Chapter 5: The First Steps
At night, when the village slept, Krishak lay in his cot and closed his eyes. He reached inward, searching for the spark of Origin energy buried within his soul.
It was there, pulsing faintly like a distant star. But it was surrounded by layers of mortal flesh and mortal consciousness, barriers that had not existed in his previous life.
I must break through, he thought. I must awaken the energy within me.
He focused his will, drawing upon the memories of the Universe Origin Body Art. The technique was designed to temper the soul, to fortify it against the ravages of Origin energy. But he had never practiced it before. He had only theorized, created, and perfected.
Now, he would have to learn by doing.
The first attempt was a failure. The energy within him remained dormant, refusing to respond to his will. He was too weak, too mortal. His body was not ready.
Patience, he reminded himself. I have time. I have all the time in the world.
He slept, and in his dreams, he saw the void again. He saw the dying universe, its stars flickering like candles in the wind. He saw the extraction of the Origin, the agony of absorption, the birth of the spark that now lay dormant within him.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding.
It's real, he thought. I didn't imagine it. I am Anil. I am the architect of a new universe.
He looked down at his tiny hands, his infant fingers, and smiled.
And I will begin again.
---
The years passed.
Krishak grew from a baby to a toddler, from a toddler to a child. He was small for his age, but his eyes held a depth that made adults uncomfortable. His intelligence was obvious to everyone in Sundarpur, and soon, the village began to whisper.
"Did you see Krishak? He's so quiet. Too quiet."
"He looks at you like he knows your secrets."
"His mother says he can read already. Read! At four years old!"
Vikram and Meera heard the whispers, but they did not care. Their son was special, and they loved him all the more for it.
What they did not know was that Krishak had begun to cultivate in secret.
At night, while his parents slept, he would sit cross-legged on his cot and meditate. The energy of Earth was weak, but it was there. He drew it into his body, circulating it through his meridian channels, building the foundation for his cultivation.
It was slow. Painfully slow. In the Heavenly Universe, he could have absorbed energy in vast quantities, ascending levels in days. Here, on Earth, it took weeks just to feel a single wisp of spiritual energy.
But Krishak was patient. He had expected this. And he knew that the struggle would make him stronger.
The Universe Origin Body Art requires the body to be tempered with Origin energy, he reminded himself. But Earth's energy is not Origin. It is something lesser. Yet, it will suffice for now. I must build a foundation, prepare my body for the day when I can finally access the spark within me.
He meditated night after night, year after year. By the time he was seven, his body had begun to change. He was still small, but there was a coiled strength in his limbs, a subtle resilience that other children lacked. When he moved, he moved with grace, as if every action was deliberate and measured.
His parents noticed, of course. Vikram once watched Krishak lift a bag of rice that weighed nearly as much as he did, carrying it across the yard with ease.
"Where did you get that strength?" Vikram asked, amazed.
Krishak shrugged, his expression carefully neutral. "I'm just strong, Father. I don't know why."
Vikram shook his head, laughing. "You're a strange boy, Krishak. A strange boy indeed."
Krishak smiled. It was a small smile, barely visible, but it was genuine.
He was beginning to like this world. Its people were simple, its problems small. But there was a beauty to it, a quiet dignity that he had not expected.
Perhaps, he thought, this is the canvas I've been searching for.
---
But Krishak's childhood was not destined to remain peaceful.
When he was ten years old, a group of armed men came to Sundarpur.
They were soldiers, dressed in ragged uniforms and carrying rifles. They arrived on a sweltering afternoon, their boots pounding the dirt streets as they marched into the village square. The villagers gathered, confused and frightened.
A man stepped forward, his face scarred and hard. He wore a red armband, a symbol of his allegiance to some distant political faction.
"Listen to me!" he shouted, his voice carrying across the square. "This village is now under the control of the People's Liberation Front. You will provide us with food, shelter, and any young men of fighting age. Refuse, and you will be executed."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Vikram stepped forward, his face pale but determined.
"We are simple farmers," he said. "We have nothing to give you."
The soldier laughed. "You have food. You have sons. That is enough."
He gestured to his men, who began to push through the crowd, grabbing young boys by the arms. The villagers cried out in protest, but the soldiers were armed and ruthless.
Krishak watched from the edge of the square. His mother had pulled him close, her arms wrapped around him protectively. But he could feel her trembling, her fear like a living thing.
This world is at war, he thought. Even here, in this peaceful village, the chaos of humanity has found us.
He had known, of course. From his observations, he had pieced together the truth: Earth was a fractured world, divided by nations, ideologies, and endless conflict. Wars raged across continents, driven by greed, jealousy, and the insatiable hunger for power.
The soldiers were a symptom of a larger disease.
And Krishak—the reincarnation of Anil, the celestial architect—had come to cure it.
---
The soldiers grabbed three young men from Sundarpur, including a boy named Raj who had been Krishak's friend. Raj cried out as they dragged him away, his mother weeping as she watched her son being taken.
Vikram stepped forward, his hands raised. "Please! He's just a boy. Take me instead!"
The commander laughed. "You're too old. Your son is young. He can be trained."
Krishak's eyes narrowed. The cold anger that had simmered within him for two million years began to surface. These men were bullies, cruel and arrogant, preying on the weak to feed their own power.
They were no different from the celestial tyrants of the Heavenly Universe.
I should kill them all, he thought. I have the strength. Even with my cultivation barely at the first level, I could defeat them. It would be easy.
But he held back. Killing these soldiers would solve nothing. It would only bring more soldiers, more conflict, more bloodshed. And it would reveal his abilities to the world, drawing attention that he could not afford.
No. He would have to find another way.
As the soldiers led the boys away, Krishak made a silent vow.
I will not save just Sundarpur. I will save this entire world. I will tear down the old order and build something new. Something better. A world where no one is taken from their families, where no one is forced to fight for the ambitions of tyrants.
This is my purpose. This is why I came.
He watched until the soldiers disappeared over the hill, then turned and walked back to his home. His mother was still crying, and his father stood in the doorway, his face a mask of grief and anger.
Krishak placed a hand on his father's arm.
"Don't worry, Father," he said, his voice calm and steady. "I will bring Raj back. I will bring them all back."
Vikram looked down at his son, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and fear.
"Krishak... you're just a boy. What can you do?"
Krishak smiled—a cold, ancient smile that seemed utterly alien on a ten-year-old face.
"You would be surprised, Father. You would be very, very surprised."
---
That night, Krishak began his first true cultivation session since his rebirth. He sat in the darkness, his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knees. The spiritual energy of Earth flowed into him, weak but steady, filling his meridians.
He was at the first level of cultivation—the Foundation Establishment stage. It was the most basic level, barely above that of a mortal. But it was enough.
I will reach the second level tonight, he thought. And then I will find Raj and the others. I will bring them home.
He closed his eyes and focused, his will like a blade cutting through the darkness.
The energy surged, and he felt something shift within him. A barrier, small but stubborn, began to crack.
He pushed harder.
Break.
The barrier shattered, and a wave of power rushed through him. He gasped, his body trembling as the energy settled into his meridians.
Second level. Complete.
He opened his eyes, and they glowed with a faint, golden light.
Now, he thought. Now the real work begins.
And with that, the boy who had once been a celestial god rose to his feet and stepped into the night, ready to begin his crusade.