The library had become Aryan Prastha's sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still. As the sun rose and set, its light filtering through the high arched windows, Aryan remained steadfast in his pursuit of knowledge. Eight months had passed since he first isolated himself from the world, delving deep into the arcane and esoteric texts that filled the library's shelves. But what truly consumed him during this time were the mantras—ancient words of power that had begun to resurface from the depths of his memories.These mantras were not of Eldoria. They belonged to another life, another world—one where Aryan had once been known as Vikram Aditya, a celestial prince whose power and wisdom were unrivaled. The memories of that life had been elusive at first, mere fragments of a dream, but as Aryan immersed himself in his studies, they became clearer, more tangible. And with them came the knowledge of the mantras—chants that could bend reality, enhance the body, sharpen the mind, and even touch the soul.The first mantra Aryan recalled was one of physical strength. The words came to him in a whisper, as if carried on the wind from a distant past:"Jaya Vira Shakti Sthiram, Deha Balaam Pravruddham."
("Victory to the strength of the warrior, may the body's power be ever-growing.")Aryan had muttered the words under his breath, feeling a strange tingling sensation course through his body. At first, it was faint, almost imperceptible, but as he repeated the mantra, focusing on each syllable, the sensation grew stronger. His muscles tightened, his bones felt denser, and a warmth spread through his limbs. It was as if his body was responding to an invisible force, growing more powerful with each repetition of the mantra.He spent days, even weeks, mastering this mantra. He would recite it from dawn until dusk, pushing his body to its limits to test the mantra's effects. He would lift weights far beyond his previous capabilities, run for miles without tiring, and spar with imaginary opponents in the courtyard. The servants, who occasionally caught glimpses of Aryan during these moments, were astonished by the transformation. The frail, quiet boy they had once known was becoming something else—something formidable.But Aryan's journey did not stop at physical strength. The next mantra to surface from his memories was one of mental clarity:"Dhyanam Chaitanya Sphutam, Manasa Shuddham."
("Meditation awakens consciousness, may the mind be pure.")This mantra required a different kind of focus. Aryan would sit cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the library, his hands resting on his knees, his eyes closed. He would breathe deeply, letting the world around him fade away until there was nothing but the sound of his own voice reciting the mantra. As he did, he felt his mind sharpening, his thoughts becoming clearer and more organized. Ideas that had once seemed complex and overwhelming now unfolded before him with ease.With this newfound mental clarity, Aryan's studies accelerated. He devoured texts on history, strategy, and the arcane arts with a voracious appetite. He could read for hours without losing focus, absorbing and retaining information at an astonishing rate. The knowledge he gained was not just stored in his mind—it became a part of him, integrated into his very being. He began to see connections and patterns in the world that had eluded him before, understanding the intricacies of power and politics, of magic and mana, in ways that few could.But perhaps the most profound mantra Aryan recalled was one for the soul:"Atman Jyoti Prakasham, Jeevanam Paramam."
("May the soul's light shine forth, may life be supreme.")This mantra was different from the others. It was not just about enhancing the body or the mind—it was about touching the very essence of one's being. Aryan would recite this mantra in the quietest moments, often late at night when the estate was asleep. He would sit in front of a mirror, staring into his own eyes as he chanted the words softly. As he did, he felt a deep connection to something greater, something beyond the physical and mental realms.The effects of this mantra were subtle at first. Aryan felt a sense of inner peace, a calm that settled over him like a warm blanket. But as the weeks passed, the mantra began to awaken something within him—a light that had been dormant for too long. He began to sense the flow of mana in the world around him, the invisible threads that connected all living things. He could feel the presence of others even when they were not physically near, sensing their emotions, their intentions. It was as if the mantra had opened a door within him, allowing him to tap into the very essence of life itself.As Aryan continued to practice these mantras, the changes in him became more pronounced. His physical prowess had reached levels that defied explanation, his mind had become a wellspring of knowledge and insight, and his soul... his soul was something different altogether. It was as if he had become a vessel for a power that transcended the limitations of his current world—a power that had its roots in a life long past.The servants, who had once whispered about Aryan in pity, now spoke of him in hushed tones of awe and fear. They could sense the change in him, though they could not understand it. He moved with a grace and confidence that belied his young age, his presence commanding attention even when he said nothing. There was a light in his eyes, a fire that burned with an intensity that was both captivating and terrifying.But Aryan's transformation did not go unnoticed by his family. His mother, Eleanor, had always been attuned to her children's emotions, and she could feel the shift in Aryan's energy. She had always known that her son was special, but now she realized that there was something more to him—something that she could not quite grasp. She watched him from a distance, her heart filled with a mixture of pride and concern. She wanted to support him, to help him carry the burden he bore, but she also knew that this was a journey Aryan had to take on his own.Richard Prastha, Aryan's father, was less understanding. He had always been a man of action, a warrior who valued strength and discipline above all else. To him, Aryan's obsession with the library and his mysterious transformation were signs of weakness—an inability to face the reality of his situation. He could not comprehend the depth of Aryan's journey, the inner battles he was fighting. To Richard, it was all just a distraction from what truly mattered—preparing to uphold the Prastha family's legacy.One evening, after a particularly intense session of mantra recitation, Aryan was approached by his father in the library. Richard had been watching his son from afar, growing increasingly frustrated with what he saw as Aryan's refusal to embrace his role in the family. He entered the library with a stern expression, his presence filling the room with a heavy silence."Aryan," Richard began, his voice low and commanding, "we need to talk."Aryan looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes meeting his father's gaze with a calm intensity. "Yes, Father?"Richard's eyes narrowed as he studied his son. There was something different about Aryan—something that Richard could not put into words, but it unsettled him nonetheless. "You've been spending an inordinate amount of time in this library," Richard said, his tone edged with disapproval. "Your mother and I are concerned. You're neglecting your responsibilities."Aryan closed the book and set it aside, rising to his feet to face his father. "I am not neglecting anything, Father. I am preparing.""Preparing for what?" Richard demanded, his frustration boiling over. "You are not a warrior, Aryan. You have no magical core, no strength that can be of use to this family. What are you hoping to achieve with all this... studying?"Aryan took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I am hoping to achieve understanding, Father. There is more to this world than what can be seen with the eyes or felt with the hands. There is a power that lies within us all—a power that I am learning to harness."Richard scoffed, his patience wearing thin. "Power? What power? You speak in riddles, Aryan. If you truly wish to contribute to this family, then you must focus on something tangible—something real."Aryan's expression remained calm, though there was a steely resolve in his voice. "The power I speak of is real, Father. It is the power of the mind, the body, and the soul. It is the power of the mantras—ancient words that can shape reality itself. I am learning to master them, to use them to protect our family, to ensure our legacy."Richard stared at his son, his disbelief evident. "Mantras? Words? You think that mere words can protect this family? Aryan, you are deluding yourself.""No, Father," Aryan replied, his voice steady. "I am awakening to my true potential. And I will prove it to you. I will prove that I am not the weakling you believe me to be."Richard's anger flared, but he could see that Aryan was not going to back down. There was a fire in his son's eyes, a determination that Richard had never seen before. It was clear that Aryan was on a path that Richard could not understand—one that he was not sure he wanted to understand."Very well," Richard said.