As Prateek called out, Aryan smiled and jogged to catch up. Together with Abhishek and Ayush, they stepped through the great gates of the Ashvattha Vidya Mandala.
The moment they crossed the towering, all of them paused in awe.
The place was alive.
Wide roads stretched across the sprawling campus. Stalls selling weapons, armors, and cultivation books lined the pathways. People bustled about—not just students, but ordinary citizens too. Merchants, craftspeople, and families lived here. Ashvattha wasn't just an academy—it was a city. A sanctuary built around the World Tree.
Gigantic buildings stood on massive tree branches, seamlessly blending futuristic tech with ancient spiritual aesthetics. Glowing vines, levitating platforms, floating lamps—everything added to its divine beauty.
"Whoa…" Abhishek gasped, his mouth wide open. "We get to live here for four years?"
Ayush nodded thoughtfully. "The energy here… it's thick. Perfect for training."
Aryan looked around with shining eyes. "So many strong people. This is gonna be fun."
Prateek clenched his fists, eyes gleaming. "Finally… my dream is real."
Just as the group basked in the surreal view, a cold voice pierced the moment.
"So you dare dream?" said Shivam, stepping behind them. Shivam's eyes narrowed every time he caught sight of Prateek. The irritation bubbling inside him hadn't settled since earlier that morning.
He still remembered the way Prateek had looked at Shreya eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped, completely mesmerized.
It wasn't just admiration. It was awe.
And that didn't sit well with Shivam.
After all, he liked Shreya.
Maybe Prateek hadn't meant anything by it. Maybe he was just surprised by her presence. But to Shivam, it didn't matter. Each time their paths crossed, that moment played in his mind again and again.
So now, even the smallest glance from Prateek was enough to ignite a spark of annoyance in him. He didn't show it outright, but his clenched fists and sharp glares made it painfully obvious.
To everyone else, it might have seemed childish.
But to Shivam, it was personal.
"I'll make sure that dream turns into a nightmare. A filthy commoner like you has no right to look at Shreya."
Prateek froze. Shivam's words sent a chill down his spine.
But before he could react, a warm hand landed on his shoulder. Aryan stepped forward, calm yet firm.
"What's with your pride, prince?" Aryan said. "Royal blood means nothing. Anyone can surpass you with effort. Drop your arrogance. You won't get far with such a narrow mind."
Shivam's eyes twitched in fury, but before he could respond
"Enough, Shivam," came a clear voice.
Shreya walked toward them, her expression calm but stern.
"You can't lash out at people just because they admired me. That's natural," she said. "And just because we're childhood friends… doesn't mean I belong to you."
Shivam stammered, "B-but Shreya "
"I don't want to hear it," she cut him off, then turned to Prateek with a soft smile. "Don't worry. You've done nothing wrong."
As she walked away, Ayush and Abhishek looked at each other and burst into quiet laughter, trying to hide it behind their hands.
Shivam, humiliated, clenched his fists in silence.
Just then, Kishor raised his voice, "Everyone, move to the main hall. The Legion selection ceremony is about to begin!"
At Ashvattha, students aren't just divided by classes or empires. They are placed into Legions , elite squads that train, battle, and grow together.
Each Legion has its own training methods, philosophies, and legacy. They act like houses or guilds a student's identity is shaped by the Legion they join.
Legions aren't based on elements or empire. Instead, they are chosen based on personality, potential, and the Academy's secret criteria.
The students followed him through large marble doors into a grand hall, vast enough to fit thousands. Glowing crystals hung from the ceiling like stars.
At the far end stood several teachers, all powerful warriors. But seated at the center was a man who drew everyone's gaze.
An old man with a long white beard and pure white hair. No energy radiated from him, yet his presence felt divine—like a god watching over them.He stood at the highest point of the academy grounds, his presence alone commanding silence.
He was the Headmaster of Ashvattha Vidya Mandala—an unshakable pillar within its ancient walls.
The only Deva-rank Yodhak in the entire academy.
His name was Master Rihan.
To the students, he wasn't just a teacher or a leader. He was a legend. A living embodiment of power, discipline, and wisdom.
Many dreamt of reaching the heights he stood upon, but few dared to believe they could. Because to them, he wasn't just someone to follow he was someone to look up to, like the unreachable peak of a sacred mountain.
Kishor and the others bowed. "We greet the Headmaster."
The old man raised a hand. "Welcome to Ashvattha Vidya Mandala, young Yodhaks."
His voice was calm yet powerful.
"You are the future of Bhoomi-Loka. This academy will shape you, forge you like raw metal into sharp blades."
He stood up slowly.
"Our academy stands here for over a century. Built by six gods who descended to prepare humanity against the demons. We must live up to that legacy. The training will be hard brutal even but you will emerge stronger than ever. Prepare yourselves."
His words stirred something deep in every heart.
Aryan stood tall. This is it. My true journey begins. I'll become stronger. I'll show them all what I'm made of.
As his determination flared, a soft voice echoed in his head.
"Hmm, that old man looks strong. At least the academy isn't in weak hands."
Aryan nearly jumped. "Oye, Master! Stop popping out like that!"
From his side emerged a small ball of wool his mysterious guide and companion.
"You really get scared easly, little man," Master snickered.
Aryan grumbled, Anyone would freak out if something popped out of their body without warning!
"How dare you call me a thing? You brat."
"You're a wool ball. And old."
"You're dead to me."
Aryan sighed. This is gonna be a long four years…
Just then, the Headmaster raised his hand again.
"Now," he declared, "we begin the Legion Selection Ceremony."
A hush fell over the hall. Everyone stood at attention.
Master Rihan stepped forward, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of thunder across the courtyard. The crowd of new students instantly fell silent, hanging onto every word.
"There are five legions within Ashvattha Vidya Mandala," he began, his gaze sweeping across the sea of curious faces. "Each one has its own identity, its own path... and its own secrets."
He raised his hand, and five glowing symbols appeared in the air behind him—each pulsing with distinct energy.
"Suryastra."
"The Legion of Glory and Firelight," he said. "Its warriors shine brightest in battle. Passionate. Fearless. Their hearts burn like the sun itself."
A faint flicker of flame and lightning rippled through the symbol too subtle for the untrained eye.
"Vishranti."
"The Legion of Mystery and the Mind. Known for grace and calm, their strength lies in magic, illusion, and the deep stillness of water."
Behind the symbol, a soft shimmer hinted at hidden currents and quiet power.
"Dharvaya."
"The Legion of Chaos and Potential. Wild and unpredictable, they move like the wind—free, fast, and always evolving."
Beneath their chaotic nature, a trace of lightning sparked and vanished.
"Kaalket."
"The Legion of Endurance and Time. Their warriors are unyielding, grounded like the earth, with flames that burn slow but never fade."
The symbol hummed with ancient power, its aura dense and immovable.
Finally, his voice dropped slightly, almost like a whisper wrapped in thunder.
"Sharvansh."
"The Legion of Rebellion and Fate." He paused for a breath. "They walk a path few understand. Bold, defiant… shaped by lightning—and something more."
The symbol shimmered erratically, as if hiding something beneath the surface. Something vast.
Master Rihan let the symbols fade into the wind.
"These legions will guide your growth. Choose wisely… or be chosen." His eyes locked with several students in the crowd, a knowing glint behind them.
And just like that, the silence returned deeper this time. Heavy with meaning.
No one dared to speak.
The weight of destiny had just begun to press upon them.