The Ascendant Mortal: Beyond Divine Boundaries

The heavy wooden doors of the Library of Wisdom groaned as Aamir pushed them open, stepping out into the sunlit courtyard. His mind was still buzzing with everything he had studied. Scrolls about adrenaline energy, ancient techniques, and the legendary speed of the Garuda's Glide had sparked something deep within him.

He had spent days in the library, poring over forgotten records and strategies. But now it was time to act.

"Knowledge alone won't make me stronger," Aamir thought, his eyes narrowing toward the path ahead. He adjusted his worn training clothes and marched toward the Cultivation Hall, where the energy of countless warriors lingered like a constant hum in the air.

The Cultivation Hall stood like a silent monolith—a place where students sharpened their bodies and honed their adrenaline energy. The massive chamber was bathed in golden light streaming from windows high above, and the faint scent of sweat and earth filled the air.

Aamir closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The hum of energy vibrated through him, settling into his bones like a familiar rhythm. His focus sharpened. Here, surrounded by the echoes of discipline and effort, he knew what he had to do.

"Garuda's Glide," he whispered to himself, his mind replaying the text he had studied.

It was a movement technique revered for its unparalleled speed—an imitation of the Garuda, the king of birds. Practitioners of the technique could glide through battle like a shadow, untouchable and unstoppable. But mastering it required more than strength; it demanded perfect balance, footwork, and the flow of adrenaline energy.

The open grounds stretched wide under the clear blue sky, a canvas of dust and stone waiting to be painted by effort and sweat. Aamir stepped onto the training field, his footsteps quiet, but his mind loud with determination.

Other students were scattered across the grounds, training with magic and weapons. Some threw fireballs into dummies; others sparred with shimmering blades conjured from pure mana. A few glanced his way, smirking or whispering under their breath.

"He's the guy whom dharam was training

"What's he doing here?"

Aamir ignored them. He had no time for their doubts—not when he had his own to conquer.

He took his position at the center of the field, his body loose but poised.

"Focus," he muttered to himself. "Speed. Flow. Nothing else matters."

Closing his eyes, Aamir sank into a low stance, his muscles coiling like springs. He let his breath slow, feeling the adrenaline energy build in his chest—like a spark waiting to ignite.

Aamir pushed off the ground, his feet gliding forward with sharp intent. He focused on light, deliberate steps, mimicking the description of Garuda's Glide—each motion fluid, as though carried by wind.

One step. Two steps. Three steps.

But his footing faltered. The glide broke, and he stumbled forward, crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"Damn it," he growled, pushing himself up. The muscles in his calves burned, his breath ragged.

Nearby, a group of students laughed. One of them, a boy in crimson robes, called out, "What are you doing, Aamir? Trying to fly?"

More laughter followed, but Aamir didn't react. He brushed the dust off his clothes and reset his stance. His focus sharpened, the world narrowing to his breathing and the feel of the earth beneath his feet.

"Again."

Hours passed, the sun creeping across the sky. Aamir pushed himself relentlessly, failing, falling, and rising again. Each attempt brought small improvements—his balance steadier, his speed sharper, his movements smoother.

By late afternoon, sweat soaked his clothes, and his body felt like lead. But Aamir's eyes burned with an unyielding fire.

"You're still hesitating," he thought, recalling the ancient texts. "Speed isn't about force. It's about flow. Let the energy guide you."

He took his stance once more. This time, he silenced every thought, every doubt. His breath aligned with the faint pulse of adrenaline energy coursing through his veins.

One breath.

One step.

He moved.

His body felt weightless, the earth no longer pulling him down but pushing him forward. Each step rolled into the next, his feet gliding across the ground as if carried by an invisible force. The wind whistled past his ears, and the world blurred at the edges.

Faster.

Faster.

Aamir's heart pounded like a drum, his movements falling into perfect rhythm—an unbroken flow of motion and energy.

This… this is it.

He came to a stop on the far edge of the training grounds, his chest heaving. Dust swirled around him like a halo, the earth bearing the faint marks of his glide. Silence fell over the students who had been watching.

A boy whispered, "Did… did you see that?"

Another murmured, "How did he move like that?"

Aamir stood straight, his gaze calm as he looked back across the field. His muscles burned, but his mind was clear—sharper than it had ever been.

This was only the beginning.

From the edge of the training grounds, a lone figure watched him. Her white hair shimmered in the sun, her expression unreadable. It was Aafreen.

"So, he's beginning to grasp it," she muttered to herself, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Not bad, Aamir. But let's see how far you'll take it."

With a final glance, she disappeared into the shadows, leaving the whisper of her presence behind.