The village of **Panchavedi** nestled between the foothills of the Vindhyas and the holy river Saraswati. Life here was simple—farmers toiled under the sun, children played in the fields, and elders recited ancient tales of gods and demons under the banyan tree.
For **Aryan Varshneya**, it was just another day—except it wasn't.
"Come on, Aryan! If you're going to stare at the sky all day, at least do it after you've hauled these sacks of grain!" shouted **Dhaniram**, the burly village elder, pointing at the piles of wheat stacked in carts.
Aryan sighed, brushing his dark, sweat-matted hair from his face. "I'm hauling them, Dhaniram-ji. Just… not as fast as you'd like."
"You're nineteen now, boy! If you don't build some strength, you'll be no use to anyone. What will you do if the bandits come, eh?"
Aryan hefted a sack onto his shoulder and muttered under his breath, "If bandits come, I'll talk to them about the weather and hope they leave."
As he dropped the sack onto the cart, a faint rumble echoed through the air, like a distant drumbeat. He straightened, his eyes narrowing. The sound came again—louder this time.
"What is that?" Aryan asked, glancing around.
Dhaniram frowned. "A storm? But the sky's clear…"
Suddenly, the earth beneath their feet trembled. Birds scattered from the trees, and the villagers looked around in confusion. From the direction of the Saraswati, a radiant light burst into the sky, illuminating the entire valley.
Aryan's heart raced. "What in the name of the gods…?"
Before anyone could answer, the light surged toward the village like a tidal wave. The ground shook violently, and the air buzzed with energy. Aryan felt a strange pull, as though the light were calling to him.
"Everyone, take cover!" Dhaniram bellowed, pulling children into a nearby hut.
But Aryan couldn't move. His feet felt rooted to the ground as the light engulfed him.
---
### **The Vision**
The world around him dissolved into white. Aryan floated in a void, his body weightless. A deep, resonant voice echoed through the emptiness.
"**Aryan Varshneya… do you hear me?**"
"Who… who's there?" Aryan stammered, spinning in every direction.
"**You are chosen.**"
"Chosen for what?" Aryan demanded, his voice trembling.
In response, the light coalesced into a towering figure—an ancient sage with flowing white hair and eyes like burning coals. In his hand, he held a glowing scroll covered in intricate symbols.
"**The Vishwakarma Sutra resides within you. The time has come for it to awaken.**"
Aryan blinked. "Vishwakarma… what? What are you talking about?"
The sage extended the scroll toward him, and the symbols began to unravel, wrapping around Aryan's body like threads of fire.
"**You will bear the burden of creation and destruction. To balance the world, you must walk the Seven Paths of Dharma.**"
Aryan gasped as the fiery threads burned into his skin. His vision swirled with images—mighty mountains crumbling, rivers raging, and a great wheel turning endlessly.
"Wait!" he cried. "I don't understand any of this!"
"**You will… in time. But beware—others will seek to claim what lies within you. Stay true to Dharma, or all will fall to chaos.**"
The sage began to fade, and Aryan reached out. "No, wait! Come back!"
---
### **Return to Reality**
Aryan jolted awake, gasping for air. The village square was in chaos—villagers scattered in every direction, shouting about the light.
"Aryan!"
He turned to see **Vaanya**, a sharp-eyed young woman with a streak of silver in her hair, sprinting toward him. She wasn't from the village—Aryan had found her wounded and wandering the forest weeks ago, and she had stayed ever since.
"What happened to you?" Vaanya demanded, grabbing his arm. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I… I don't know," Aryan muttered. "There was this light, and… a voice. Something about a Sutra."
Vaanya froze, her grip tightening. "A Sutra?"
Aryan frowned. "Why? Do you know what it means?"
Before she could answer, a scream cut through the air. They both turned to see a dark figure approaching the village, cloaked in black armor that shimmered like oil. The figure carried a massive sword that seemed to hum with power.
Dhaniram stepped forward, his voice trembling. "Who are you? What do you want?"
The figure's voice was low and cold. "The boy."
Aryan's blood ran cold as the figure raised its sword, pointing directly at him.
Vaanya stepped in front of him, her stance tense. "Get back, Aryan," she hissed. "This one's not here to talk."
"But—"
"No time to argue!" Vaanya snapped. She drew two curved daggers from her belt, the air around her suddenly swirling with wind.
Aryan stared in shock. "You're a cultivator?"
Vaanya didn't answer. She lunged at the armored figure, her daggers slashing in rapid arcs. The figure parried easily, the clash of their weapons echoing through the square.
"Aryan!" Vaanya shouted over her shoulder. "Get out of here!"
Aryan hesitated, his legs refusing to move. The voice from the vision echoed in his mind: *"Stay true to Dharma."*
Something inside him stirred—an instinct, or perhaps the beginning of something greater. His hand reached out, and the air around him shimmered with golden light.
The figure paused, its helmet tilting toward Aryan. "Ah… it awakens."
Aryan's body surged with energy, and the words escaped his lips without thought:
"*Vishwakarma Sutra: First Path—Bhumi Awakening!*"
The ground beneath him trembled as golden runes flared to life around his feet. Vaanya and the figure both stopped mid-battle, their eyes widening.
Aryan looked down at his hands, now glowing with power. "What… what is this?"
Vaanya's voice was barely a whisper. "You… you're one of them."
The figure chuckled darkly. "The hunt begins."
---
*To be continued…*