The moons of Dhara-Loka drifted gently across the sky as the triplets crossed into four years and seven months of life. Vyomtara Manor felt quieter these days—not because the children were any less lively, but because their energy had begun to change, soften, and sharpen all at once. Their laughter still rang through the halls, but beneath it lay something else… something deeper, something blooming.
Aryan grew quieter but brighter, like a lantern burning steadily. His soft voice carried a strange gravity. Sasi grew warmer, kinder, more eager to understand. Aditya, fierce as always, now thought before he acted—most of the time.
In the mornings, they followed Duchess Elaria through the long white corridor. The sunlight clung to their hair—gold on Aryan's reddish-brown curls, silver on Sasi's soft strands, and flame-touched brightness on Aditya's wild locks. The children would walk by her sides, holding onto her gown, tugging at her hands, asking questions that danced between innocence and wisdom.
One day, Aditya asked, "Mother… why do big people always look tired?"
Elaria laughed softly. "Because we carry many things in our heads."
"What things?" Sasi pressed, blinking up with bright curiosity.
"Love," she answered, brushing their hair. "And worry. And hopes for you."
Aryan rested his forehead against her arm, whispering, "We… carry you too."
Elaria's heart stilled for a moment. They were still little… but the world inside them was growing fast.
In the courtyard, the triplets practiced simple movements their bodies had begun to imitate on their own. Aditya would punch the air; steam rose faintly from his palms. Sasi would clap, and sparks shimmered like tiny lightning motes. Aryan's steps would soften the grass beneath his feet, making it greener, brighter than before.
The adults watched secretly. No one dared interrupt. They were children—but every motion felt like a secret hymn being sung back to the universe.
Sometimes the boys quarreled. Sasi cried easily when overwhelmed, Aditya grew frustrated when things did not go his way, and Aryan withdrew when hurt. But each fight ended the same: a small, clumsy hug; a tiny hand wiped across another's tears; a whispered promise of "together."
Duke Varesh often found them asleep in strange places—a blanket fort, under a table, on the balcony steps—tangled in each other like they were afraid the world might separate them.
By four years and eight months, even the knights began speaking in hushed tones when the boys passed by. Birds landed near Aryan. The training fires bent slightly toward Aditya. Static hummed around Sasi when he laughed.
But they were still children.
One afternoon, when a fruit fell from a tree directly onto Aryan's head, he yelped, Aditya shouted that he would "fight the tree," and Sasi hugged Aryan while scolding the fruit for being "too round and too rude."
Laughter returned to Vyomtara… louder than the murmurs of worry.
As the triplets neared four years and nine months, Duke Varesh and Achintya sat in the balcony room, watching the children chase each other through the courtyard. Their small feet pattered across stone, grass, and wind.
"Father," Varesh whispered. "They are growing too fast."
Achintya nodded. "Not in height. In soul."
"They need a teacher," Varesh said, voice heavy. "Someone who understands chakras. Someone who can guide what is awakening inside them."
"Someone we already know," Achintya murmured.
A silence lingered.
A familiar name rested in both their hearts.
That evening, something changed.
The sky bruised into violet. Lanterns flickered awake one by one. The manor breathed slowly, preparing for night.
Then—
A single gust of wind swept through the courtyard.
Not a wild one.
Not a cold one.
A respectful one.
As if the air itself bowed.
The flames bent low. Trees shivered softly, leaves trembling like they recognized someone ancient. Even the birds in the highest branches stirred, then fell utterly still.
Elaria stepped outside. "Varesh… the wind…"
He nodded slowly. "I know."
The triplets stood in the center of the courtyard, eyes widening as the breeze circled them—gentle, warm, almost affectionate.
Aryan whispered, "Someone is coming."
Sasi held Aditya's hand tightly. "It feels like… like story time."
Aditya straightened his back. "I'm not scared."
From beyond the courtyard gate, footsteps echoed—slow, steady, softer than falling leaves yet stronger than thunder.
A tall, robed figure appeared.
His steps made no sound.
His presence made the world hold its breath.
Rishi Vedananda walked toward them, robes flowing like the night sky itself. His beard caught the faintest gold of the lantern light. His eyes glowed—not bright, not fierce—but deep, warm, ancient.
Elaria bowed instinctively.
Varesh bowed lower.
Achintya lowered his head despite rarely bowing to anyone.
But the triplets—
they stepped forward.
The wind brushed past them, swirling in a small circle, as if urging them onward.
With small palms pressed together, they bowed.
"Namaskar, Rushi," they said, three voices blending softly into the evening air.
The sage's expression softened, as though a thousand years of patience had suddenly become worthwhile.
He kneeled to meet them at eye level.
"My little ones," he whispered, touching Aryan's head gently, then Sasi's hair, then Aditya's cheek.
"It seems…"his voice deepened, echoing like a distant gong,"…the cosmos is impatient with you."
Aryan blinked slowly, eyes shining.Sasi tilted his head in awe.Aditya stepped forward with fearless curiosity.
The sage smiled.
They did not know it yet…
but this moment—this soft, sacred meeting under a flickering lantern sky—was the beginning of everything.
Their real path had finally opened.
Their true journey had begun.