Gravity of the Situation

The air in Navrat's room was saturated with a dense, almost tangible energy that seemed to press against every surface. The intense vibrations created an oppressive stillness, broken only by the subtle crackle of the barrier he had painstakingly erected—a powerful seal that isolated the room from the outside world entirely. It was as if the room existed in its own pocket dimension, untouched and unreachable.

Before him floated the Radiant 4-Leaf Clover, suspended amidst countless rare herbs and medicinal solutions. The careful, deliberate alchemical process he had begun had reached its pinnacle, as the ingredients dissolved and coalesced into a glowing, ethereal liquid—a mesmerizing blend of green and white, swirling with latent power. Navrat’s sharp gaze scanned the mixture for any imperfections, and when satisfied, he allowed himself a brief exhale of relief. The preparation was perfect.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself. Slowly, with hesitant hands, he began to loosen her garments to expose her skin to the liquid’s effects. It was an awkward task, and Navrat’s face burned with discomfort. His mind raced, fighting against the intrusion of improper thoughts. He muttered under his breath, “This is necessary. It’s for her recovery, nothing else.”

Finally, he lifted her into his arms with great care and brought her to the glowing sphere of liquid. The radiance of the concoction intensified as her body neared its surface, as though it recognized her as the one meant to receive its blessings. With a deliberate motion, Navrat submerged Ruhi into the sphere. The liquid seemed to come alive, embracing her form and saturating every pore of her body.

Almost instantly, the refinement process began, and Navrat’s eyes narrowed in concern. The liquid was doing its job—purifying and refining Ruhi’s body at a cellular level—but the toll it exacted was visible. Her face contorted slightly, even in unconsciousness, as the pain rippled through her being.

“This is far worse than my previous experience,” Navrat murmured, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Why is it so much more intense?” He clenched his fists, recalling how Nezu had prepared a similar refinement for him in his past life. It had been grueling, yes, but nothing like this. Was it because Ruhi’s body had been unprepared for the strain? Or was it something else entirely?

His thoughts turned to her soul, still refining in the cocoon of energy he had crafted for it. Using his spiritual senses, Navrat checked on its state and sighed in relief. The soul was stable, continuing its transformation without interruption. “Thank the heavens she’s not awake for this,” he muttered, wiping his forehead. “The pain would be unbearable.”

Navrat forced himself to focus, steadying his breathing and adopting a meditative position beside the sphere. He closed his eyes and began channeling his energy, guiding it into Ruhi’s body to aid the refinement process. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the soft hum of the energy circulating around them.

The minutes stretched into hours, and the hours into days. Navrat didn’t falter, his energy flowing steadily into Ruhi, synchronizing with the sphere’s purifying force. Every moment was a delicate balance, a test of his endurance and control. Time seemed to blur as he poured everything he had into ensuring her survival and success.

Two and a half months later, the process finally reached its conclusion. Navrat opened his eyes, his face pale and drawn from the intense effort. The once-radiant liquid had dulled, its energy completely spent. Ruhi’s body began to rise from the sphere, enveloped in a soft, purple glow that gradually faded as her feet touched the ground. The transformation was evident—her skin radiated vitality, and her presence was imbued with an otherworldly strength. The glow coalesced into a set of beautiful white and purple robes, fitting her form perfectly.

Navrat staggered to his feet, exhaustion threatening to topple him. Before he could gather his thoughts, the barrier around the room dissolved with a faint crackle, and the tranquil moonlight spilled into the space. It was a moment of peace, but it didn’t last.

A subtle shift in the air drew Navrat’s attention. He turned sharply, his instincts on high alert. Sitting casually on the windowsill was a man clad in radiant black robes, their edges shimmering faintly with an undercurrent of violet. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was anything but. The air around him seemed to ripple with suppressed power.

As the barrier fully dissolved, the man spoke, his voice soft yet imbued with reverence. “I have returned, master.”

Navrat’s eyes narrowed, and a spark of recognition flickered in them. “Oni,” he said, his tone both weary and firm. Oni one of his most trusted warriors in his previous life, a shadow who thrived in the darkness, unseen and deadly.

