Inside the Raghavan household, however, life was anything but normal.
Sania, now riding high on her "I'm a magic user now" arc, had declared herself a "Nature Knight in Training" and tied vines around her head like a crown. She pranced around the hut with arms outstretched, commanding nearby plants to wiggle—which they did not, but it didn't stop her.
"I am one with the leaves! I am the future of flora!" she declared.
Rohan, hunched over the "Introduction to Energies" book, flipped through pages with the growing fury of someone hunting for the cheat codes to life. "I don't get it. I've tried meditation, breathing techniques, even asking nicely."
"The Urja does not respond to whining," Sania said sagely, sipping milk with pinky raised.
"Then I'm doomed."
Meanwhile, Kaira—professional observer, secret energy manipulator, and nap-level genius—remained the picture of infant innocence. She lay peacefully on her charpai, staring blankly at the ceiling like a baby contemplating whether stars were edible.
But in reality?
She was reviewing last night's reconnaissance footage.
"Vine cluster… glowing mushrooms… energy pulse irregularities… that weird floating rabbit again…"
With a casual thought, she summoned her mental interface and began syncing the observations to Pikku's internal storage. The forest was changing, and though the adults hadn't seen the signs, she could feel it. Something was moving beneath the roots of Jīvāvana.
"Maybe even the forest itself is waking up," she thought.
As she processed these findings, Meera walked into the room, brushing her hands on her apron.
"Breakfast's ready!" she called cheerfully.
Sania and Rohan bolted to the table with the speed of two rival food critics. Kaira was gently picked up and placed in Meera's lap with a soft kiss on the forehead.
"Aren't you the quietest baby in the world?" Meera whispered.
Kaira smiled innocently.
If only she knew.
Later that day, word spread that the expedition team had left for Jīvāvana. Teacher Samira, cloaked in her usual serene calm, led the group of warriors and energy practitioners toward the forest's edge.
Kaira had no plans of being left behind this time—not physically, of course, because baby legs weren't exactly built for jungle trekking—but mentally?
She was already ahead.
"Pikku, Mark-7, online," she whispered in her mind.
The bird shimmered into wakefulness and launched into the sky, soaring above the trees. Kaira's mind rode behind her, sharp and alert.
The upgraded vision sharing gave her a crystal-clear view of the team below. Teacher Samira's staff gently pulsed with light as they walked, her footsteps slow but deliberate.
The four warriors flanked her on both sides—each dressed in modest armor, armed with spears and swords laced with Bala energy. Behind them walked the two Shaktipātha users, their presence radiant, peaceful. But the last one—the Viryapātha user in black robes—he gave off a chill. Even from this height, Kaira could sense the sharpness of his aura.
"Note: That one's spooky," she murmured.
Pikku dipped slightly, descending into the first layer of the forest canopy. Leaves brushed against her enhanced feathers, but she made no sound—completely invisible to even the trained eyes of the warriors.
Below, the forest was whispering again.
Not with words. But with presence.
Kaira could sense it now that she was paying attention—Urja in the air wasn't flowing in smooth patterns anymore. It surged, then paused. Fluctuated like the forest was… breathing.
Suddenly, movement caught her eye. In the clearing up ahead, something was glowing faintly beneath the moss.
Kaira zoomed in through Pikku's lens. It was a small stone, half-buried in soil, marked with runes.
"Wait… that wasn't there last time," she thought.
The expedition team stopped too, having noticed it. Teacher Samira knelt down, examining the artifact. Even from the air, Kaira saw her frown deepen.
Something wasn't right.
The Viryapātha user stepped forward and extended his hand—but Teacher Samira quickly held up hers, stopping him.
"No," she said, voice firm. "We don't touch things we don't understand."
"But I do understand it," the man replied, his voice like smoke. "This is a remnant. Left by something very old. Something still present."
Kaira's mental alarm bells rang. "Pikku, back away. Don't get too close."
But it was too late.
The ground near the rune-stone trembled—faint, like a breath. Then the moss burst upward.
A glowing root—alive, covered in symbols—shot from the soil, twisting toward the black-robed man. He reacted swiftly, summoning a dark shield of energy, but the root struck it with a crackling sound, nearly knocking him backward.
The warriors leapt into formation. Samira raised her staff. The two Shaktipātha users linked arms, chanting softly.
The forest had responded.
Not with hostility… but with warning.
Pikku soared higher, retreating to a safer altitude.
Back in Amritpura, Kaira's baby body twitched lightly. Her breath came short as she disconnected from the high-energy mental stream. She blinked a few times, sweat forming at her brow.
"That… wasn't a natural defense mechanism," she thought. "That was… aware."
She stared at the wooden beams above her, letting her tiny lungs catch up.
Jīvāvana was no ordinary forest anymore. It was changing. Awakening. And it had just given a clear message to the team:
"Don't come closer."
Kaira swallowed, or rather, gurgled like a very concerned infant.