The evening passed quietly in the Rudra household.
The table was set with lentils, wild rice, and warm flatbread. Rudra and Ishaan sat across from one another, soft lamplight casting golden shadows along the walls. The meal was peaceful—ordinary, even—but beneath the clink of bowls and the occasional scrape of wood against stone, tension stirred.
Ishaan glanced at his nephew between bites. "You've been... quieter than usual."
Rudra shrugged, tearing a piece of bread. "Just thinking."
"About your friends?"
"Them, and more."
Ishaan nodded slowly. He didn't press further.
They finished in silence. After helping clean up, Rudra retreated to the backyard garden. It wasn't a grand place—just a small patch of earth with two trees and a smooth circle of flat stone, long worn from years of silent meditation.
He crossed his legs on the stone and closed his eyes.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Breath in…
The tension in his shoulders began to fade. He let the garden's silence settle into his bones—the rustle of leaves, the occasional croak of a distant frog. He wasn't thinking about strength or the Divine Path. He was just being.
But slowly, as stillness took hold, a question began to rise from the dark:
The dancer.
That divine figure of chaos and beauty. Destruction and order.
He hadn't seen it since the night after the ambush—but it never left him.
Now, with moonlight sliding between the branches, the memory tugged at him again.
Before he realized it, his body began to move.
Not deliberately. Not with discipline.
But like a leaf caught in wind.
A pivot. A step. A breath. A turn.
He didn't open his eyes. He let instinct guide him. He let rhythm become breath. His soul moved before his limbs did. And as the world around him faded, something strange happened.
It changed.
---
The garden vanished.
He was standing on a training field.
The scent of dirt. The ring of onlookers. The whistle of spar.
He saw Garek in front of him—again.
But this wasn't memory. It wasn't just vision.
It was real.
He felt his muscles moving. The pressure of Garek's blows. The sting of impact. But it was all… slower.
The same moment was unfolding—but now, Garek's attacks were sluggish. His weight shifts were visible before they happened. Openings screamed for attention.
It was like seeing through time.
Rudra responded instinctively. He sidestepped a blow, struck the ribs, ducked the counter, and—before he realized—had swept Garek's legs clean.
Garek fell.
And as he hit the ground, the world broke like glass.
---
Rudra jolted upright, gasping.
He was back in the garden. Wind tickled the trees.
Sweat soaked his back. His hands trembled.
"What was that?" he whispered.
It felt real. Not a vision. Not imagination.
He jumped to his feet and looked around.
Then, suddenly, he crouched—and swiped at a falling leaf.
He caught it.
The reflex shocked him.
He tried again—another leaf. Caught.
Again. Hit the bark of a tree without missing.
His perception was heightened. His muscles moved without hesitation.
But when he tried to enter that trance again—nothing happened.
The stillness returned. Ordinary. Mundane.
He sat back, breathless.
Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe his mind was breaking from pressure. Maybe—
No.
He looked at his hands. Felt the shift in his blood.
Something was different.
But tonight wasn't about answers. It was about action.
Tonight, he would break through.
---
What Is Prāṇa?
In the ancient texts, Prāṇa is described as the breath of creation—a triad of forces:
The World's Breath: Energy that flows in all things—wind, heat, gravity, life.
One's Life Essence: The spark of being—unique and irreplaceable.
Inner Alignment: The fusion of body, mind, and breath to become a conduit.
To cultivate the Divine Path, one must awaken the first ripple: conscious control of Prāṇa within.
It is not enough to feel it. You must command it.
And for that, a convergence is required:
Breath must be stable.
Mind must be silent.
Body must be whole.
Will must be unwavering.
Rudra had all four.
He sat again on the stone circle. Straightened his spine. Slowed his breath.
And reached inward.
---
The Breakthrough Begins
Stage 1: The Still Breath (Initiation)
Rudra sits cross-legged, spine erect, hands resting on his knees. The air is still, thick with anticipation.
He closes his eyes.
Breathes in.
