The Sage Who Holds Two Worlds

Varuna Temple did not announce itself.
There were no gates, no guards, no blazing symbols carved into stone. The mountain simply opened—its face split by age and water—revealing a stairway descending into shadow. Water flowed along every surface, not violently, but endlessly, as if the mountain itself breathed through it.
Kedar stepped inside.
The temperature dropped immediately. Not cold—balanced. His Fire Prana reacted, flaring instinctively, but the daggers at his waist hummed softly, pulling the heat inward, steadying it.
The sound of water surrounded him.
Drips. Streams. Distant falls.
Footsteps echoed ahead.
“You’re late.”
The voice was young.
Too young.
Kedar froze.
From behind a curtain of falling water stepped a man who looked barely older than Kedar himself. His hair was dark, tied loosely at the back. His expression was calm, unreadable—eyes sharp, but tired in a way that came from seeing too much, not sleeping too little.
He wore simple robes, damp at the hem.
No aura flared.
No pressure pressed down.
And yet—
Kedar felt it.
Fire stirred.Water answered.
Two currents, coexisting.
“Are you… the sage of Varuna Temple?” Kedar asked cautiously.
The man sighed. “Unfortunately.”
He walked past Kedar, barefoot on wet stone, and crouched near a shallow pool. With one hand, he stirred the water. With the other, a faint flame appeared—steady, controlled, untouched by steam.
The fire reflected perfectly on the water’s surface.
Not mixed.
Balanced.
Kedar’s breath caught.
“My name is Dhruva,” the man said casually. “And before you ask—no, I won’t train you.”
Just like that.
Kedar clenched his jaw. “I didn’t come to beg.”
Dhruva glanced at him. “You came because you were broken.”
Silence fell heavy.
Dhruva stood and finally looked directly at him. “You reek of fire. Of loss. Of impatience.”
Kedar’s Fire Prana surged—then steadied again.
“I was spared,” Kedar said quietly. “I won’t let that happen again.”
Dhruva’s eyes narrowed—not in anger, but recognition.
“So,” he said, “you want water.”
“I need it.”
“No,” Dhruva corrected. “You want it to obey you.”
He turned away. “That’s why you’ll fail.”
Kedar took a step forward. “Then test me.”
Dhruva stopped.
Without turning, he raised one finger.
The water beneath Kedar’s feet shifted.
Not violently—just enough.
Kedar lost balance and fell hard, hitting the stone floor as the water surged up around him, pinning him gently but firmly in place.
He struggled.
The water tightened—not crushing, not painful. Inescapable.
Dhruva finally turned.
“Fire resists,” he said. “Water accepts.”
He released the flow.
Kedar gasped, pushing himself upright.
“I don’t care how strong your fire is,” Dhruva continued. “If you can’t learn when to yield, you’ll drown long before you burn.”
Kedar wiped water from his face, eyes steady. “Then teach me to yield.”
Dhruva studied him for a long moment.
From the temple entrance, a familiar presence stepped forward.
Guru Parshu.
“Dhruva,” Parshu said calmly, “this boy walked away from death.”
Dhruva sighed. “So do many.”
“He walked back toward it,” Parshu added.
Dhruva’s gaze sharpened.
“…That’s different.”
He turned fully to Kedar. “You’ll train,” he said at last. “Not because you asked. And not because you deserve it.”
Kedar waited.
“Because,” Dhruva finished, “if you don’t learn control, you’ll become exactly what you’re trying to defeat.”
Water flowed softly between them.
Fire stayed quiet.
Training had begun.

To be continued......