The night had settled over Nalanda University, and Aamir sat cross-legged in his room, meditating. The rhythmic flow of his adrenaline energy coursed through his body, a soothing balm that calmed his nerves and sharpened his senses. Since the guild selection ceremony and his induction into the Rath Chakra Guild, he had a lot to process.
Just as he was sinking deeper into his meditation, the creak of the door startled him. He opened his eyes to see a tall, muscular boy with sharp features standing at the entrance. The boy had an air of confidence, though his expression was hesitant as he lingered by the door.
Aamir stood up, breaking the silence. "Hello, I'm Aamir. And you?"
The boy straightened. "I'm Raj. Raj Shekhawat. You're the guy who got yelled at in the administration office, right? Sorry about that—I was in a hurry and might've come off as rude."
Aamir chuckled, brushing off the memory. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't a big deal. But why are you just standing there?"
Raj hesitated. "You were meditating. I didn't want to disturb you."
Aamir smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Ah, I see. Well, it's getting late. I'm going to meditate again if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Raj said, moving to his bed. "I'll sleep now. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Aamir replied, settling back into his meditative stance.
—-------
The next morning, Aamir woke early, eager to visit the Cultivation Hall and claim his guild rewards.
As he walked through Nalanda University's sprawling campus, he took in the vibrant atmosphere. Students were practicing martial arts in open fields, their movements precise and fluid. Others were immersed in their studies, poring over ancient texts. The sight filled Aamir with a renewed sense of purpose.
The Cultivation Hall was an imposing structure, its massive stone walls adorned with carvings of legendary warriors and beasts. Stepping inside, Aamir was met with a bustling scene—students engaged in rigorous training, weapons gleaming under the sunlight streaming through high windows.
To his right, rows of weapons rested on racks, their polished edges reflecting the light. To his left, just beside the entrance, a bald man with a prominent scar across his head sat behind a desk, scribbling on a parchment.
Aamir approached confidently. "I'm Aamir."
The man looked up, his piercing gaze scanning Aamir before he stood. "Follow me."
Aamir trailed behind as the man led him into an adjacent room. As the door creaked open, Aamir's eyes widened. The room was filled with armors, each exuding a unique aura. Some gleamed brightly, polished to perfection, while others bore marks of age and battles fought long ago.
The man gestured. "Choose whichever one you want."
Aamir moved among the armors, running his hands lightly over their surfaces. Each was remarkable, yet none resonated with him. As he ventured further into the room, his gaze landed on an old, dusty black armor tucked away in a corner.
Unlike the others, this one bore intricate red patterns that pulsed faintly, almost as if alive. A strange aura emanated from it—an aura only Aamir seemed to feel.
"That one," he said, pointing to it.
The man's eyes widened. "Are you sure? That armor has been here since Nalanda University's founding. No one has ever been able to awaken its power. Even Haider Ali tried and failed. What makes you think—"
"I'm sure," Aamir interrupted confidently.
The man hesitated before nodding. "Very well. Go ahead."
Aamir approached the armor, his heart pounding. As Aamir's fingers brushed against the old black armor, the red patterns etched across its surface flared to life, glowing with an eerie brilliance. The dust that had cloaked it for centuries lifted and dissolved into the air, as if the armor itself had awoken from slumber.
Suddenly, a translucent red message flickered before Aamir's eyes—only visible to him.
[ Error! ]
[ System Integration Failed. ]
[ Host has not worn the Mask. ]
A strange pull guided his gaze to the helmet. Unlike the others, this one had a detachable front piece—an angular, almost demonic looking mask locked into the front of the helmet, connected by ancient, rune-like clasps.
It looked like a war mask—but felt like something more.
Aamir reached for the mask, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He touched it again—but nothing happened.
"Strange… I thought it would react again. Must be one of the armor's abilities," he mused, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
The man stepped back, astonished. "Unbelievable... No one has awakened this armor in a thousand years. And yet, with just a touch..."
Aamir felt a deep connection to the armor, as if it had chosen him. "This is mine," he murmured.
The man nodded. "It seems so. Here, take this."
He handed Aamir a small pouch. "This is a Grade 2 Dimensional Pocket. It can store a city's worth of items. To use it, channel your adrenaline energy into it and think of what you want to store or retrieve. Try it with your armor."
Aamir focused his energy on the pouch. The armor vanished into it seamlessly.
"Impressive," the man said. "I'm Dharam, in charge of this hall. Now, follow me back to the desk. There's more to give you."
Back at the desk, Dharam handed Aamir a card with the Rath Chakra Guild's symbol—a giant sword crossed by a lightning bolt. A small chip was embedded in the corner, and Aamir's name was inscribed below.
"This is your Reputation Card. It stores your reputation points. Use it to purchase items, access restricted areas, or participate in special events. The more points you earn, the more privileges you unlock."
Dharam then handed him a metallic badge with two stars.
"Your guild badge. The stars represent your current level. More stars will appear as you grow stronger. Wear it with pride."
Aamir fastened the badge onto his chest, feeling a surge of pride.
"Thank you."
Dharam chuckled. "Don't thank me, kid. Your journey has just begun. Now go, make the most of what you've earned."
Aamir moved through the weapon racks, searching for one that felt right. His fingers brushed over well-balanced hilts, but none resonated with him—until his gaze landed on a sleek, medium-length blade. It wasn't a long sword nor quite a katana, but something in between. The polished blade had a subtle curve, promising both precision and power.
He picked it up, testing its balance. It felt natural, an extension of his arm. Swinging it in fluid arcs, he nodded to himself. "This one."
He returned to Dharam. "Can you recommend any Adreno Arts for this?"
Dharam examined the sword. "Interesting choice. You might want to try Dragon's Blade—it enhances swordsmanship by channeling adrenaline energy into the blade, creating powerful, controlled strikes. It's favored by those who balance agility and power."
"Sounds perfect. How many Adreno Arts books can I take from the library?"
Adreno Arts are ranked from F to EX—F being beginner level, EX the rarest and most powerful. So it depends on your control level. Most first-years start with one or two Rank F or E arts. Mastery is more important than quantity.
"Let's see your current level. Follow me."
At the training area, Dharam gestured toward a target. "Focus your adrenaline energy and strike."
Aamir closed his eyes, channeling his energy into his sword. When he swung, the target shattered into fragments.
"You've got potential well beyond the entry-level fighters. With a proper assessment, we can determine what Rank of Adreno Arts you're truly ready for."
Aamir felt exhilarated. The journey ahead was long, but he was ready to face whatever lay ahead.