It was called Mountain Rooting.
Feet shoulder-width apart. Knees slightly bent. Spine aligned like a bow. Shoulders relaxed. Hands loose at the sides. Breath flowing down into the earth, then up through the spine.
It looked like nothing. But it was everything.
Aarav stood in it for hours. Sweat soaked through his clothes. His legs trembled. His thoughts screamed. The earth beneath him pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Pagal Baba circled him like a vulture. "This is the first stance because it teaches the truth: stillness is not inaction. It is pressure. It is choice. It is foundation."
Every part of Aarav's body wanted to move. To twitch. To quit.
But he stayed.
The stance awakened something in him—not power, but awareness. He could feel the direction of the wind before it blew. Hear insects shifting underground. Know when someone was about to lie, simply by the pause in their breath.
He began to understand that battle wasn't chaos. It was rhythm. Posture. Timing. The earth itself could be his ally—if he listened.
One morning, a snake slithered near his foot during the stance. He didn't flinch. Just breathed.
The snake passed by.
Pagal Baba said nothing.
But the next day, he began teaching Aarav the second stance.
The gods watched from afar, uneasy.
Because the boy no longer feared them.