The sun, stretching from the horizon, rubbed its golden eyes in the east, puffing its rosy cheeks as it rose with sleepy grandeur. The morning breeze, like an ethereal maiden with damp fingers, caressed the world awake, tickling the delicate flower buds into a blush. The dew-sprinkled grass beneath Onish's legs sparkled like scattered diamonds, the earth still holding onto the tender secrets of the night.
Onish sat cross-legged, the fresh scent of the early morning embracing him. Before him sat the fowler, Bhadra, perched upon a stone bench, the tattered edges of his cloak stirring lazily with the wind. He spoke with a quiet, ancient wisdom, his voice like the rustle of leaves, both soothing and cryptic.
"Everything has spirit footprints, unique to them," Bhadra said, his voice dipping like a slow stream, drawing Onish deeper into the mystery. "Just as our fingerprints distinguish us, these paths are ours alone. And when the spirit treads upon them, dormant powers stir, as if awakened by a forgotten song. It's a gift of nature, like all the other talents we possess."
Onish, his brow furrowed with the weight of the words, leaned forward, the hunger for understanding gnawing at him. "So, you mean... one can't choose their path?"
Bhadra nodded slowly, his deep-set eyes reflecting the morning light. "No. The path is set, much like the stars above. But," he added, his voice gaining a bit of warmth, "you can always modify it, make it clearer, stronger. Our ancestors have left us an ocean of knowledge, like ancient maps leading us out of the dark."
The word "ocean" echoed in Onish's mind. He could almost feel the salty air, the rhythm of the waves pulling him towards this vast sea of wisdom.
"Where is this ocean of knowledge?" Onish asked eagerly, his heart pounding with anticipation.
"Archives of Varta," Bhadra said, his eyes narrowing, a hint of mystery in his words. "But your castle library will do for now. Seek out Suta, the librarian. Though, beware... his tales are more intoxicating than moonlit dew, and just as slippery."
Onish nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. He had seen Suta before, a strange, elusive figure, deep in the dusty corners of the library, lost in forgotten scrolls. But he hadn't yet understood the significance of the man.
The fowler continued, the air growing heavier with the weight of his knowledge. "Birds, beasts, trees—everything else awakens on its own when the time is right. But humans, we need an awakener, a twice-born, to trace our paths. There are many stories about why this is. Some spiritualists claim it's because of our complex physiology. Others say it's a gift, to save us from starving."
Onish leaned back, the gravity of Bhadra's words settling deep within him. He glanced at the dove fluttering above him, its soft feathers brushing the air as it circled around his head. It was his sister's guardian bird—Kajari, as she called it. Onish had never truly understood its significance, but the fowler's words made him pause.
"Why is it bothering me?" Onish muttered, waving the bird away from his hair.
Bhadra, ever watchful, caught the bird's anxious movements. "You must have something on you," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Something of interest to the bird."
Onish hesitated, his fingers brushing against his right pocket. The colorful leaf—the one that the book thief had carelessly left behind—fluttered in his mind. He had discarded it as a worthless trophy, nothing more than a fool's relic. But when he looked at it again in the moonlight, it shimmered with a strange, almost otherworldly energy.
He drew it out slowly, the leaf glowing softly in the pale light, its colors shifting like a kaleidoscope. As he held it up, Kajari grew agitated, circling more wildly, its gaze fixed on the leaf.
Bhadra's voice rang out, sharp as a crack of thunder. "What have you done? Don't you know what that is?" His tone carried an edge of fury that made Onish's heart race.
"I—I don't understand," Onish stammered, holding the leaf up, unsure whether to throw it or burn it.
"Boys," Bhadra growled, his hands gripping his cloak. "That is a dautya leaf. It carries secret messages. Only the one for whom it was meant can understand it. Anyone else..." His words trailed off, his lips curling with a mixture of disgust and concern. "Anyone else will suffer the nightmares of the dautya tree unless they find moon-fairy dew or sleep for a week."
Onish's mind reeled. He had been holding a message, a secret meant for someone else. The strange book thief, the oddity in the library, had sent him this leaf as a token—a key to something far greater than he could have ever imagined. But what was it for? What did it mean?
Bhadra's voice broke through his confusion, the fowler's eyes now dark with serious intent. "The dautya fruit, it's known for attracting spirit birds, like that dove of yours. Keep it away from them, or you'll unleash something you can't control."
As Onish slipped the leaf into his pocket, trying to make sense of it all, Bhadra handed him a scroll, wrapped in a metal case etched with intricate designs. "Here," the fowler said, his voice softening just a bit. "Study the basics of the spirit path. It's all you need for now. The rest... well, that's up to you."
Onish took the scroll, his heart pounding. The sun was now fully awake, casting a brilliant golden hue over the land, but Onish felt a storm of thoughts and questions brewing inside him. As he made his way back to his chamber, the mysteries of the spirit world, the dautya leaf, and the path that lay ahead seemed to beckon him. The weight of his future pressed against him like the heat of the midday sun, but it was a heat he would face head-on.
In the solitude of his room, Onish unrolled the scroll, the words dancing in front of him as his mind absorbed them. The "Basic Paths of the Spirit" were written in bold strokes, each one more fascinating than the last. His eyes raced through the diagrams: the path to heightened vision, the path to sharpen hearing, the path to speak to inanimate objects. The siddhis he had sought in the material world were so easily grasped here, as if they were mere playthings.
But when his gaze fell upon the final diagram, his breath caught. There, at the bottom of the scroll, was an empty space, a line tracing the sushumna nadi, marked with a single phrase: "Path to leave the body as a spirit being."
Onish stared at it for a long time, his mind swirling with possibilities. This was the final path, the one he had seen in the shrine, but there was nothing here about it. It was beyond the reach of this scroll—perhaps beyond the reach of even the most advanced spirit wielders.
Yet, he understood one thing: to master these paths, to unlock the full potential of the spirit, was his destiny. And it began with this simple but painful task of cleansing his nadis.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the instructions, the diagrams, the pathways. Slowly, methodically, Onish began to guide his spirit through the tangled threads of his nadis, the pain flaring like fire as the heat rushed through his body. Each path felt like a searing river of energy, burning and cleansing, shaping him.
His body shimmered, faintly glowing as if he were made of stardust. The pain subsided, leaving him in a strange calm. His nadis had expanded, glowing with a new light, as if he had uncovered a hidden reservoir of power. The transformation had begun.