Niran found himself immersed in a world suspended between the real and the oneiric, wrapped in a profound silence. The floor beneath his feet seemed to be made of smooth, polished stone, while all around him stretched an endless night sky, dotted with faint golden glows. In front of him, with an inscrutable expression, stood a lean and muscular man, his bronze skin and intense gaze exuding an aura of quiet power.
"Are you my new master?" the man repeated, his voice deep as a distant drum.
Niran remained silent for a moment, studying the figure before him. The warrior emanated an ancient aura, something primordial, almost like Sakchai, but with a more concrete, more focused presence.
"Who are you?" Niran asked cautiously.
"I am Surya, the Demon of the Palm. My name once echoed across battlefields and tournaments, and my style was feared by all. But time took me away, leaving only my legacy. Now I am here, trapped within this bronze bracelet, waiting for someone worthy to carry on my art. Tell me, boy, are you the one I seek?"
Niran crossed his arms, contemplating. "I don't know. But if your technique is as extraordinary as you claim, I want to see it."
A faint smile appeared on Surya's face. "Interesting. But I do not grant my power to just anyone. Prove to me that you are worthy. If you can strike me with a palm strike, then I will teach you my technique."
The wind rose around them, and in the blink of an eye, Surya took his stance.
Niran wasted no time. He dashed forward with an Ephemeral Step, his figure blurring for an instant as he appeared at Surya's side with a Phantom Limb, his elbow wrapped in the momentum of Drilling Fang. The piercing strike aimed directly at his opponent's side, but with the slightest shift of his torso, Surya evaded it effortlessly, as if he had foreseen every move.
"Interesting..." murmured the warrior, dodging with supernatural grace.
Niran did not falter. He rotated his hips and launched a second strike, this time with an open palm, attempting to anticipate his opponent's dodge. Surya deflected it with a light motion of his arm, as if dampening a leaf carried by the wind.
"Too direct. Too rigid."
Niran gritted his teeth. If speed and power weren't enough, he had to change his approach. This was not just a test of strength, he had to understand the principle behind Surya's technique.
He closed his eyes for a moment, adjusting his breath. Then, he launched another attack, but this time his movement was fluid, almost like a dance. He combined the steps of Ephemeral Step with the piercing precision of Drilling Fang, adding the weight of his strikes like waves crashing in a storm. Surya raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
"Ah... now I see something realy interesting."
But it still wasn't enough. Every strike, no matter how fast, no matter how unpredictable, was dodged with effortless elegance. Niran felt his breath growing shorter, the tension in his muscles. He needed an idea.
That's when he remembered, thanks to some fragments of Surya's memoirs, the principle behind Surya's technique: the void. A palm that didn't strike directly, but created such pressure that the air between the blow and the opponent's body collapsed.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Adjusted his breathing. Felt his body sync with the rhythm. Then he moved.
This time, it was not just an attack. It was an illusion. A strike that seemed to miss, but in truth, created a vacuum so intense that it generated a devastating impact.
His hand moved in a perfect arc, and the moment his palm stopped mere millimeters from Surya's chest, an invisible wave of pressure struck the warrior with the force of an explosion.
Surya's eyes widened in surprise. For the first time, he staggered back a step.
"Hoh... truly fascinating," he whispered with a smile.
Niran lowered his hand, his heart pounding. He understood. He had developed his own version of the technique.
"This technique..." he murmured, staring at his still-warm palm. "I will call it Vacuum Palm."
Surya laughed, shaking his head. "You are truly something unique, boy. Very well, you have passed the test. From now on, I will guide you in perfecting this art."
Niran felt the world dissolve around him and awoke in the dojo, his breath heavy. Sakchai observed him with a raised eyebrow. "Welcome back. I take it you were successful."
Niran nodded, glancing at the bracelet on his wrist. It was no longer just an ancient artifact. Now, it was the mark of a new power.
And in his mind, a new voice joined Sakchai's.
"Come on, boy. We have much work to do."