“Well done,” Navrat said, his approval clear despite his fatigue. “You were quick this time. Go ahead. Tell me everything you’ve learned.”

Oni inclined his head respectfully before stepping down from the windowsill. His movements were impossibly fluid, each step noiseless as though the very air bent around him. His figure, draped in his radiant black robes, carried an aura of quiet authority, but his eyes—sharp and calculating—betrayed the weight of the information he was about to share. Stopping in the center of the room, he turned to face Navrat fully.

“Master,” he began, his voice calm yet edged with gravity, “I have uncovered much during my mission. The balance of the continent is far more fragile than we had anticipated.”

Navrat, still recovering from the grueling refinement process, straightened. His body screamed for rest, but he ignored it, focusing all his attention on Oni. Crossing his arms, he regarded his subordinate with an intensity that demanded every word be weighed carefully.

Oni continued, his tone unwavering but deliberate, as though each word carried the weight of the revelations to come. “The northern regions are in turmoil. The Ethereal Frost Sect, Blazing Ember Alliance, and the Obsidian Moon Order—once the pillars of stability—are in disarray. Outwardly, they present a facade of unity, but internally, they are embroiled in secretive power struggles. They were significant players in the invasion that led to the upheaval of the continent, though their involvement was carefully obscured.”

Navrat’s eyes narrowed. His mind worked through the implications, recalling the chaos that had unfolded during his last days in his previous life. “And the south?” he asked, his voice low but commanding.

Oni’s expression darkened slightly, and he nodded. “The situation is no better there, Master. The Crimson Tide Sect, Verdant Sky Pavilion, and the Shadowveil Enclave have similarly entrenched themselves in the schemes that brought about that disaster. Like their northern counterparts, their leaders were deeply involved, orchestrating events from the shadows. These six sects—north and south alike—were not just participants; they were the primary architects of the chaos.”

The room seemed to grow colder as the implications sank in. Navrat’s jaw tightened, his fingers digging slightly into his arms as he processed the magnitude of what Oni had uncovered. “The invasion,” he said slowly, his voice heavy with realization. “It wasn’t just a grab for power. It was coordinated.”

“Yes, Master,” Oni replied grimly. “And the Heaven Sky Group, the ones believed to be at the center of the turmoil... they were nothing more than a distraction.”

Navrat’s gaze snapped to Oni, his sharp eyes demanding an explanation.

Oni obliged without hesitation. “The Heaven Sky Group was arrogant, ambitious, and reckless—perfect pawns for the six sects to manipulate. While Heaven Sky drew the world’s attention with their bold assaults and open declarations, the real work was being done quietly. The six sects used Heaven Sky’s aggression as a smokescreen to conceal their deeper, more insidious plans. By the time anyone realized the truth, it was already too late.”

The weight of the revelation settled over Navrat like a heavy cloak. He clenched his fists at his sides, his knuckles whitening. “And their leaders?” he asked, his voice laced with steel. “The ones who pulled the strings?”

Here, Oni hesitated for the first time, a flicker of unease passing through his usually composed demeanor. “Master, that is where things become... troubling,” he said carefully. “All of them are missing.”

Navrat’s brows furrowed, his mind racing. “Missing?” he echoed, the word tasting foreign on his tongue.

Oni nodded solemnly. “Every leader of the six sects. Even the figures who controlled the Heaven Sky Group. They all vanished shortly after the invasion failed. It’s as though they simply disappeared from the face of the world. No trace, no sign, no whispers of their whereabouts.”

Navrat’s eyes darkened as he absorbed the information. It was not merely troubling—it was unprecedented. Leaders of sects as powerful as these did not simply vanish without a trace. Either they were hiding for a purpose, or something—someone—had removed them.

“And the God Palace Federation?” Navrat asked, his voice steady but heavy with anticipation. This was his sect, the foundation of his previous life, and its condition weighed heavily on him.

