~"Silence is not the absence of history—it's what guards it."
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Who is this person?
Why don't I remember him?
What does he want with me?
Ved's thoughts spiraled into chaos, each question crashing into the next like relentless waves against a crumbling shore. His heart thundered in his chest—not with fear, but with something far more disturbing.
Recognition.
Recognition without memory.
Familiarity without reason.
The boy before him stood utterly still. Calm. Composed. Almost unnervingly so.
And yet… Ved knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I don't know him.
He couldn't know me too, could he?
That realization—strangely—made it worse.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until it felt as though the world itself was holding its breath. Then—
It shattered like glass.
{Who is this ridiculous little brat?! Blocking Master's path? Does he have a death wish?!}
The voice didn't come from outside.
It rang inside Ved's consciousness—loud and resonant, like a temple bell struck with divine force. A heartbeat later, a second sound followed—a silvery chime, soft and radiant, like moonlight brushing metal.
A burst of light bloomed in his mindscape.
And there she was.
A small girl, no taller than his forearm, hovering midair like a spark trapped between dream and reality. Her hair rippled like strands of nebula, eyes blazing like twin stars of righteous fury. Celestial. Ethereal.
Absolutely livid.
Her arms were crossed tight against her chest, cheeks puffed, eyebrows arched dangerously low as she trembled with contained rage.
Ved's jaw dropped.
... Holy crap.
{Where. Have. You. BEEN?!}
He shouted, he asked the tiny figure hovering over him, angrily trembling.
{I transmigrated into this world three years ago—three! And you decide to wake up NOW?! After transmigration, demonic beasts attack, blood rituals, and watching me—your master—nearly die more times than I can count?!}
He reeled, mentally stumbling backward.
{I kept calling for you—screaming! Praying! There was nothing. Just silence.}
His voice echoed endlessly through the vast expanse of his consciousness.
Outside, Ved remained completely still.
To the gathered crowd, he looked like an unmoving statue—calm, composed, unbothered. But inside him, a storm raged.
The boy standing before him—tall, poised, and deadly in stillness—watched with those amber eyes. Cold. Sharp. Silent. He said nothing. Moved nothing. Yet somehow, he exerted pressure—like a question the world itself dared not ask aloud.
Ved's lips didn't move. But within, the storm churned.
Why now? What part of me had she been all along? And… where have they all been?
Outside, the stand-off continued—two boys facing each other like twin calamities moments before collision.
But only one of them knew that inside Ved's mind… something was stirring.
The little girl in his mind narrowed her glowing eyes, as if hearing his thoughts.
{You really don't know, do you?} Her voice softened, a rare flicker of gentleness breaking through.
But before she could answer further, the air around Ved shifted in the physical world—subtly at first, like the moment the forest stills before a predator strikes. Then, all at once, the pressure changed.
THUD!
The stranger moved—fast. Too fast.
A punch, clean and brutal, aimed straight for Ved's face.
But something inside Ved snapped awake—his instincts surged, and he tilted his body just enough for the blow to miss. The fist slammed into the tree behind him instead.
CRACK.
The old banyan split down the middle, collapsed with a groan of splintering wood and falling leaves.
Ved's breath hitched.
That... would've split open my jaw. But there was no time to think.
The stranger stepped forward again—steady, precise, deliberate.
And then—
"Hey. What are you doing?"
A voice. Light. Teasing. Almost lazy.
Devansh.
He strolled into view like he was late to a picnic, slipping into place beside Ved with his usual irreverent grin—half mischief, half warning.
His dusky blue eyes flicked between Ved and the stranger.
Sparkling. Sharp. Mocking.
But Ved saw it—the tension under Devansh's casual tone. The slight shift in his posture. The way his fingers flexed at his sides.
The stranger turned his gaze to Devansh. And for the first time, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Not friendly. Not amused. Familiar.
Ved felt the shift instantly.
They know each other.
Not as strangers. As… something else.
The atmosphere grew denser. Like old gods had turned their heads to watch.
The flicker between the two boys sparked—not with energy, but with history. Ancient. Unfinished.
Devansh's grin didn't flinch. "You always start with a punch, huh? Still rude."
No reply.
But the amber eyes locked onto Devansh with a stillness that screamed: I'm watching you.
Ved stood frozen. Heart pounding.
Who is he?
Why does Dev look so… different around him?
And why does every part of me want to run—or fight?
The truth settled over him like ice in the bloodstream:
He isn't here to learn.
He was here to measure. To challenge. To test.
Or… something else… something worse.
A presence that bent the world around it.
A predator wearing a student's skin.
And then—the whispers began to rise again.
At first, just one voice:
"Tejas...?"
Then another—louder, clearer, with awe spilling into each syllable:
"Panch Tatva!"
A ripple of murmurs spread like wildfire across the courtyard path.
"Is that really him?"
"Tejas! It's him!"
The name moved through the Gurukul like a gust of divine wind—soft, reverent, unstoppable. Students craned their necks. Some gasped, others just stared, wide-eyed.
Tejas.
One of the legendary Panch Tatva in the Gurukul.
Ved felt the name ring in his ears like a temple bell. He'd heard the legends before coming Gurukul—the mystical circle of prodigies said to embody the five primordial elements: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, and Ether. And now, one of them stood here—brown blond-haired, sharp-eyed, sunlight woven into skin.
Ishaan Malhotra. The radiant warrior of fire and command.
Tejas. A title bestowed upon Ishaan Malhotra, marking him as extraordinary.
Behind Ved, the crowd pressed closer, hushed yet electrified.
"You don't recognize the other one?" a student whispered. "That's Devansh Sen. Anant."
Ved's breath caught. Anant.
The title given only to those born with divine spark—wielders of raw celestial essence.
