Chapter 14: The Tapasya Path Begins

The trail ahead narrowed into a corridor of moss-laden stones, where sunlight barely touched the ground and time itself seemed to slow. This was no ordinary stretch of Tapovan. The air was thick with sanctity, resonating with forgotten chants carried by the wind. Even the birds had grown silent.

Adityaveer paused, brushing his fingers along the stone wall. Etched into the ancient rock were hundreds of tiny glyphs — a mixture of Vedic Sanskrit and symbols he couldn't recognize even with the system's interface. Advika walked beside him, her hand instinctively reaching for his.

"This place… it feels like a threshold," she murmured.

The system chimed faintly in Adityaveer's mind.

[System Notification]

You are now entering: Tapasya Path - The Realm of Inner Trials.

Warning: Physical strength is limited. Mental, emotional, and spiritual integrity will be tested.

To proceed, both participants must enter voluntarily.

A soft golden line shimmered on the floor in front of them, pulsing like a heartbeat. Beyond it, the atmosphere grew hazier, more fluid—like stepping into someone else's memory.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice steady but low.

Advika nodded. "Always."

As they stepped across the line, the forest melted away like mist. The warmth of earth disappeared, replaced by a void-like plane where nothing existed—no trees, no sky, not even the ground. Just a dark emptiness under their feet and a glow that emanated from within their own bodies.

Then, without warning, they were separated.

Adityaveer found himself alone inside a crystalline hall with a reflective floor. His own reflection stared up at him—but it didn't match. The face looking back wasn't the young prince. It was his 21st-century self. Older. Unshaved. Tired.

"You left me behind," the reflection spoke, its voice hollow. "All your inventions, all your growth—you forgot the pain that birthed them."

Adityaveer clenched his fists. "I didn't forget. I buried it."

The system offered no guidance now. This was not a simulation. It was a reckoning.

Images flooded the crystal walls—his real parents in the plane, the fire, the moment of fear before impact. He watched his old self begging for purpose, lost in a world that valued wealth more than worth. He remembered loneliness, rejection, and the cold grip of unfulfilled potential.

A voice echoed through the space. Not his own. Not the system's.

"To ascend, one must accept all layers of the self—the fallen, the fearful, the forgotten."

Adityaveer fell to his knees. "I don't want to forget who I was. But I don't want to carry his pain forever."

The reflection knelt with him, tears streaming from its eyes.

"Then forgive yourself," it whispered.

As the two images merged, a radiant pulse of light burst from his chest, and the void transformed into a blooming garden—his inner world healing itself.

Meanwhile, Advika faced a mirror of her own. But hers was not of the past. It was a mirror of possibility.

She stood before two versions of herself. One was dressed in fine silks, standing in a grand temple, adored by hundreds. The other wore rags, seated under a tree, teaching barefoot children about the soul.

Both versions smiled. Both were content. But one asked:

"Which life will you choose?"

Advika's heart raced. She had always sought truth in the scriptures, but part of her longed to be remembered—to lead, to restore ancient wisdom at scale. Could she do both?

The two forms merged, but not before whispering: "You must walk your truth, even if no one follows."

A single lotus bloomed at her feet. As she picked it up, her consciousness returned to her body—and so did Adityaveer's.

They both gasped as their eyes opened. The forest had returned, but it was different now.

Tapovan had changed.

Or perhaps… they had.

The next few days were quiet, reflective. They didn't discuss what they had seen—some truths were too personal for words. But something was different between them. Deeper.

Their auras had evolved. Advika now glowed faintly during meditation, her chants effortlessly calming animals and altering the movement of leaves. Adityaveer, meanwhile, had unlocked a new layer in his system—Simulated Conscious Construct—which allowed him to replicate ancient mechanisms and rituals virtually before testing them in the real world.

One evening, as they crossed a silver river using a bridge of light conjured by Advika's mantra, they saw an old hermit waiting on the other side.

Tall, lean, eyes glowing with a golden hue that pierced straight through them. He had the aura of someone who had walked the multiverse and returned with secrets.

"I am Rishi Vedatraya," he said without moving his lips. His voice echoed directly in their minds. "I have waited centuries for the heirs of the battlefield universe to arrive."

Adityaveer and Advika instinctively bowed.

"Do you know who we are?" Advika asked cautiously.

"Not fully. But I know what you carry. The dormant seeds of two gene lines—magic and technology. You are not from this world, yet this world has become your forge."

He walked slowly around them, eyes inspecting every inch.

"Tapovan responds to you. That is rare. But this is not your destination. Only the beginning."

He pointed to the sky. A constellation in the shape of an open eye shimmered above them.

"When that eye closes, a rift will open in the neutral realm. You have three full moons to awaken the dual path."

"What's the dual path?" Adityaveer asked.

"The fusion of what both of you are meant to become," Vedatraya answered. "Separate, you are brilliant. Together, you're inevitable."

He handed them each a palm-sized disc inscribed with a glowing glyph.

"These will summon me when you reach the Naga Gates. Until then, grow. Learn. Fail. Bleed if you must. But do not forget—Tapovan is only merciful to those who honor its silence."

Then, like a mirage, the sage dissolved into stardust.

That night, under the sky of the ever-watching constellation, Adityaveer sat close to Advika.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" he asked.

She looked up, the wind carrying her whisper. "This forest isn't testing us anymore. It's... preparing us."

He reached into his satchel and took out the golden feather from the Sharabha they had subdued. It still glowed.

"We'll need allies," he said.

"And trust," she added. "Not just in each other—but in what we're becoming."

Their eyes locked.

And in that moment, the silent forest stirred.

Somewhere deep within Tapovan, the next trial awakened