Oni’s tone softened, but there was a bitterness to his words. “The Federation is fractured, Master. With the Zon family unable to put forth a successor to lead, the balance of power has shifted. The two remaining sects—Celestial Dawn Assembly and Starlight Dominion—have taken measures to ensure their survival. New leaders have been chosen: Xia of the Dawn Assembly and Zanith of the Dominion. They are capable, but... the Federation’s unity is hanging by a thread.”

Navrat’s expression remained impassive, but a flicker of something crossed his eyes at the mention of the names. He recalled the moment when his senses had brushed against an unfamiliar yet strangely resonant presence while entering the city. Could it have been Xia? He quickly pushed the thought aside. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Oni’s voice dropped, his usual calm replaced by a note of hesitation. It was rare for him to falter, and Navrat’s focus sharpened immediately. “Master,” Oni began, his tone weighted and deliberate, “there is something else. Something far more dire.”

“Speak,” Navrat commanded, his voice brooking no delay.

Oni exhaled slowly, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “If my suspicions are correct, all of this—the chaos, the disappearances, the alliances—has been orchestrated for a singular purpose. To recover the Ancient Devil.”

The room seemed to shudder under the weight of the words. Navrat’s breath hitched, the name conjuring a cascade of memories and emotions. His fists clenched involuntarily, the knuckles turning white.

“The Ancient Devil...” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze turned distant, as though he were staring into a void.

Oni nodded, his expression grim. “Yes, Master. The Ancient Devil. If he fully recovers from the injuries my old master inflicted... this world will not survive. No force, no army, no sect will be able to stand against him. His power would be absolute, his vengeance unparalleled.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Navrat’s chest rose and fell with measured breaths as he fought to steady himself. The enormity of the revelation threatened to overwhelm him, but he refused to let it. He had faced despair before. He had been broken before. And yet, here he stood.

“I have to get stronger,” Navrat said, his voice firm, cutting through the heavy air. The determination in his tone was unshakable. “Stronger than I’ve ever been. I can’t falter now. I made a promise.”

As he spoke, memories from his past life surged to the forefront of his mind. He remembered the day when his world had been ripped apart, the moment when everything he cherished was taken from him. The despair, the helplessness—it had all been seared into his soul. But so too had the resolve born from that pain. He had been given a second chance, and he would not waste it.

Navrat stood silently, gazing out of the window. The weight of Oni’s report lingered heavily in his mind, but it was not the only thing that troubled him. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, now seemed to look past the present. Memories long buried began to surface, forcing their way into his consciousness like waves crashing against the shore.

The room around him seemed to fade, replaced by another time, another place—a memory from years ago, one that defined the boy he had been and the man he had become.

The Royal Palace, Years Ago

It was late at night, and the palace was silent. The golden halls, usually bustling with activity, now stood still under the silver light of the moon. Behind one ornate door, the stillness was replaced by the quiet sound of labored breathing. Emperor Rudhansh's second son, Navrat, lay on his bed, his small frame trembling with effort as he struggled to take each breath. He was only five years old, but his body was weak, frail, as if life itself was slipping away from him.

Beside him sat his mother, Lady Karishma, her elegant features marred by grief. Her hands trembled as she gently brushed Navrat’s hair from his damp forehead, her tears falling silently. Navrat’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his breaths shallow and pained. His once-bright eyes, full of curiosity and joy, now reflected exhaustion and fear.

“Mother…” he whispered weakly, his voice barely audible.

Karishma shook her head, forcing a smile through her tears. “Shh, my little star. Save your strength.”

But Navrat saw through her facade. Despite his young age, he was unusually perceptive. He noticed how the physicians avoided her gaze when delivering their grim prognosis, how the servants whispered in hushed tones outside his door. He knew his condition was not one he could recover from—not with medicine, not with rest. His life energy was dwindling, and even at five, he could feel it slipping away.

“I’m sorry,” Karishma said suddenly, her voice cracking. She gripped his tiny hand in hers. “It’s my fault. I gave this to you…”

Her words confused him at first, but then he remembered the whispers he had overheard. The incurable disease he bore had been passed down to him from her. He didn’t understand the details, but he understood her pain.