And until Devansh, only one soul had ever carried that name.
"That's the second member of Panch Tatva. He's from the House of Sen—masters of sword and mind-forging."
The air thickened.
But then—new voices, new confusion.
"Wait—who's that with them?" "I've never seen him before…" "Is he one of them, too?"
And suddenly—all eyes turned.
Not to Ishaan. Not to Devansh.
But to Ved.
He stood frozen. His spine straightened. His gaze steadied.
But inside, his heart pounded like war drums beneath his ribs.
The weight of a hundred stares pressed down on him.
Why are they looking at me?
What am I to them?
Who... am I becoming?
On the other side of the clearing, Tejas tilted his head. His gaze—once locked on Devansh—now lingered on Ved. Measured. Curious.
"You know him?" he asked Devansh, voice calm but laced with something unreadable.
Devansh's mischievous grin returned—softer now, more human. He glanced at Ved, then at Ishaan.
"Yes," he said.
He turned fully, facing the crowd, the wind stirring his robe like it knew something the rest didn't.
"He's not just anyone."
A silence fell—sharp, expectant, breathless.
Then, his blue eyes gleamed.
"He is—."
But before he could finish his sentence, the surroundings shifted.
Two powerful presences entered the courtyard—and the crowd parted like ocean waves parted before moonlight.
A hush fell.
Whispers, reverent and breathless, rippled through the gathered students like a sacred mantra.
"Kulapati[1] Vedanand…"
"Mahacharya[2] Dhanvantri…"
Even the wind seemed to pause.
At once, Devansh and Ishaan dropped into formal bows, and the rest followed without question. Heads lowered. Spines straightened. No command had been given, but respect was instinctive.
Kulapati Vedanand—the supreme head of Vidyānanda Gurukula—walked at the front, his every step echoing timeless discipline. His deep orange robes flowed like sacred flames, whispering ancient truths as he walks. Calm yet commanding, silence woven with every fold. His silver-streaked hair was tied high, his gaze unreadable yet aware of everything.
Beside him strode Mahacharya Dhanvantri—the revered sage of ancient ayurveda[3], whose very name whispered through healing halls across Vanjipura. His simple robes bore the scent of crushed herbs and sandalwood. Where he stepped, the ground felt blessed.
Ved stood motionless, heart lurching in his chest. He felt the pull—not of fear, but of awe, as if reality itself had drawn back a curtain to show him the two stars that held in this universe.
A part of him wanted to shrink back. Another part—something newly awakened—stepped forward.
He inhaled slowly, deeply, grounding himself in the moment.
Then, bowing low, he spoke—clear, steady, respectful:
"This shishya[4]... humbly greets Kulapati Vedanand and Mahacharya Dhanvantri. Shishya Ved is back."
A gust of wind rustled the courtyard trees just as his voice faded—as though the Gurukul itself had acknowledged him.
The two elders paused.
Something passed between the three of them in that silent exchange. Something ancient. Something yet to be named.
Mahacharya Dhanvantri's eyes sparkled—not just with curiosity, but with something deeper. Recognition.
Around them, whispers shifted—recognition dawning, turning to disdain.
"The last-ranked shishya."
"Barely passing for three years."
Ishaan remembered the name.
Disgust followed.
Ved swallowed.
Why are they looking at me like that?
A soft breath escaped Kulapati, laced with quiet wonder.
"Is he the boy who…" The sentence trailed off—unfinished, yet filled with meaning.
Ved stiffened.
Kulapati turned slowly his piercing gaze toward Ved. His eyes held no hostility, only ancient purpose, as though seeing beyond flesh and name into something buried in time.
Then came the words—gentle, yet thunderous:
"Are you the one?"
The question echoed like a struck bell through the courtyard.
The gathered students fell silent. Even the breeze seemed to pause.
Ved's mind rang with only question echoing:
Are you the one?
He didn't know. But the question still struck him like thunder. The kind that shakes bones, not ears.
Then the two elders were no longer focused on him alone. They turned to Devansh.
The entire Gurukul watched.
Anant—or rather, Devansh—met their gaze evenly.
The mischief in his eyes gone now.
No words were needed.
He nodded once.
That was all.
Kulapati looked back to Ved. His voice followed—soft, yet unshakable—like stone laid into the foundation of a temple.
"Shishya Ved. Come with us."
Ved's heart lurched. His eyes darted toward Devansh—searching for answers.
He received none.
Still, as if pulled by something older than memory, his feet moved.
He stepped forward.
Then—just as the boy and the two masters were about to disappear into the inner corridor of the Gurukul's sacred quarters—Kulapati paused, and without turning, spoke once more:
"Anant. Join us."
Without a word, Devansh—Anant—followed.
The four of them disappeared into the halls beyond, leaving behind a stunned sea of faces.
Whispers rippled through the courtyard like wind rushing through temple bells.
"Who is he?"
"What do they mean by the one?"
"Where are they taking him?"
"Why him?"
"Is he… something special?"
"No one's ever been summoned like that—not even Ishaan—Tejas!"
"Did they just called Devansh… Anant?"
"Who is Ved Arya, really…?"
Dozens of questions filled the air, but Ved heard none of them.
A door—closed—had creaked open.
He didn't know what lay beyond it.
But he could feel it now…
Like a whisper beneath the skin, like a thread tugging at the marrow of his soul.
There was no turning back. And Ved Arya was already walking toward it.
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[1] Kulapati: refer to as principal/dean of the academy
[2] Mahacharya: refer to as senior/great mentor of the academy
[3] Ayurveda: an ancient Indian system of holistic healing focused on balancing the body's energies through herbs, diet, and lifestyle.
[4] Shishya(s): refer to as student/learner of the academy
'Shishyas' is a plural form of 'Shishya'.