The sound of chanting filled the air, a deep, rhythmic cadence that reverberated through the vast hall. The space was lit dimly, the glow of sacred flames casting flickering shadows across stone walls adorned with ancient symbols. The heavy scent of incense clouded the atmosphere, thick and suffocating. Amid this oppressive setting, a young boy sat in the center of the room, bound by chains that shimmered faintly with holy light.
The chains wrapped around him like a serpent, locking his arms, legs, and torso in an unyielding grip. Around him, a hundred priests stood in a perfect circle, their hands raised as they recited restraining spells in unison. The intensity of their voices grew with each verse, their faces pale with effort. It was clear that even with their combined power, holding this boy—this seemingly unremarkable teenager—required every ounce of their strength.
And yet, the boy was calm. His eyes, a deep, piercing brown, gazed forward without fear or anger. Instead, they held a strange detachment, as if he were observing the situation from a distance, not truly a part of it. His tousled black hair fell over his forehead, damp with sweat but giving him a wild, almost defiant look.
"So, you want to know how I got here?" his voice rang out, breaking through the chants like a sharp blade. It was quiet, yet it carried across the hall, forcing even the most resolute of the priests to falter for a moment.
"Let me guess," he continued, his tone laced with dry humor, "you're thinking, 'Ah, here's the part where he reveals his hidden power, some divine gift or ancient curse that makes him the chosen one, right?'" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Sorry to disappoint, but this isn't one of those stories."
The priests resumed their chanting with renewed vigor, but Anay ignored them. His gaze seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the room, addressing not the people around him but someone beyond.
"Every tale you've ever read or heard has a protagonist who gets some overpowered blessing, some cheat code that makes them unstoppable," he said, his voice dripping with cynicism. "They're stronger, faster, smarter. They've got some ancient prophecy or magical bloodline backing them up. But me?" He leaned his head back against the chains, the metal clinking softly as he moved. "I've got none of that."
A sudden surge of light burst from the chains, causing Anay to wince. The priests' chanting grew louder, the power of their spells pressing down on him like a crushing weight. He gritted his teeth but didn't cry out. Instead, he smirked.
"You're probably wondering why they're so scared of me," he said, his voice strained but steady. "Why a hundred priests are pouring their souls into keeping me restrained. Why they're acting like I'm some kind of walking disaster." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "If you want the truth, it's because they're idiots. Cowards, really. They're afraid of something they don't understand. And trust me, there's a lot they don't understand."
Another pulse of light erupted, the chains tightening further. Anay let out a hiss of pain, his smirk fading for a brief moment. Then, with a deep breath, he steadied himself.
"But I'm getting ahead of myself," he said, his tone lighter, almost conversational. "You're probably confused, wondering how a regular kid ended up in a situation like this. Fair question. To answer that, we've got to go back. Back to where it all began."
The hall seemed to blur, the oppressive weight of the present moment giving way to something else—a memory, vivid and sharp. The dim light of the sacred flames was replaced by the golden glow of a sunlit morning. The scent of incense faded, replaced by the fresh aroma of dew on grass.
Anay's voice echoed softly as the scene shifted.
"It all started with the Meta Human Academy. The day I took my first step into a world I didn't belong in."
A memory pierced through the haze of holy flames and chains, vivid and unrelenting. The oppressive chants seemed to echo faintly in the backdrop of his mind as Anay's thoughts drifted. Golden sunlight poured through a cracked window, illuminating a modest room. The pungent scent of incense dissipated, replaced by the simpler aroma of damp grass carried by the morning breeze.
Today was the day he had been preparing for—the entrance examination for the prestigious Meta Academy. This wasn't just an ordinary school; it was the dream of thousands across the country. It was the place where young aspirants trained to become defenders of humanity, protectors against the monstrous threats that lurked beyond the cities. For many, the academy was the pinnacle of achievement, a ticket to greatness.
For Anay, it was something else entirely. It was a chance—a slim one, perhaps his only one—to rise above the hand life had dealt him. But there was one glaring problem: he had no mana circuit in his body. While others trained their mana, honed their holy powers, or cultivated their combat skills, Anay had none of these advantages. He was painfully, glaringly ordinary in a world that revered the extraordinary.
Despite this, Anay refused to give up. The Meta Academy's entrance test wasn't just about raw power—it tested stamina, intelligence, resourcefulness, and resilience. If he could pass at least seven out of the ten trials, he would secure his place. And though the odds were stacked against him, Anay had prepared relentlessly. Every part-time job he worked, every sleepless night spent researching, had been for this moment.
The streets buzzed with energy as he made his way to the train station. Today wasn't just important for him—it was a nationwide event. News channels had already begun broadcasting live coverage, reporters excitedly discussing the influx of candidates from renowned families. These prodigies, heirs of powerful bloodlines, were expected to dominate the trials. Names like Dev Kashyap, Smrathi Ahuja, and Noah Vedant were on everyone's lips. Their families were practically royalty, and their talents were legendary.
Anay couldn't help but feel the weight of it all. He tugged his hood lower over his face as he boarded the crowded train. Around him, excited chatter filled the air. Groups of candidates, dressed in crisp uniforms, spoke of their training and the trials ahead. Anay, in his simple, worn-out attire, stood out like a sore thumb. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact.
A middle-aged man bumped into him as the train lurched forward. "Watch it, kid," the man muttered, giving Anay a once-over before turning away. Anay mumbled an apology, his fists clenching at his sides. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus.
He glanced at his reflection in the train's window. His dark eyes, shadowed with fatigue, stared back at him. He looked away quickly, not wanting to dwell on the doubts creeping into his mind.
The train screeched to a halt at the central station. As Anay stepped off, the sheer scale of the event hit him. The station was packed with candidates, their families, and spectators. Banners bearing the Meta Academy's emblem hung from every corner, and holographic displays projected highlights from previous years' trials. A group of reporters had gathered near the entrance, eagerly interviewing a group of well-dressed candidates.
Anay tightened his grip on the straps of his bag and began walking toward the academy gates. The massive structure loomed ahead, its spires piercing the sky like the blades of a giant. For a moment, he felt a pang of intimidation. But then he remembered why he was here.
"This is it," he muttered to himself. "No turning back now."
As he crossed the threshold, a voice called out over the intercom, instructing all candidates to proceed to the registration hall. The crowd surged forward, and Anay found himself swept along. His heart pounded in his chest—not from fear, but from determination.
The trials were about to begin.