“Don’t cry, Mother…” he murmured, though tears brimmed in his own eyes.

Karishma inhaled sharply, steeling herself. Her despair was replaced by fierce determination. “Navrat,” she said, her voice firm yet tender, “do you trust me?”

He looked at her with all the trust and love a child could have for his mother. “Yes, Mother,” he said, his voice weak but unwavering.

Her heart broke at his faith in her, but she nodded. “Good,” she said, brushing his cheek. “This will hurt, my little star. But you must bear it. No matter how painful it gets, you must not give up. Do you understand?”

He nodded again, his small hand tightening around hers.

Karishma closed her eyes, placing her hand over his chest. Her other hand trembled as it moved to form a complex series of gestures, and then she began to chant. Her voice was soft at first, almost a whisper, but it grew stronger with each word.

“Through the heavens and hell, from light to dark, from creation to destruction, I command all energies to connect to this being and unite his soul. Secret Art: Eternal Link.”

Navrat’s body was consumed by excruciating pain. It felt as though every part of him was being torn apart and stitched back together simultaneously. His vision blurred, and his cries were muffled by the deafening roar of energy swirling around him. Karishma poured every ounce of her life force into the spell, her own body trembling as it neared its limit.

“Son,” she whispered, her voice filled with love and sorrow, “no matter where I go, no matter what happens to me, I will always be proud of you. Your future is bright, with or without me.”

As the last words left her lips, Navrat’s consciousness faded into darkness.

When he awoke, he was no longer in his bed. He stood above a vast, endless ocean, its waters impossibly calm. A brilliant white light surrounded him, warm and comforting. Before him stood a tall figure, their presence commanding yet serene. The figure wore simple white robes, their face radiant but indistinct.

“Stand up, child,” the figure said, their voice echoing like a melody across the still waters.

Navrat obeyed, his small form trembling but determined.

“Do you wish to become powerful?” the figure asked, their gaze piercing.

“Yes,” Navrat replied, his voice filled with a conviction far beyond his years.

“And why do you seek power?”

Navrat’s answer came without hesitation. “So that no one has to protect me. So that no one loses their life to save mine. I want to protect them. I want to prove I’m not worthless.”

The figure regarded him silently for a moment, then smiled. “Very well,” they said. “Your resolve is pure, your determination unshaken. You are worthy.”

The figure stepped forward, and Navrat felt an overwhelming surge of energy envelop him. The disease that had plagued his body was burned away, erased as though it had never existed. His body, once frail and weak, was now filled with a vitality he had never known.

“You have a great destiny ahead of you,” the figure said. “A danger looms on the horizon—a being known as the Ancient Devil will rise to destroy all that you hold dear. If you wish to protect this world, to save those you love, you must become stronger than any who have come before you.”

Navrat nodded, his young face filled with determination. “I promise. I will protect them.”

The figure placed a hand on his head, and a surge of golden light flooded Navrat’s mind, engraving knowledge deep into his soul. A second surge, a brilliant purple light, entered his heart, creating a hidden domain within him.

From the domain emerged two beings—shadows at first, but as they stepped forward, their forms became distinct. The first was a man, tall and elegant, his sharp features exuding calm authority. The second was a woman, her radiant energy contrasting with her playful smile.

“Young Master,” the man said, bowing deeply. “From this moment forth, I, Oni, pledge my eternal loyalty to you.”

The woman grinned, her eyes sparkling. “And I, Ahoshin, will follow you to the ends of the world! . You’re so cute!” she exclaimed, pulling Navrat into a tight hug.

A sharp cough interrupted them, and the two immediately stepped back, their expressions composed once more.

Navrat turned back to the figure. “Elder, what should I call you?”

The figure began to fade, their presence retreating into the light. As they disappeared, a proud voice echoed in his ears. “Avtar Rudra Dev.”

Back in the palace, Navrat’s body was engulfed in radiant energy. Karishma’s form began to fade, her life force completely spent. She watched with a smile as her son’s strength surged, knowing she had given him a future.

