Ayan gasped as if surfacing from deep water. His knees buckled, palms striking the cold floor. The sudden loss of something intangible, something that had momentarily bloomed inside him, left him shaken.
He remained crouched, hands pressed to the ground, eyes wide: not with fear but with clarity. The void inside him was gone, replaced by a quiet contentment and a sense of peace that settled deep into his soul. Not Prana. Something older, truer.
Then the moment collapsed.
His vision blurred at the edges from overexposure, as if he'd stared too long at a truth his mind wasn't ready to grasp.
Around him, eerie silence. Kanshul stood frozen. The other disciples' mid-cheer faltered, and they stared, mouths ajar, like fish on a dry land.
Finally, Kanshul turned. Triumph drained from his features, replaced by raw confusion.
"Get her!" Sharav shouted, but none of them moved. No one could.
"What just happened?" someone asked.
Kanshul whirled on Ayan, fury darkening his features. "What did you do?"
Ayan could only stare back, his heart thudding like a drum. He had no answer. No explanation for what happened. An impossible clarity had gripped him in those moments—a vision so vivid it was like a wakeful dream.
But now?
Now there was only numbness and disbelief.
"This is your fault!" he roared, advancing on Ayan with clenched fists.
An icy dread seeped into Ayan's bones as he shook his head. "I didn't—" Ayan backed away, words catching in his throat.
"Liar!"
The accusation hung heavy in the air. The other disciples whispered among themselves, confusion flickering through their ranks. Ayan was beneath them, a worm without power or place. How could it be possible for him to disrupt such an attack?
They sensed impending violence. With hushed whispers and subtle nods, they goaded Kanshul into venting his rage on Ayan. After all, the death of another servant was of no consequence; the air hung heavy with indifference.
Ayan felt a shiver run down his spine as Kanshul closed in on him. He braced himself for the worst.
Suddenly, Sharav stepped in, hand resting lightly on Kanshul's shoulder. "Wait," he said, and his eyes flicked towards Jagbir's unconscious form. "We may need him. For now."
The tension coiled tighter. Kanshul hesitated, his hatred barely leashed. Then his jaw clenched, and he turned away with a scowl.
"Fine," Kanshul said. "But once we're done here…"
The unspoken threat lingered like smoke.
They moved on, regrouping with grim silence. No one met Ayan's eyes. He trailed behind the others, doubts gnawing at him like restless worms.
What had he done?
The thread he'd seen connecting him to Reni—had it been real? Or was it a desperate hallucination?
He replayed it again and again:
The delicate thread he had seen spinning towards Reni, and the glimpse of humanity in her monstrous form.
The sudden formation of the Yantra. The whisper of "Sphurna".
The unexplainable way Kanshul's attack had unraveled…
And the way it all faded like a dream. It seemed impossible… yet nothing else made sense.
A word he'd never spoken before welled up in his heart: Hope. It was a feeling entirely new to him.
Despite his diligent training, his greatest ambition was a modest one: to get out of the Gurukul and become a soldier and support his sister. But now, a profound sense of purpose filled him, a feeling far greater than he'd ever known.
A power deep within him had effortlessly crushed Kanshul's attack, leaving him feeling insignificant. Upon his return, he planned to visit the Archives in search of more information.
As he looked at his side, he could still feel Reni's absence, a raw emptiness echoing in the recesses of his mind. Guilt clawed at his insides, twisting and unrelenting. He had saved Jagbir, and yet they hadn't even cared for Reni.
They had left Reni to perish without a second thought for the life she once had, dismissing her as no more than a servant.
A servant just like him.
A faint hope had flared when he saw her humanity beneath that monstrous skin, but now she was gone—traded for a life he didn't even want to save.
How did he let that happen?
Another bitter question joined the others, nagging at his mind: Was it his fault? Had he somehow—
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the doubts clinging like leeches.
Ahead, the cavern widened, and he stumbled over corpses half-buried in the muck. Feralspawn and Rotlings, their bodies twisted in death. The sight jarred loose a memory not long back. They had seen similar trails of corpses just before Jagbir attacked the Spore bloom towers.
