Chapter 40: Return to the Arena
The morning light filtered through the curtains like golden threads, painting warm streaks across the floor of my room. I blinked against the sunlight, my body groggy and my mind slow to wake. My muscles still carried the memory of yesterday's rooftop encounter—the emotional weight of Uncle Anil's words and the bitter fire in my father's eyes.
I rolled my shoulders and stretched, every joint crackling in protest. My body was slowly growing stronger, tougher, yet somehow more burdened. I headed to the washroom and took a long, scalding shower, letting the steam peel away the remnants of sleep and doubt.
As I stepped out, the mirror greeted me with its ever-changing reflection. The eye-shaped tattoo pulsed faintly on my left collarbone, a silent guardian. On the right side now sat the newly-formed human figure sigil—still fresh, still settling into my skin. At the center of my chest, the main seal circle glowed faintly, etched in luminous ink as though a part of my soul was carved into it.
Seventeen seals to go.
I sighed and moved to get dressed. A simple black hoodie and jeans, comfortable but concealing. Underneath, I strapped on my bracers and shin guards—lightweight but durable, forged from high-grade composite alloys and monster chitin. Finally, I laced up the combat boots. Deep black, military-cut, crafted from the hide of a Rank 3 lizard. The pointed tips were made from the tusks of a Rank 3 Were-Elephant—monsters known for their ferocity and weight. The boots were heavy, almost 4 kilograms each, but I was growing into them.
I made my way down the stairs. Our house, a vertical mansion built on ancestral land, was both fortress and family haven. Ground floor—kitchen, dining hall, guest receiving room, and my parents' bedroom. My room was on the first floor. Raj's was above mine. Uncle and Aunt took the next floor, followed by Vikram and Arjun's shared floor. The fifth floor was being saved for Vikram's future. The sixth—father's study, his temple of research and thought. The basement belonged to mother—a labyrinth of potions, preserved monster parts, and forbidden knowledge.
Arjun was already at the front gate when I stepped out. He was dressed more colorfully—vibrant blue hoodie and sneakers that hadn't seen battle. His healer's satchel hung by his side, bulging slightly with supplies. He looked up and smiled warmly, as if there wasn't a care in the world.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded, and together we began our walk to the nearby subway station. The streets were bustling—morning markets, drones overhead, people flowing like rivers between the polished buildings of the Delhi Safe Region. The city always felt like a paradox—advanced yet primal, humming with mana yet still ruled by age-old politics and hierarchy.
The subway station was crowded. The moment we stepped onto the platform, the energy changed. Students—young, restless, weapon-toting—packed the train like sardines. Everyone headed to the same place.
Brahmastra Hunter Academy.
The air inside the compartment was thick with noise, motion, and the unmistakable scent of monster-hide bags, sweat, and oil from enchanted weapons. Students stood out in all shapes and forms—tall, lean brawlers with greatswords strapped to their backs; slender alchemists carrying reinforced suitcases that clicked with glass vials; quiet types with spellbooks; and others in guild uniforms, reeking of arrogance.
Then there was the corner group—silent, bitter, their eyes hollow. The Rankless. Non-awakened. I recognized their expressions too well. The blend of envy, resentment, and raw hope. I used to stand among them. Had friends among them. Had suffered with them.
Unlike them, I'd had protection. My family's name—respected, feared. Raj. My brother, my guardian. And friends. Strong ones.
But standing beside Arjun now, seeing their faces—I felt that old guilt crawl back in.
"You okay?" Arjun asked, noticing my silence.
"Just remembering," I replied.
The ride was thirty minutes. Long enough to sink into my thoughts, short enough for them to sting.
The train slowed as the station approached. The view through the window opened up—a towering fence lined with security drones, camera clusters, and defensive runes. At its heart stood a massive gate of pure electrum alloy.
Brahmastra Hunter Academy.
The gates parted as we stepped out. The path leading to the academy was paved in grey-blue mana stone, etched faintly with patterns that shimmered underfoot. On either side, sprawling gardens opened up into training zones—obstacle courses, sparring arenas, monster summoning zones, even alchemical testing pits.
It was alive. Noisy, intense, and full of purpose.
The main academic building stood at the far end of the path. Towering, square, eight floors tall—its full scale only hinted at from the outside. No student had ever mapped the entire structure. It was said that its rooms shifted depending on need.
Inside, the air hit like a punch. The scent of blood, potions, iron, leather-bound books, and cooked mana ingredients swirled in a storm of nostalgia. My mind drifted back to the days I wandered these halls as a ghost—an observer of a world I couldn't enter.
Now, I walked in with power burning in my veins.
Arjun's expression hadn't changed. Still calm. Still oddly detached.
"You're really going to fight Ross?" he asked, eyes scanning the walls as if expecting the other boy to lunge from the shadows.
"Later," I said. "He won't be here until after two. He needs a crowd."
Arjun nodded. "Good luck. Not that you'll need it."
He turned to walk toward the infirmary wing—his sanctuary of healing and herbs.
I turned the other way.
There was someone I needed to meet.
The true power behind the academy.
Ashwin.
Principal. Overseer. Guardian. And Rank 7 Domain Holder.
They called him the Storm Bringer.
Avatar of Indra.