"You moved like a newborn deer on a frozen pond. I had to carry you half the time just to get down the corridor."
The oreo-haired boy chuckled, scratching the back of his head.
"I was testing the effects of pressure-altered Soma[3] roots in volatile containment runes. It was a research accident. Happens."
"Accident? You blew a thirty-foot hole through reinforced stone walls. The herb chamber laboratory still smells like singed basil and regret."
The black-haired boy wasn't done.
"And then—just as your legs finally healed—few months later, you vanished. No letters. No messages. No soul transmission. Not a word."
His voice cracked slightly on the last part.
"We didn't know if you were alive. The only news, we got about you came through scattered reports from—"
The younger boy quickly covered his mouth, beads of sweat trickling down his temples.
"Shh~ Please, Dev! I get it. You were worried. Can we not draw attention to how much you were worried? ...I didn't think it is good to talk here."
The pause that followed was long.
Then, softly, the black-haired boy, Devanand Sen, reached out, adjusting the younger's collar like an older sibling who didn't know how to say "I'm glad you're back" with words.
He smiled, playfully brushing his hand away.
"Just don't disappear again. Or at least leave a letter next time."
And hit the boy's forehead lightly. Ouch~!
The gates of Vidyānanda Gurukula now stood fully open.
And as the two boys crossed the threshold, their shadows stretched long behind them—carrying stories, secrets, and scars not yet revealed.
Devanand stepped back, his turquoise eyes sparkling mischievously.
"But I still remember! When you walked three years ago after the accident, it was like this…"
He began mimicking the younger boy's awkward gait from years ago.
The boy chuckled despite himself, his black eyes warm with amusement, his laughter echoing softly against the stone walls.
"Okay. Okay, enough. From now on, I'm—"
The boy began, hoping to stop Devanand from teasing him any further.
"I know, I know," Devanand interrupted. "You're Ved Arya now." Finishing his sentence playfully, Devanand said.
They walked deeper into the Gurukul grounds, unaware that whispers followed their every step.
Nearby, an ever-living flame burned, held within a floating sapphire prism—said to have been lit by the founder Rishi Dīptānanda himself, centuries ago.
The scent of incense mingled with the soft rustle of leaves. Students strolled in clusters, carrying scrolls or sparring swords, but their attention subtly shifted.
"Do you think we should try talking to them?"
"Oh, please! That'd be so embarrassing."
But the murmurs weren't out of admiration—they were taunts, half-hidden behind smug grins and sideways glances.
Though family was forbidden within the walls of the Gurukul... the aura they carried—and the way others sense it—couldn't be hidden.
The divide between nobility and commoners... that deep-rooted sense of social rank... still lingered in everyone's minds. It couldn't be erased so easily.
Ved heard the scoffs, and sneakily glanced back with a sly smirk.
>How childish! He thought.
"Hey, I wonder what kind of person the missing heir—young master Chauhan—really is?"
"Some say he was kidnapped in his early years and still hasn't been found."
"Others say he was found, but never appears publicly—not even ones sponsored by the imperial family."
"I think, he's the same age as us this year."
"Oh yeah! Then there's that other teen—Dev Narayan—walks the same aloof path."
"Yeah, I heard he's a portion genius... terrifyingly talented."
"He entered the battlefield at twelve!"
"For what? A monster who drained his own comrades to survive? Doesn't even have the guts to show his face in public. What's so majestic in that?"
"Wait, is he really that scary?"
After hearing the gossip—Ved froze, his expression dimming.
The gossip darkened further.
A cold-blooded teen...
Rumored to have made a pact with a devil...
Extracted life force from comrades...
Shuns society...
Infamous for his hidden face...
So ugly, even children fear him...
All the modifiers exist around Dev Narayan, the young prodigy.
The blood-masked prodigy.
Ved felt heaviness in his chest. His steps faltered.
Devananda felt it instantly.
The air tightened.
The moment froze.
"Ah… here we go again." He muttered, half-amused, half-exasperated. "That feeling's back."
His aura shifted—from relaxed to lethal in the blink. Like a silent blade unsheathed.
A deadly presence now radiated from him as he turned to face the mockers.
Calm.
Terrifying.
Like a storm wearing human skin.
Ved smiled wryly beside him.
Grateful.
Protected.
Not by blood… but by something far deeper.
The mocking students gasped—choked—as if the air had thickened.
Ved blinked.
>Wait... this pressure... this isn't justDev's...
Whose pressures arethose? Wow, so high!
He looked around—but the source remained hidden.
>But the pressure the boys felt from Dev was nothing compared to the unknown pressures. There's more… stronger… comforting to me—but suffocating to them. Who's helping us?