So much had happened since then.
He sighed and once again he wondered if these were bait—a trap set by something waiting in the lair's shadowed heart.
The corridor narrowed, forcing the group into a single file. A metallic taste infused the rising warmth of the air. The walls cast a sickly green light over Kanshul's taut frame as he led them forward.
Ayan's breath felt heavy in his chest. He kept his eyes down, focused on each step, trying to ignore how exposed he felt among them.
Sharav's words echoed in his mind: We may need him for now. Ayan knew that gave him only as long as it took to get Jagbir out from the caverns. They'd turn on him, leave him for dead. He was sure of it. He took a steadying breath and kept moving.
Kanshul's voice barked, urgent and impatient. "Move! We're almost there!"
Two disciples carrying Jagbir on a rough-hewn litter picked up their pace, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The others quickened their steps.
Ayan struggled to keep pace, his doubts about the danger ahead growing stronger.
It opened into a massive chamber. The floor sloped unevenly, and a nauseating stench hit him with the weight of a fist.
Ayan coughed, covering his nose. The others hesitated, uncertainty in their eyes.
A mountain of carcasses lay before them, bodies twisted like discarded toys in the muck. Despite the surrounding carnage, it was eerily quiet. Not a creature stirred.
"Keep moving," Kanshul said, eyes scanning for danger.
"This is wrong," Ayan gasped. "Can't you see—"
Kanshul spun, eyes burning with mad hunger. "Shut up," he said.
Ayan felt silent; there was no dissuading them. The disciples excitedly raced toward the lair, hoping to find a core.
His feet fell weighted, but he trudged on, counting his steps to keep his thoughts centered.
The air was thick with something more than rot and decay, a heaviness that pressed like a hand on his chest. They were getting closer.
Kanshul led them across the chamber, where the ground turned to fleshy tendrils that pulsed underneath like veins in a living being. Something shifted in the dark beyond them.
Finally, the path opened into a massive gallery, the Blightfang Ravager's lair. Jagged roots twisted through the walls, and ancient fungal towers stood like rotted pillars. The stench was worse here—thick with decay, blood, and something else.
"Look!" someone shouted.
Then Ayan saw it.
In the center of the lair, amidst the stench of decay and spilled entrails, lay the massive, unrecognizable corpse of Blightfang Ravager, the dungeon's mini-boss, its hide torn and flesh mangled.
A brutal laceration marred the creature's chest. Ribs splayed outward like the fingers of a shattered hand. Deep gouges ran the length of its body, not made by weapons, but claws. Talons. Something larger than itself.
"By the stars," someone breathed.
Nestled within the ruin of the Blightfang's body, a soft glow pulsed faintly.
The core. Still intact.
It hung tantalizingly loose from its chest, like an overripe fruit ready to be plucked. Around it: more bodies—disfigured Howlers and Feralspawn piled high around the fallen beast.
"It's… dead?" Sharav said in disbelief, but his voice shook with excitement. "But the place was supposed to be empty."
"Doesn't matter," Kanshul sneered.
Ayan swallowed hard. "It looks like a last stand," he whispered.
The Blightfang's demise was brutal and complete; its lifeless eyes stared blankly upward, surrounded by a pool of dark, congealing blood.
And yet… the killer had left its most valuable piece behind.
A tense quiet fell over them as they took in the impossible scene. Caution tugged at some; their breaths were shallow and quick as they scanned for danger lurking at the edges of vision.
For Kanshul, it only fueled his reckless drive.
"Get it!" he snarled through clenched teeth, striding towards the Blightfang with outstretched hands. The others followed closed behind him as suspicion warred with greed in their eyes.
Ayan held back, beads of sweat tracing lines down his cheek while he cautiously observed from a distance; it felt too much like a trap ready to spring shut around them.
The disciples jostled each other as they reached for their prize. The trembling core that pulsed with light that left shadows etched on their retinas.
And then: A terrible roar filled the cavern, shaking loose dust from every crack and seam, and making even Kanshul freeze in place.