Ankit closed his eyes again, steadying his breath. The yellow specks returned in his mind—faint, glowing points scattered through the hut's empty air.
He focused, trying to nudge them with his thoughts, like pushing a marble across a table. Nothing moved. He could only watch them hover, stubborn and still.
It reminded him of the mana or spiritual qi from webnovels he'd binged lately. "Could this be like qi in those cultivation stories?" he murmured under his breath. "Refine it, and you fly, shatter mountains, punch through the sky."
His imagination kicked in—Earth's spiritual energy reviving, just like in Xinxia tales where modern life collides with ancient powers. "If that's happening here... this world's about to get interesting," he thought, a grin tugging at his mouth despite the dust.
The voice's words clicked into place: "All things are possible... pioneer."
Maybe it meant he could lead the way, build something new from this energy. Excitement bubbled up—what if he flew one day? Trained his family? But reality checked in quick. "How do I even use it?"
No novel spelled out real steps. Terms like yin, yang, or taichi felt foreign, tangled in Chinese lore he didn't grasp.
He'd have to experiment—test breathing patterns, track what sharpened the specks, log results like a science project. The work didn't scare him; exploring the unknown lit a fire.
Part of him still glanced inward, hoping the voice would pipe up with steps. Then Dad's words from months back surfaced: "You can't lean on others forever, Ankit. Figure it out yourself."
Back in the future, after losing him, Ankit had washed dishes at local eateries, fixed neighbors' phones—no waiting for miracles. Why revert now? Novels hammered the risk: mentors in rings or minds who started helpful, ended up possessive—stealing bodies, dragging families into danger.
He wouldn't gamble his mom, sister, or anyone.No more passivity. He'd craft his own system.Dependence ended here, voice or not.
If all things were possible, why not pioneer a method that fit him?
Opening his eyes, he saw his father glaring, arms crossed. "Half an hour sitting like that? Smiling one minute, muttering the next—what's with you?"
Ankit stood, brushing dust from his jeans. "Nothing, Dad. Sorry." Shadows slanted long through the cracked door; evening light dimmed the hills outside.
Kamal headed out, grumbling. "Evening's closing in. Late already—car's that way." Ankit followed, the dirt path crunching underfoot.
Halfway down, he added softly, "Dad, the world's shifting. Big changes coming. Prep for it."
Kamal paused by the car door, keys out, studying him. The time travel claim still hung between them—believed enough to buy phones, skip school, chase huts. If that held, why not this? "Shifting how, exactly?"
He needed specifics, ways to shield them if trouble brewed.
Ankit just shrugged, climbing in. He also don't know how the change would come he just have few guesses.Answers would come with time—or his own trial and error.
For now, the drive home felt charged, the hills fading behind like a half-solved puzzle.