The mockers sent stumbling backward and were holding their necks in their hands, grasped for air. They dropped to their knees in front of the Gurukul gate route.
Passersby stared.
Ashamed.
The boys clicked their tongues in disbelief, and muttered through dry lips.
Tsk~ "We're… sorry for our actions... We... beg... for mercy... We won't... mock on others' back... Please have mercy..."
They thought the strong pressure they felt was coming from Ved. He was standing behind Devanand after all—mysterious and unreadable.
Ved gently touched Devanand's shoulder. A silent signal: Let it go.
As soon as the pressure was lifted, the breathless mockers were gasping in relief.
"Next time," Ved said coldly, "there might not be mercy."
The pair nodded frantically—faces pale, as Ved and Devanand walked away.
Behind a tree, a voice sneered:
"Useless. Can't even humiliate a nobody properly."
Then vanished into the crowd of students.
Meanwhile, taking advantage of the unknown protectors who helped them solve the problem—Ved took the lead silently without anyone notice.
He and Devanand made their way towards dorms.
>I sensed there was another presence—
>No, multiple. Four of them.
>Stronger.
>Older.
>Four pressures... stronger than Dev's. No one else noticed. Except me.
Ved glanced back, a half-smile on his lips.
>Looks like you have messed with the wrong people which you shouldn't have to offend.
And then, a thought gripped him—a foreign, fragile warmth:
>Is this... what it feels like to be protected?
He touched his chest unconsciously.
But a sudden thought struck him:
>Wait, these pressures are... Are they…?
He looked back with a deadly side glaze.
>What are they doing here?
>What if... someone else have noticed them too?
He clinched his fist as he and Devanand continued down the Gurukul path.
The moment shattered.
A commotion rippled across the path ahead.
Students stepped aside like parting waves.
"Panch Tatva!"[4]
"They're here!"
"The elemental sovereigns of the Gurukul!"
"Step aside!"
"Hurry up and make way for Panch Tatva members!"
"Make way, make way!"
Gasps of awe followed across the young teen boys.
Panch Tatva members didn't walk—they glided. Their presence alone made the air feel crisper.
Ved who was preoccupied by his thoughts previously can even feel the sudden rise in gossip.
>Panch Tatva—a group of five elite students, each one possessing extraordinary beauty, power, and prestige. It is also the most famously known members in the Gurukul.
He looked at the two Panch Tatva members and Devanand. A sudden thought struck in his mind.
>Wait… if I remember correctly, Devanand is also part of the Panch Tatva…
Ved felt a pang of something. Unease. Distance. Instinct.
>I don't like this feeling. This group... something's off.
And so, he did what his gut told him—step away.
>Better to stay out of the spotlight.
>Life matters the most.
Away from attention. Away from power.
But as fate would have it—his foot caught a loose pebble.
THUD!
Ved crashed forward—face-first—into something solid.
>Ouch~ My nose!
His nose throbbed. Pain radiated across his cheek. A broad hand steadied him.
"You, okay?" A voice asked—deep and smooth like cooled obsidian.
Ved grunted. "I… I think so." He rubbed his nose. "Thanks…"
And then looked up.
His hand was still resting on the stranger's chest.
"Oh gods—sorry! I didn't mean—!"
But the stranger didn't blink.
He studied Ved like a puzzle. Not angry. Just... curious.
"You don't belong here, do you?" he said, tone unreadable.
Ved took a step back—narrowed eyes, and turned to the other side to leave the area.
"Strange… I haven't heard of you. Or seen you at any orientation." But the boy stepped forward once more. "Or do you slip through orientation like a ghost?"
Ved looked to the side.
"Already dodging questions?" the boy stepped forward again. "That's not the Gurukul way."
Ved narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
{Who is this crazy boy? Dare to block the master's path?}
A voice echoed from nowhere.
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[1] Yatra jñānaṁ tatra amṛtam: Where knowledge dwells, there lies immortality.
[2] Aushadhi Shala: Aushadhi Shala means
"Herbal Laboratory" or "Medicine Hall"
An herbal alchemy lab or medicine hall within the Gurukula or family houses, where medicinal experiments, healing studies, and herbal brews are conducted—often combining ancient Ayurveda with mystical sciences.
[3] Soma: A rare and potent mystical herb, historically associated with divine rituals and heightened states of consciousness. In this world, Soma is also a volatile alchemical catalyst used in energy, healing, and warfare potions—reactive to runes, moon phases, and emotional states.
[4] Panch Tatva: "Panch Tatva" means:
"Five Elements".