The Man Who Stood Above Me

A place beyond reason, that's the only phrase that comes to my mind when I look around myself. It has been a full week since I set foot in this land—a place so incomprehensible, so otherworldly, that my mind still refuses to fully grasp its existence. Every single day I have spent here has been a war between my senses and my logic, as if the very air I breathe carries an enchantment designed to make me question reality itself.

The first thing that hits me every morning is the silence—but not the silence of emptiness. It is a silence brimming with life, a silence that listens, that watches, that waits. The kind of silence that makes a man feel small, as though the land itself is something greater than him.

The air is too pure, too crisp. Each inhale fills my lungs with something that feels unnatural, a sharp contrast to the heavy, sweat-laden oxygen of the training halls and fighting pits I am used to. Here, breathing feels effortless, yet somehow... heavy, as though the very act of taking in air means absorbing something more than just oxygen.

The trees here are unlike any I have ever encountered. Some stretch so high that their peaks vanish into the sky, their bark smooth and polished like aged stone, yet humming faintly when touched—as if they are alive in ways beyond mere existence. Others have thick, gnarled roots protruding from the earth, twisting into intricate, unnatural patterns that seem too deliberate to be random. Their leaves shift in color—not with the seasons, but with the time of day. At dawn, they shimmer in hues of gold and crimson, as if ignited by the rising sun. By noon, they settle into a deep, rich green. And at night… they glow.

It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Unlike anything I have ever heard of.

And yet, here I am. Stuck in a place that should not exist, following a man I barely know, alongside a boy I can’t stand.

I look to my left and see Anil, standing near a cluster of glowing plants, his frail figure illuminated by their pulsing light. He does not touch them. He does not lean in for a closer look. He just… stands.

I do not understand him.

I do not want to understand him.

Oh, I should have introduced myself first. That's a blunder on my part but I don't ask for any forgiveness.

My name is Balram, and I was born into a legacy of power.

I have spent my entire life building my body into a weapon. I was not raised in luxury, nor was I granted any special privileges beyond my bloodline. No, my worth was determined the hard way—through discipline, through sweat, through pain.

My family is one of warriors, fighters, wrestlers—men who define their existence by the strength of their bodies and the will of their spirits. I was raised among giants, trained under the relentless hands of those who saw weakness as an unforgivable sin.

From the moment I could walk, I was taught that power was everything. That a man without strength was a man without purpose. That in the world of battle, mercy was just another form of cowardice.

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I earned my place in the ring. Every scar, every muscle, every ounce of pride—I carved it into my own flesh.

And then came him.

I still remember the day I met Mr. Ash.

It had been an ordinary day—another opponent, another victory, another fight that I was certain I would win. I was at my peak, my body honed, my reflexes sharp. I had defeated every man I faced that day, throwing them to the ground with the ease of a predator hunting prey.

And then he appeared.

I had never seen him before. He was not one of us—not a wrestler, not a trained fighter from any discipline I recognized. He had no scars, no marks of past battles, no signs that his body had been shaped by the fires of combat. He looked so frail that I thought he would fall over the next second.

And yet… he stood there, looking at me as though he had already won.

"You" he pointed his finger towards me, "Fight me"

No introductions. No explanations. Just a demand.

I laughed. Of course, I laughed.

Who was this man to challenge me? A stranger, with a lean body that looked like it had never endured a day of true combat? He looked out of place—too relaxed, too effortless, too damn calm.

I did not want to seriously fight this weak old man, I mean why would a mountain be interested in crushing a grain of dust but the look he gave me like I was some kind of insect crawling on the ground, that look ignited an unknown fire in me, which definitely was not normal given the state of the man standing before me, but I wanted to crush him with everything I had.....I did not know why I felt those unstable waves of emotions then, but now I do.

I accepted his challenge. I did have my sympathy for the old fellow but I also had my principles. I cannot reject any challenge from anyone, irrespective of their situation or background or my situation. If someone challenges me, I have to accept it, and I did.

That was my first mistake.

The Fight That Wasn’t a Fight

I came at him with everything.

Raw power. Unrelenting speed. The kind of strength that could crush bone, the kind of force that had sent countless men sprawling at my feet.

And yet—

He did not fight me.

He moved.

Like water slipping through fingers. Like wind shifting around an obstacle. Every strike I threw, he redirected. Every attack, he twisted against me.

He was not blocking. He was not resisting.

He was using my own strength to defeat me.

I had never fought anyone like him before. Never faced a style that felt less like combat and more like… inevitability.

It was as if he had already seen the outcome of our fight before it even began.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t even trying.

I could tell. Every movement of his was too smooth, too precise. He could have ended the fight in seconds, and yet he let it go on—let me struggle, let me exhaust myself, let me understand just how powerless I truly was.

And then, when he had finally decided that I had learned my lesson—he ended it.

One single movement, and I was on the ground.

I did not even know how I got there.

And as I lay there, stunned, humiliated, something in me shifted.

I was not angry.

I was in awe.

I had spent my entire life believing that raw strength was the ultimate power. That if my body was superior, then victory was assured.

And yet, this man—this stranger—had defeated me without using even 1% of his strength.

And then, as I looked up at him, he spoke the words that changed everything.

“You lost. That means you follow me now.”

And I did.

Not because I was forced. Not because I was broken.

But because I knew, at that moment, that I had just met a man who stood above me.

And I wanted to learn. Sounds pretty stupid but I couldn't let go of the chance that might never come back to me.

Now, here I am, in this impossible land, following a man I barely know, alongside another I cannot stand.

Anil.

I do not know where he came from. I do not know what he wants.

But there is something about him that unnerves me.

He is too quiet. Too still. He does not react the way a normal person should. Not to this place, not to Mr. Ash, not even to me.

He just… exists.

I do not like it.

I do not trust it.

So I ignore him.

I focus instead on this land—this strange, impossible land.

The creatures here do not behave like normal animals. They do not fear us. They do not run when we approach.

They watch.

Their eyes are too intelligent, too aware.

Even the ground beneath my feet feels wrong. It is too solid, yet too soft. As if the earth itself is listening.

This place is unnatural.

And yet, Ash moves through it like he belongs here.

Like he understands something I do not.

That is why I follow him.

Because if I want to become stronger, if I want to truly understand what it means to be powerful, then I must walk this path.

No matter where it leads.