The Keeper of Forgotten Blades

The shadows in Varanasi seemed deeper than usual, as though ancient spirits whispered through the alleys. Ujjwal's steps led him past old temples and crumbling walls, his thoughts a maelstrom of questions. He had fought rakshasas, seen illusions bend to his will, and learned of a bloodline tied to Arjuna himself. But he was still a novice in a world of gods and demons.

As he approached the temple of Vishwanath, a man emerged from the darkness. He was tall, his bearing regal despite his simple attire—an ascetic's robes tied with a sash of crimson and gold. His eyes, dark as obsidian, carried the weight of centuries.

"I have been waiting for you, Ujjwal," the man spoke, his voice steady and calm, cutting through the stillness of the night.

"Who are you?" Ujjwal asked, his senses already on alert.

The man inclined his head. "Call me Dronaananda. I am a keeper of knowledge long forgotten. Your enemies are gathering, and your power is raw, unrefined. Without guidance, your flame will consume you before it burns them."

Ujjwal narrowed his eyes. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because trust is a choice," Dronaananda replied, unfazed. "And you are wise enough to know you need answers more than doubts."

Before Ujjwal could respond, the ground trembled, and three monstrous figures materialized from the darkness. Their forms shifted between shadow and flesh, their red eyes burning with hatred. These were no ordinary creatures—they were rakshasas, the hunters of legend.

"Step back," Dronaananda commanded, his fingers weaving symbols in the air. "Let me teach you."

The first rakshasa lunged with a roar, claws extending toward Ujjwal. Without hesitation, the young man channeled the Maya Yuddha he had glimpsed before. He formed an illusory double, watching as the beast swiped through it and stumbled into empty space.

"Good," Dronaananda muttered. "But illusions alone will not defeat them. Focus!"

The second creature moved with blinding speed, but before it could strike, Dronaananda's hand traced a glowing sigil. A burst of light erupted, binding the rakshasa in chains of energy. "Magic is not a trick—it is precision and will. Remember that!"

Ujjwal clenched his fists. Precision and will. He summoned the memory of serpents, their fire and strength, and merged it with his power. Flames coiled around his arms, and when he thrust his hand forward, a serpentine blaze consumed the second rakshasa. Its scream echoed into nothingness.

The third beast hesitated, sensing the tide of battle turning. But Ujjwal was already moving, his instincts sharp. He conjured a blade of light and shadow, striking the creature before it could retreat. It howled, its body dissolving into darkness.

When the silence returned, Dronaananda studied Ujjwal with a calculating gaze. "You learn quickly. That is good. But the true art of war and magic lies not in battle—but in knowing why and when to wield it."

Breathing heavily, Ujjwal nodded. His heart still raced, but a sense of calm settled within him. "Teach me."

Dronaananda smiled, the weight of ancient knowledge behind his expression. "Then let us begin."