The rays of the morning sun fell gently on the meditating prince. The lotus bud still floated above his joined hands and it slowly ever so slowly started to bloom. Svetavastra who had come out of his meditation stretched his arms and legs and soaked in the morning sunshine.
“This feels good,” he smiled looking at the sun, his eyes blocked by the white blindfold. Spiritual energy surged through him from the cultivation he had done the previous night.
“How long must he meditate like that?” the preta asked curious.
“Till I figure out what I am to do with him,” replied Svetavastra. He waved his hand, and a barrier formed around the prince protecting him from any external elements.
Svetavastra headed towards the cave of the Preceptor of Heavenly Conduit.
Aryaman eyes darted back and forth behind his closed eyelids. As he tried to focus on his breath, thoughts flooded his mind, like untamed horses, they galloped wildly.
“The greatest duty of a king is to his people,” he remembered his father’s words and his warm and wise eyes. “In the happiness of the people, lies his happiness, in their well-being, lies his well-being. If a king turns into a tyrant from a servant, that kingdom does not last long, it perishes to dust like the ashes of a burnt log.”
Focus Aryaman! He told his wayward mind, dragging its attention to his breathing.
His thoughts again wandered around Arang, the capital city of the Dayita kingdom - its high city walls, the bustling marketplaces, the serene gardens—each a vivid picture and how they are now dreary and full of dread because of the undead. A sense of responsibility, to protect and serve his people, weighed heavily on his heart.
Focus Aryaman! He told to his unruly mind, forcing its attention back to his breathing. Focus on the breath coming in, focus on the breath going out.
No sooner had he found his breath, another thought intruded. Svetavastra. The mysterious cultivator who had appeared in times of need, offering guidance and a path forward. Aryaman's mind churned with questions about this new mentor—his powers, his past, and the lessons he would impart. Could Svetavastra be the guru he had long sought? The one to help him harness his latent abilities?
Again, the rhythm of his breath anchored him. His focus went on the inhalation of breath and then on the exhalation of his breath.
But the mind, ever restless, shifted its focus to the undead, those soulless beings that threatened his kingdom. Memories of the Northern Mines, the chilling sight of corpses reanimated by dark forces, crept into his consciousness. The fear, the determination, the resolve to combat this menace—all vied for his attention.
The blooming lotus in his mind's eye began to falter, but Aryaman, recalling Svetavastra's instruction, centred himself once more on his breathing. The cycle of air, a constant amidst the chaos of his mind.
General Pushya, the Kapala chief's narrow escape, the celestial sword’s true form each flashed before him, sparking a cascade of emotions—anger, frustration, a thirst for awakening his cosmic powers. Images after images from his life and the people he knew danced in and out of focus, each demanding his attention, pulling him away from his cultivation.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Yet, with each intrusion, Aryaman returned to his breath. It became his refuge. With every cycle of the breath, he observed, the tumult within him subsided, the wild horses were tamed to gentleness, and a sense of calm began to permeate his being. Time lost its meaning as Aryaman persisted, his attention now deeply focused on the ebb and flow of his breath. The lotus bud atop his hands stirred and began to open, as it fed on the moments of unwavering tranquility.
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Svetavastra stood in front of the cave of the preceptor. He recalled how only a short while back, he stood in front of it as a young girl accompanied by the old woman. Hope avva is doing well, he thought as he entered the cave. The air was thick with the scent of earth and the faint aroma of incense.
“Svetavastra!” the preceptor greeted Svetavastra with a wide grin. “You are back!”
Svetavastra nodded.
“I’m here to report on the rogue pretas,” he said and exchanged information on what happened in the village and at the Northern Mines.
“Manipulation of ley lines is a serious issue!” commented the preceptor. “This matter of rouge pretas and dark energy does not bode well for us.”
“Do convey this matter to the heavenly emperor,” said Svetavastra. “It’s of utmost significance.”
“Naturally,” said the preceptor. “You need not worry about this.”
“I have news regarding your cosmic weapons and a new task,” said the preceptor.
Svetavastra looked at him expectantly.
“Regarding your cosmic weapons,” said the preceptor. “The heavens will send a guide to you who will help you find them.”
“A guide?” said Svetavastra.
“Yes,” said the preceptor. “That’s what I’ve been told.”
A moment of silence followed as Svetavastra processed this.
"Who is this guide?" Svetavastra asked. “When will they come?”
“Soon?” offered the preceptor weakly.
“Do you want me to work on vague promises?” said Svetavastra.
“I can only tell you what I’m informed of, Svetavastra,” said the preceptor. “I’m only a conduit.”
“Be a more useful conduit,” insisted Svetavastra.
“I will try better from now,” cajoled the preceptor. “Now, your new task is to request the King of Dayita to borrow his son. The prince is a demigod, the son of Ila of Swarga-loka and owns a celestial sword. For the time being, you can take his help in dealing with rogue elements.”
Svetavastra looked at him interestingly.
“You’re behind, lousy preceptor,” he said. “I already found the prince, have used the daityahan asi, and the prince wants to be my disciple.”
“Your eminence is of course ahead of Swarga-loka,” said the preceptor with a smile. “That’s why your eminence is chosen for this. But you must follow the protocol and meet with the king about this.”
Svetavastra sighed.
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The sky draped itself in the hues of twilight, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape of the Northern Mines as Svetavastra returned. A peculiar sight awaited him. While the prince sat in deep meditation, a horse, whose coat shimmered in the fading light circled Aryaman. Its hooves softly thudded against the ground, stirring up small clouds of dust in a gentle yet persistent attempt to rouse him from his deep concentration.
It nudged Aryaman gently with its nose, then more insistently, as if imploring him to awaken from his internal journey. When the gentle nudges bore no fruit, the horse resorted to a more direct approach, softly whinnying and then playfully nibbling at Aryaman's sleeve, tugging it lightly. Aryaman, however, remained as unmoved as a statue.
The horse, undeterred, tried a different tactic, stepping back a few paces before charging forward, stopping just short of Aryaman, its breath warm and heavy, brushing against his face in a gust that carried the scents of earth and wildflowers. Yet, even this did not disturb Aryaman's meditative state. The horse, now a mixture of frustration and concern, paced restlessly around him.
As Svetavastra drew near, the horse sensing him and his spiritual powers backed away in fear and respect. Svetavastra stood in front Aryaman, at his feet, he saw the lotus floating above Aryaman’s hands, now in full blossom.