Aryan jolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs, remnants of a nightmare clinging to him like cold sweat. His hand automatically went to his forehead, wiping the damp skin, before fumbling for the water glass on the nearby bedside drawer. His hand was trembling so violently that the water in the glass sloshed and threatened to spill as he brought it to his lips. He swallowed the cool liquid in deep, hurried gulps.
When the glass was empty, he rose, methodically folding the blanket before tucking it onto the shelf beneath the bed. He crossed the small room and stepped onto the gallery, breathing in the high, thin mountain air. The sky was an impossible, vivid blue, and the music of charming birdsong drifted up from the valley below. His gaze drifted to a small, isolated house built directly onto one of the distant, dramatic mountain peaks.
A week, he thought, letting the cool wind wash over him. A week, and those nightmares still manage to find me. I still remember that high school.
A sigh of relief escaped him, quickly followed by gratitude. I am glad Guru Maheshwar brought me here.
From outside, a voice—old but rugged and tough—cut through his contemplation. The rhythmic tap-tap of footsteps ascending the wooden staircase accompanied the sound.
"Aryan! Your tea is ready, I believe."
"I am coming, Guru!" Aryan replied, quickly.
Before closing the balcony door, his eyes swept over the pristine room. Only one week ago, he thought, the contrast a sharp, painful jolt, I didn't even have a proper roof over my head. Now, this tea...
The simple word acted like a trigger. His mind gave way instantly, pulling him completely back into the relentless current of his past memories.
When people remember their past, they often recall moments of joy—college days, school friends, and beautiful memories that bring tears of happiness, not pain. When I remember my past, I also cry, but not for the same reasons as others. I still remember the sheer magnitude of the trauma I faced.
Everything felt good, perfect even, right up until my seventeenth birthday. After that, only darkness. I still get those nightmares, the goosebumps, and the sudden, wrenching fear in the dead of night—the trauma of my fall. I still remember their cries. I still remember everything.
Aryan was slowly pulled back into his past.
That was my last morning my life normal the day i can't forget.
The Morning of the Seventeenth.
The morning alarm bell ripped through the silence. The young Aryan jolted awake and slammed his hand down on the snooze button located on the bedside drawer. Stretching his arms high above his head, he ran a hand through his messy hair, a sudden rush of joy spreading across his face. He grabbed his phone.
Yes. January 27th. My birthday.
He was buzzing with anticipation for the new Supersonic CG-15 electric guitar his dad had promised. He shot into the bathroom and instantly splashed cold water over his face.
He descended the stairs and found his parents already in the spacious, open-plan hall. The kitchen was attached to the roomy living area, which featured a large couch, a television, and a huge glass door connecting it to the garden.
"Honey, didn't I tell you? Without my tea, my morning just doesn't feel like morning," his father said from the couch, where he was engrossed in the newspaper.
"Ah, I know that," his mother replied playfully, stepping out of the kitchen. She presented him with a cup. "Take this."
They settled side-by-side on the couch. "Darling," his mother whispered conspiratorially, "don't forget, you absolutely mustn't wish him yet."
"I know," his father whispered back, setting the paper down. "The guitar is all packed up in our bedroom. I want to see the shock on his face when we give him the surprise." They exchanged a celebratory high-five.
Aryan walked down the final steps. "Mom, where is breakfast? I want to get to school!"
"Yes, yes, your breakfast is ready."
They seem to have forgotten my birthday, Aryan thought, trying to hide his excitement. Maybe they plan to give me the surprise later. Okay, I'll play along.
He sat down at the dining table and started eating the sandwich hurriedly.
"Aryan, don't eat too fast," his mother cautioned.
"Mom, I have to hurry. Today is an important lecture," he mumbled while chewing.
"You and your child," his mother said, shaking her head playfully. "Always late about time."
"And you, honey, always punctual about time," his father interjected with a teasing tone. "Do you know, Aryan," he turned to his son, "your mom dragged me to her home an hour before the meeting. She was terrified!"
His mother flustered, gently hitting his arm. "That was different! I was nervous! We were confessing our love in front of our parents, asking permission for marriage! Don't open that topic in front of Aryan!"
Aryan chuckled softly, enjoying the familiar, comfortable bickering.
Perfect, both parents thought simultaneously. He doesn't suspect a thing.
Aryan quickly finished his sandwich. Wearing his blue t-shirt, light gray-green jacket, and black pants, he grabbed his schoolbag. "Bye Mom! Bye Dad!"
His parents both smiled radiantly. "Don't rush, dear. Keep an eye on the cars," his mother advised.
"Mom, I'm not a kid anymore! I can take care of myself," he called back, raising his hand in a wave. Both parents mimicked the wave and gave him a final, loving sign-off.
Aryan arrived at the Grand College, a place that, at first glance, looked less like a school and more like a magnificent mansion. Lanterns hung suspended in the air above the curving copper-plated road, which had taken on a subtle greenish patina over time. Students were scattered across the grounds—some groups chatting loudly near the ancient garden trees, others gathering at the entrance to the main pathway.
As he walked, a young lady teacher caught his eye. She held a magic wand loosely in one hand. Her long jacket was fitted perfectly around her waist, contrasting sharply with the crisp white shirt beneath, which gave her a calm, professional air. Her skirt fell just above the knee, and her black heels clicked softly on the floor with every step.
She looked strict but also possessed a gentle demeanor, suggesting a genuine care for her students.
"Good morning, kid," she said as she passed.
Aryan returned the greeting, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. She's the only teacher who ever bothers to motivate me, he thought.
But his eyes quickly shifted to a group of boys talking nearby. One muttered to his friend, loud enough for Aryan to hear, "Look, there goes the low star one."
Aryan felt a familiar knot of nervousness twist in his stomach, but he straightened his shoulders and walked past as if the taunt were the most normal thing in the world.
In this world, everything—respect, money, and power—belonged only to those born with a powerful heritage. Power stemmed from Blood Cultivation, a deep, ancient force that allowed a human to evolve into a new form. This evolution permitted the body to channel Mana through the blood flow to craft powerful magic.
There were only two ways to achieve this power: Heredity (being born into a powerful bloodline) or Blood Self-Rebirth (an incredibly rare, self-initiated change).
I wasn't born into a powerful bloodline, so I am weak, Aryan thought bitterly. No matter how hard I try to stop them, they are stronger than me. That's why I'm used to this bully name." Low star"But in this world, there were still kind people. Just as the snide remark about the "low star" was settling over Aryan, a boy waved his hand high in the air and yelled his name loudly.
Aryan turned and a genuine smile finally broke through his worried façade. It was Samar, his true best friend. Samar had always treated him like a normal person, despite being born into a noble, powerful family himself. In fact, Samar was the one who had consistently protected him from the worst of the bullying in the academy so far.
Aryan approached him quickly, and the two boys exchanged a firm handshake.
"Hey, bro," Samar said, instantly noticing something was off. "You look drained. Let me guess, today also looks like you didn't eat your breakfast properly?"
Aryan was slightly taken aback. "How do you always understand me so easily, even without me telling you what happened?"
Samar grinned, shrugging his jacket higher on his shoulder. "Guess I learned mind-reading when you weren't looking."
Aryan chuckled softly, the sound feeling good and natural. Their bond was incredibly strong, as if they were two parts of the same whole—truly inseparable. "He didn't know it yet, but his seventeenth birthday would become the day the world tore itself away from him."
his life turned up side down.