The nadis are the subtle channels of the body's framework, conduits through which prana flows—refined from one's own ojas.
Through disciplined breathing, this vital energy circulates, awakening the physical form.
Hiss! A wisp of disturbed white mist escaped Ashan's nostrils.
'Hot and cold.
Simultaneously. A strange, bifurcated sensation.'
He continued the rhythmic cycles of the Binding Coil Path.
His blood vessels swelled as the first streams of true prana coursed through them. His bones, tendons, viscera, heart, and blood—all being tempered, refined by energy born from his own vitality.
He drew a deep, controlled breath, focusing the gathered prana along his spine.
'Now, the Sushumna. The central channel. The river that connects all tributaries.'
Amidst the opposing temperatures warring in his flesh, he regulated his breath, guiding the prana up the central column.
Prana and Atmic energy—the two known 'Urja' fuels of a Sadhaka.
The prana moved like a serpent now, slithering, coiling, awakening.
The heat on his right and the cold on his left intensified exponentially.
'It's about to awaken!'
Ashan calmed the frantic beating of his heart, adhering strictly to the path.
A faint trace of whitish-black vapor began seeping from his nostrils.
All the pores of his body opened, expelling impurities.
A pungent, acrid smell filled the air around him.
'Yuck! The stench of expelled impurities... worse than rotting offal. I have to endure. The process is far from complete.'
He controlled his revulsion, his focus unbroken.
As the hot and cold sensations began to recede, a new feeling emerged—a sudden, electric spark jolting through his entire being.
And then, he felt it: a vast, luminous network of nodes coursing through every cell, all connected to his spine, branching out like a cosmic tree within him.
Hiss! Hiss! A long, fan-shaped plume of blackish-white mist erupted from his mouth.
'The initial phase is done.'
But he didn't stop.
He continued to regulate his breath, guiding the now-awakened prana to every part of his body, saturating every organ and cell.
'Now, the main event. Here goes everything.'
He calmed his breathing, gathered his prana, and drew it to the base of his spine to unlock his first chakra.
'To become a Bodnir-rank Sadhaka, one must unlock the Muladhara Chakra—the Root. It symbolizes stability.'
Chakras are the foundational framework of a being on the path of Sadhana. They are the cornerstones. Without their awakening, there can be no advancement.
Ashan performed the corresponding mudra, touching the tip of his thumb to the tip of his ring finger—the Root Mudra.
His prana surged to the base of his spine, spinning in a violent, rapid vortex.
'Stability. I must stabilize the prana around it.'
He poured his will into calming the raging energy.
Wisps of mist continued to escape. He held the mudra, his breath a steady metronome.
Slowly, the vortex began to calm—spinning slower, denser, and more stable.
'This... is it!'
Boom! Crack!
A small, internal explosion vibrated through his very bones.
All his prana surged toward the epicenter, coalescing into a stable, spinning wheel of power at the base of his spine.
'I... I did it!'
Ashan opened his eyes.
His body was covered in a black, sticky substance, but the change within was profound.
'Strength flows through my veins, my bones... my whole being. I am a Sadhaka. The first major step is mine.'
"Waaahhh! What is this!?"
A scream tore through the hall.
Ashan looked around. Some candidates had undergone horrific transformations. Hair grew wild, extra limbs sprouted, and eyes bulged from unnatural places. They snarled, drooling, consumed by bestial rage.
'Is this the price of failure? The danger Instructor Inria warned us about?'
A cold dread prickled his scalp.
Her words echoed: "You are constantly fighting among yourselves." The meaning was now terrifyingly clear.
"Don't stop, fools! Begin your Atma Vidya!" The cold voice of Zarah, the purple owl-masked man, shattered the panic.
The instructors effortlessly subdued the transformed candidates.
Crackle! "Tch! Weaklings!" Head Instructor Rees incinerated a body with a wave of flame.
'I must calm my mind. Panic is a luxury I cannot afford.'
The contents of his Atma Vidya, the Hidden State Path, surfaced in his mind.
Just as Sharir Vidya required breathing exercises, Atma Vidya required entering Dhanya—a state of deep cogitation—to unlock the Chit Sagar, the Mind Sea.
Ashan stilled his thoughts, entering the cogitative state. Then, he began to speak the mantras—words of power from the modified Asurain tongue, tuning forks for the soul.
Indescribable syllables fell from his lips as he plunged deeper into the reserves of his own mind.
Sha! Sha!
Ashan opened his eyes.
"Where am I?"
A clear, empty sky stretched above him. He stood on a small, floating island of earth, adrift on a tranquil, impossibly deep sea.
"This is... the inner space of the mind. The Chit Sagar, the mind sea."
His eyes widened in awe.
"Beautiful."
'The land is my ego, my conscious mind.
The sky, my higher awareness.
The sea, my power and memory—the subconscious.'
"Are you having fun after killing me?"
A deep, grunting voice sounded behind him.
Ashan turned.
There they stood: his past family, Korus, the boy he killed for food, and the girl he scarred to survive. But they were twisted, malformed into vengeful specters of hatred and malice. Their faces were contorted, their bodies inhuman parodies.
"Kill you!"
"It was a mistake you were born!"
"Why did you kill me?"
Their voices were a chorus of ravenous beasts, enough to chill the soul.
Ashan's mind, however, remained preternaturally calm.
'Mental demons. Manifestations of negative karma and guilt. To fail here is to become a retard or die.'
The apparitions did not attack; they only stood, snarling their venom.
Ashan's lips curled.
A twisted grin spread across his face, and he burst into laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Oh, my! I just can't control myself," he said, coughing lightly.
A smile still played on his lips as he addressed them.
"I mean, I killed you all—directly or indirectly. It would be hypocritical to fear you now. You are just phantoms, false images cast by my own subconscious."
They fell silent, their cold, dead stares fixed on him. A low, muffled growl rumbled from their forms.
Ashan gave them a dismissive glance, then turned his back, surveying his Mind Sea.
"I am thankful to you all. Without your sacrifices, I would not have survived until now. For that, I am grateful."
He paused, then offered a final, sidelong glance, his voice dropping to a calm, merciless whisper.
"And you should know this: no matter how many times it takes, I will kill you all again to secure my survival and my goals. I feel no remorse. No pain. No sadness. Only gratitude that your deaths served my life."
Strong heart. Serene mind. Body honed.
Today, a few less obstacles. Tomorrow, the path clears further.
Emotion? Extinguished. Joy, grief, sorrow, regret—all are ash on the wind.
What remains is the purest thanks: gratitude that their lives became the stepping stones beneath my feet.
Crackle! Crackle!
Bolts of lightning flashed in the clear sky, smiting the malevolent apparitions into nothingness.
This was his mind. His word was law here.
Ashan clutched his chest tightly. His hazel eyes blazed, a faint grayish-white hue swirling in their depths.
"This is my humanity!"