The city of Kashindrapura hummed with the rhythm of life, its streets a chaotic blend of the ancient and the modern. Towering structures infused with mantras of levitation floated above sprawling markets, where merchants bartered in both gold and arcane artifacts.

In the lower districts, however, the air was thick with the scent of rust and oil. Here, the discarded remnants of forgotten technologies lay abandoned in heaps, picked apart by scavengers and thieves.

Among them was a boy with silver-streaked black hair, his hands covered in soot as he rummaged through the wreckage.

Veer.

An Ashborn.

The lowest of the low.

He pulled out a metallic relic, its inscriptions glowing faintly. It was a Mantra Core, a fragment of an ancient power source. Not particularly valuable, but enough to trade for a meal.

Before he could tuck it away, a voice sneered from behind him.

"Well, well. Look what we have here."

Veer turned, already knowing who it was.

A group of boys stood before him, clad in the robes of Jyotirlinga Academy applicants. Their leader, a broad-shouldered brute named Taran, smirked down at him.

"An Ashborn rat, scouring through trash as always."

Veer clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Taran snatched the Mantra Core from Veer's hand, inspecting it with exaggerated curiosity. "Thinking of applying to the academy, are you?" He laughed. "Don't waste your time. They don't accept filth."

Veer's fingers curled into fists, but he didn't react. Not yet.

Taran's grin widened. "What, nothing to say? No grand speech about proving yourself?" He leaned in, lowering his voice. "You know what you are, don't you?"

Veer's breath hitched.

He knew.

He had always known.

The Ashborn were cursed. That was what the priests said. Born from the remnants of an era that was meant to be forgotten. A mistake that should never have existed.

And yet—

Something inside him whispered otherwise.

Something ancient.

Something waiting to awaken.