As the radiant purple energy enveloped Navrat’s frail body, the room shimmered with a strange, otherworldly glow. His mother, Karishma, had vanished, her sacrifice complete. The energy coursed through Navrat, amplifying his presence.

Slowly, a figure appeared amidst the fading light. The room seemed to shift as this figure stepped forward, exuding an aura of immense power. “Don’t worry, Lady Karishma,” he said, his deep voice resonating with authority. “I will train your son to be a perfect warrior.”

It was none other than Nezu, the Grand Mage and a trusted elder of the Zon family. His piercing gaze swept over Navrat’s small, unconscious form. With deliberate movements, he approached the boy and placed his hand gently on Navrat’s forehead. His voice softened as he murmured, “Secret Art: Converging Fate.”

A subtle yet potent energy flowed from Nezu into Navrat, weaving itself into the very essence of the boy’s being. This energy hid itself within Navrat, lying dormant but powerful. Nezu took a step back, observing his work. But just as he extended his hand to lift Navrat, his expression sharpened.

He paused, sensing something extraordinary. The energy in the room shifted violently as a god light tore through the dimensions, aiming directly at Navrat. Nezu smirked, his expression one of both amusement and disdain. “Removing the threat before it grows—a smart move,” he muttered. “But not practical here.”

Raising his hand, Nezu pointed his wand toward the incoming light. His voice was steady, laced with authority. “Erase.”

An overwhelming energy burst forth, consuming the god light in an instant. What had been an attack capable of annihilating an intermediate immortal cultivator was reduced to a mere fragment. Nezu allowed this fragment to strike, its impact collapsing the palace and setting it ablaze. Flames erupted, engulfing the structure.

Nezu glanced at the destruction, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Show them, Navrat, what you truly are,” he said softly, his form fading as he disappeared. Moments later, he reappeared on a nearby mountain, the shadows of the burning palace visible in the distance.

A presence approached him, silent but commanding. Nezu turned, unperturbed, as Rudhansh, the Emperor, stepped from the shadows. “So, she did it after all,” Rudhansh said, his tone a mixture of sorrow and acceptance.

Nezu inclined his head slightly. “She sure did.”

Back at the collapsing palace, chaos reigned. Elders and servants rushed to the scene, desperate to save Navrat. Amidst the commotion, a young boy broke through the crowd—Akansh, Navrat’s elder brother. “Let me through!” Akansh cried. “I can’t lose him! Not my only brother!”

The elders restrained him firmly, their faces grim. Akansh’s cries pierced the air, raw with emotion.

Not far behind, two more figures arrived in haste—Xia and Zanith, Navrat’s closest companions. Their youthful faces were etched with helplessness. They gazed at the flames, fists clenched. “We have to do something,” Xia said, his voice trembling.

“But we’re not strong enough,” Zanith replied, despair heavy in his tone. Both of them could only watch as the inferno consumed the palace.

Just as the elders prepared to enter the burning structure, a voice rang out from within. It was cold, sharp, and brimming with confidence. “Heaven’s Domain: Second Fold—Ice Prison.”

In an instant, the raging inferno froze, transformed into a massive iceberg. The flames were extinguished, the crackling of ice echoing in the stunned silence.

From the heart of the icy remains, a figure emerged—a boy no longer weak or frail. Navrat’s every step radiated power, his presence commanding and unyielding. The pale, sickly child who had been criticized and dismissed was gone. In his place stood a young man, confident and determined, ready to face any challenge to achieve his goals.

Navrat blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. The memory of that pivotal night lingered, heavy in his chest. But it also fuelled his resolve. He straightened, his expression unreadable. “I don’t have time to waste,” he said firmly. “I must head to the mountain Nezu mentioned.”

Reaching into his robes, he retrieved the golden page and handed it to Oni. “Investigate this place. I’ll join you once I’ve finished here.”

Oni bowed, his form disappearing into the shadows.

Alone, Navrat turned his attention to the dark, looming silhouette of a distant structure. A strange, oppressive energy emanated from it—a museum, rumored to be haunted after nightfall. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “Let’s see what secrets you hold,” he murmured, striding toward it.