Great! Let's begin the next part of the story:
š Divine App: GurujiĀ Ā and the Whispering Seal
The winds that swept across the Agnivardhan courtyard felt heavier today.
Not storm-heavy.
Expectation-heavy.
Ever since Class Zero's unprecedented success in the first round of the Combat Trials, something had shifted. Whispers in the halls. Murmurs from senior disciples. Even the elders, usually aloof and bored, now watched them with thin smiles and half-lidded eyes.
Suraj Bajaj noticed it all.
He was halfway through eating an incredibly spicy spirit potato when Guru ji buzzed in his mind.
"Congratulations. You're officially on the radar of everyone powerful enough to squish you like a bug."
"Well that's comforting," Suraj muttered, sipping spiritual milk to calm his tongue.
"Also... rumor has it, Elder Jaitra has summoned you."
Suraj blinked. "The relic guy? With the long beard that moves even when he's not talking?"
"Yes. That one. Caution: 57% chance he wants to test you. 19% chance he wants to adopt you. 4% chance he wants to use your bones for ritual tea."
"That's oddly specific."
"I'm oddly effective."
Elder Jaitra's chambers were not so much a room as they were a vault built into the side of the mountain, sealed with floating runes and a massive bronze serpent head for a door knocker.
Suraj knocked once.
The serpent blinked.
Then, slowly, the door groaned open.
Inside was a whirlwind of relics, parchments, and floating sigils. Elder Jaitra himself sat cross-legged on a cushion of floating earth, his beard long enough to braid five times, and his fingers stained with ancient ink.
He looked up. His eyes were... surprisingly kind.
"You're the one they call Guruji's Disciple?"
Suraj blinked. "...Technically, yes. Though I call him Guru ji. Long story."
Elder Jaitra chuckled. "Good. You don't bow too fast. That means you're not stupid."
"Thank youā¦ I think."
The elder gestured toward a scroll on the table. It was old. Dusty. And humming with sealed spirit energy.
"This map," Jaitra said, "was found embedded in the walls of the Forbidden Wing. It shows a location that no disciple has visited in decades. The 'Shadow Temple of Pralay.'"
"Sounds welcoming," Suraj said.
"It was once a training site. Thenā¦ something was locked away inside. Something even the elders aren't permitted to disturb."
"Let me guess," Suraj smiled. "You want me to disturb it."
The elder's eyes twinkled.
"Correct. You're expendable, after all."
Suraj opened his mouth ā then closed it again.
The journey to the Shadow Temple was not on any official academy map. Guru ji had to ping hidden paths, some carved through forgotten tunnels, others shielded by spirit illusions.
"Follow the wind's reverse. Trust the path that resists you."
"That sounds like a Facebook quote from a failed poet."
"I have access to all known libraries. Including the poetic disasters."
Suraj passed through a cracked obsidian gate, vines of silver-leafed creepers brushing against his arms, each leaf whispering in forgotten tongues.
The temple loomed ahead ā half-swallowed by earth, its top shaped like a weeping mask. Even light seemed to bend around it.
"Cheerful," Suraj muttered. "Definitely a five-star vacation spot."
Inside, the air was thick. Not with dust ā with memory. Echoes of chants long silenced hung in the air like invisible cobwebs.
And in the center ā a glowing seal.
It wasn't drawn.
It wasn't carved.
It just existed. Like someone had willed it into reality.
Suraj stepped forward.
Guru ji chimed in, voiceā¦ softer than usual.
"Thisā¦ is one of them."
"One of what?"
"The Seals. Seven in total. Each tied to the origins of Valorea."
A cold gust passed through Suraj's spine.
He knelt closer.
Flashes. Images. Visions. Screaming skies. Crumbling cities. A girl laughing amid chaos. A dragon made of ink.
And then ā a hand.
A hand touching the seal.
His hand.
The vision ended.
Suraj gasped.
"You're linked to it now. Congratulations. You've officially stirred something older than this world."
"Oh, great," Suraj muttered. "Do I get a badge for that?"
Then the sealā¦ cracked.
Just a line. Barely there.
But enough.
Back at the academy, the next morning arrived with a storm.
Not wind.
Not rain.
A storm of pressure.
Cultivators felt it in their bones. Birds refused to fly near the mountains. The elders looked toward the east ā toward the hidden temple.
They felt it.
Somethingā¦ had awakened.
But in the student arena, the Combat Trials continued.
"Today's match," the announcer shouted, "Class Zero's Suraj Bajajā¦ versus Disciple Tarun Jha, son of Sect Elder Bhairav Jha!"
Tarun walked in, tall, armored in gold qi, his blade humming with fire. He bowed slightly ā more mockery than respect.
"I don't know who you bribed to get this far," he said, "but it ends today."
Suraj walked into the ring, eyes calm.
Guru ji whispered, "Warning: Tarun's cultivation exceeds yours by 2 stages. His arrogance, by 7."
"Any weak points?"
"Pride. Overconfidence. Mild lactose intolerance."
"Not helpful."
The match began.
Tarun struck first. Fast. Sharp. Impressive.
Suraj blocked twice ā barely ā then rolled back.
He countered with a flaw-based feint.
Tarun saw through it.
Struck again.
This time, Suraj went flying.
Blood at the corner of his lips.
"Retreat. This is not winnable directly."
"Not yet."
Suraj stood.
"I didn't come here to win," he said.
Tarun sneered. "Then why bother?"
"To learn what I can't yet beat."
He charged again ā but instead of fighting back, he recorded. Observed.
Not with his eyes.
With Guru ji.
Every move. Every breath. Logged. Saved.
By the fifth blow, Suraj collapsed.
Match over.
Tarun raised a fist. Crowd cheered.
But Elder Jaitra, watching from afar, smiled.
"He learns in defeat," the old man whispered. "That's the most dangerous kind."
Avi Manchanda, seated beneath a spirit parasol, watched with sharp eyes.
She didn't cheer.
She didn't frown.
She simply whispered, "Seal number oneā¦ has found its caller."