Breathes out.
He does this until his mind clears like fog receding before sunlight. In this Still Breath, the noise of the world falls away. Even thoughts become shallow ripples. All that remains is rhythm.
Then… it begins.
A tingle beneath his navel.
A flicker of warmth—like a single flame in the void.
His inner Prāṇa has awakened.
---
Stage 2: The Circling Current (Energy Alignment)
Rudra focuses on the flame inside him, drawing it upward with his breath. As he inhales, it rises along his spine. As he exhales, it settles back into his belly.
He begins the Prāṇic Circle, visualizing a loop of breath-energy moving:
From navel → up the spine → to the crown
Down the forehead → throat → chest → solar plexus
Returning to the navel
Each breath strengthens the circuit.
The flame turns into a stream—glowing, flowing.
As it grows, his limbs begin to vibrate—first his hands, then his feet, then his chest. His heartbeat synchronizes with the current, every thump another step toward alignment.
He begins to sweat.
His skin glows faintly.
---
Stage 3: The Inner Trial (Resistance and Collapse)
Suddenly, the circuit resists.
The flame trembles.
His lungs lock. His mind floods with fragmented doubts.
What if he fails? What if he breaks something inside? What if this isn't meant for him?
Then comes the pain.
Spine cramps. Head pulses. Chest burns.
It feels like a cage is closing inside him—pushing the Prāṇa back down, trying to snuff the flame.
This is the Inner Trial—the moment where most initiates fail. The body resists rebirth. The ego fears surrender.
But Rudra does not stop.
He endures.
He breathes through the agony—even when each inhale feels like swallowing knives.
---
Stage 4: The Release (Threshold)
Then—
A snap.
Not physical, but spiritual.
Like a door unhinging.
The Prāṇa bursts through the resistance. His meridians, once dormant, ignite. They expand—widening to accept the flow. Old scars evaporate. His muscles harden. Bones densify.
His body is no longer the same.
He is becoming a vessel.
The pressure rises to a peak.
Then—
Release.
A burst of wind erupts from him in all directions, flattening grass, making trees tremble. The storm clouds above shudder.
His aura flares, then retracts like a breath drawn deep into the earth.
---
Rudra opens his eyes.
But he no longer sees as he did.
His senses are alive—each sound crisp, each color deep.
He can feel the air's weight, the earth's pulse, the heat of distant life.
His heartbeat is steady, deeper.
His breath now holds energy.
He clenches his fist. Strength coils like a spring beneath his skin.
He has entered Level One: Prāṇa Initiate.
---
Unbeknownst to him during his breakthrough
The skies above Doon City darkened without warning.
First came the silence. No dogs barked. No merchants shouted. Birds vanished from the air.
Then, a sudden gust swept through the city. Banners flapped violently, market stalls clattered. Old monks near the Temple of Wind paused mid-chant. Even deep within the nobles' quarters, windows shivered.
"It feels like a storm," someone whispered.
But there was no lightning. No rain. Just a pressure in the air.
In the Celestial Archives, a sage meditating atop a spirit-sealed pillar stirred for the first time in years.
His eyes blinked open.
He whispered, "The breath has shifted. A soul has stepped through the gate."
Above the city, a swirling eye formed in the clouds—like a pupil half-closed in thought.
It didn't roar.
It didn't strike.
It simply… observed.
And at its center, below the eye, in a garden forgotten by the divine—
Rudra awakened.
The wind calmed. The eye closed. The darkness lifted.
And the city returned to normal.
But something had changed.
And the world… felt it.
---
He took one slow step forward.
Then another.
And then—his body moved.
Not a dance.
Not a fight.
Something in between.
Each gesture flowed with grace.
Each pivot brought wind.
It was instinct—carved in soul.
He stood still in the moonlight, breath even, body alight with silent power.
And above him, stars blinked through the fading clouds, as if bowing in silent acknowledgment.
For tonight, a soul had taken its first true breath.
And the Divine Path had welcomed its next step.
---