Morning arrived without warmth.
The academy awakened beneath a sky washed pale, as if the sun itself hesitated to shine upon what had occurred the night before. Word spread quietly—never announced, never shouted—but it traveled faster than sound. Students avoided certain corridors. Instructors spoke in lowered voices. Blood had been washed from stone, yet something darker lingered.
Aarav stood at the edge of the practice grounds, eyes half-closed, breath measured. Lightning stirred beneath his skin, restless but restrained. Beside him, Nandi remained small and still, like an ordinary calf—yet his presence anchored the space around them.
"You feel it too," Nandi said within Aarav's mind. "The imbalance has widened."
Aarav nodded slowly. "The arena isn't neutral anymore."
"No battlefield ever is, once blood has been offered," Nandi replied.
Across the grounds, Kunal paced in tight circles, irritation barely contained. "Three students," he muttered. "Three, Aarav. And everyone's pretending it was an accident."
Ananya approached quietly, her steps soundless against stone. Ether rippled faintly around her, responding to her unease. "Because admitting otherwise would mean accepting that the seals failed—or were bypassed."
Aarav opened his eyes. "Someone's killing deliberately."
Ananya met his gaze. "Yes."
She did not say Karnik's name.
But they all felt it.
The second round was announced without ceremony.
No speeches. No reminders of rules.
Just gates opening once more.
This time, the terrain was different—dense ruins interwoven with narrow corridors, blind corners, and vertical shafts that swallowed light. Perfect for ambush. Perfect for silence.
Teams entered cautiously.
Aarav moved with Ananya and Kunal, senses stretched thin. Space whispered constantly, subtle distortions brushing his awareness. Somewhere within the labyrinth, something moved that did not obey the flow of the trial.
A scream echoed.
Then stopped.
They arrived too late.
A student from Vāyu Gurukul lay slumped against a pillar, eyes wide, throat unmarked—yet his aura was gone, extinguished as though consumed from within. The seals around the body flickered weakly, confused.
Kunal swallowed hard. "There's no burn. No wound."
Ananya knelt, fingers hovering above the body without touching. "His prāṇa (life force)… was drained."
Aarav felt a chill crawl up his spine.
This wasn't collateral damage.
This was harvesting.
Elsewhere in the ruins, Karnik Daanav walked unhurriedly, hands clasped behind his back like a scholar strolling through a garden. Around him, darkness folded neatly, obeying intention rather than chaos.
Inside his chest, the fragment pulsed—stronger now, impatient.
"More… you promised…"
"I said soon," Karnik whispered calmly. "Control first. Then abundance."
He turned a corner.
Three students stood ahead—one from the host academy, two from Pṛthvī Gurukul. They froze upon seeing him.
"Karnik," one said nervously. "You're alone?"
Karnik smiled. "I prefer it."
The shadows moved.
No explosions. No screams.
Just collapse.
By the time the seals reacted, there was nothing left to restrain.
High above, on an observation platform carved with ancient mantras, an elder from Pṛthvī Gurukul stiffened. His fingers dug into the stone railing.
"This pattern," he murmured. "This is no accident."
Another instructor frowned. "Are you suggesting—"
"I am suggesting," the elder interrupted quietly, "that someone is violating the spirit of the Competition while obeying its letter."
His gaze shifted—not toward Karnik, but toward the central tower.
"Someone powerful enough to hide it."
As the day wore on, fear replaced strategy.
Teams avoided confrontation. Alliances dissolved. Students began to retreat rather than engage. The arena, meant to test strength, now revealed intent.
Aarav felt eyes on him.
Not from within the ruins.
From above.
From beyond.
Space tightened for a fraction of a second, like a breath held too long.
Nandi's head snapped up.
"They watch you now," the guardian said softly.
"Who?" Aarav asked.
Nandi did not answer immediately.
"Those who remember the last time the Trishul was whole," he finally said. "Those who fear it."
Aarav's pulse quickened.
Lightning crackled faintly along his fingertips before he suppressed it.
At the heart of the arena, Karnik finally lost patience.
The fragment surged violently, veins darkening beneath his skin.
"Enough games!"
His control slipped.
Dark markings spread across his arms like fractures in reality. A pulse of corrupted energy erupted outward, tearing through seals and stone alike.
Students screamed.
Instructors rose to their feet.
Professor Mādhav's smile vanished completely.
"That is enough," Mādhav said.
The words did not echo.
They arrived.
Time itself hesitated.
Karnik staggered, clutching his chest, eyes burning with fury and fear.
"So you noticed," he hissed toward the sky. "Too late."
Aarav felt it then.
The Asura fragment's gaze.
It recognized him.
Not as prey.
As opposition.
The arena seals flared violently as instructors intervened, dragging students away, restraining what they could, hiding what they could not.
Official reports would call it a containment failure.
But everyone present understood the truth.
That night, as Aarav sat in silence, Nandi beside him, the guardian spoke gravely.
"The mask has cracked."
Aarav's fists clenched. "And now?"
"Now," Nandi said, eyes reflecting starlight older than the academy, "the hunt becomes mutual."
Far away, hidden within a sealed chamber, Karnik Daanav laughed softly as darkness stitched itself back under his skin.
"Find your fragments," he whispered. "I will find mine."
Above the academy, unseen by mortal eyes, ancient watchers shifted.
The board had changed.
And the game had truly begun.