[Few moments earlier in The mid night, just when Bastin uses Sheemi Tectonisia]
Somewhere in India. The hermitage in Varanasi lay shrouded in darkness, save for the dim flicker of oil lamps that lined the stone walls. Inside, a group of young students sat cross-legged on the floor, their voices rising in unison as they chanted hymns in an ancient rhythm. Their guru, Maharshi Jivyuj, sat motionless at the front, draped in saffron robes, his presence as steady as the earth beneath them.
Then, the ground trembled.
At first, it was faint—a mere murmur beneath their feet. But within moments, the tremors grew violent. Dust rained down from the wooden beams above, the lamps flickered wildly, and the students gasped, clutching onto each other in terror.
"Acharya!" one of them cried.
But Jivyuj did not move. His eyes remained closed, his lips still murmuring hymns. As the tremors continued, the golden Syroche fastened to his robe gleamed, radiating an eerie light.
"What is happening!?" the children exclaimed, their voices laced with fear.
Just then, the door to the hermitage burst open. A younger sage, panting heavily, rushed inside.
"Maharshi Jivyuj!"
Jivyuj's eyes fluttered open.
"What's wrong, Shatriv Babu?"
The younger sage, Shatriv Banerjee—a Bengali scholar, ten years his junior—wasted no time. His expression was grim.
"Signs of a bad omen," he said hurriedly before turning and rushing out.
Jivyuj followed without hesitation. They moved swiftly through the ashram's stone corridors, past dimly lit halls, and into a concealed cave hidden within the complex.
Inside the cave, an intricate formation lay drawn on the ground—a massive eight-pointed star enclosed within a concentric circle, woven meticulously with red threads attached to iron nails, each hammered into precise locations on a rough map of the world. Two dolls—one pitch black, the other pure white—sat at the very center of the design, a lone candle flickering beside them.
Shatriv pointed toward one of the nails. It was embedded in a spot marked Sofia, the capital of modern-day Bulgaria.
Jivyuj's breath caught in his throat.
The nail was moving.
Not by the force of the tremors—no. It twisted on its own, trembling as if resisting some unseen force.
"Oh no!" Jivyuj whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Then—clink!
The ancient nail, hammered into place two decades ago, wrenched free. It rolled across the dust-covered floor and came to a stop near their feet.
Silence.
Shatriv took a step back, eyes wide with horror. His voice trembled as he spoke.
"He's free now!"
A heavy weight settled over the cave. The candle's flame flickered violently, the shadows on the walls twisting unnaturally.
Jivyuj's fingers tightened around his Rudraksha beads. His voice was grave, but resolute.
"Now, only the Divine can save us."
With that, he closed his eyes and began to pray.
The tremors ceased.
A collective sigh of relief spread across the hermitage as the students steadied themselves. The oil lamps, which had flickered dangerously moments ago, stabilized, casting a warm glow over the dimly lit chamber.
But just as the calm settled in—fwssh!
A red portal tore through the air at the center of the room, swirling like liquid fire. The children froze. A tense silence gripped them.
"She's here again," one of them whispered, eyes wide with recognition.
Then, from the portal, staggered a figure—Erythros. Blood streaked her once-pristine robes, her breath came in ragged gasps, and in her trembling arms, she held a child. A boy. His small frame shuddered, his eyes vacant with shock. He looked around, confusion and fear flickering across his face.
Erythros wasted no time.
"Where is Master Jivyuj?" she asked urgently, her gaze sweeping the room.
One of the children, still recovering from the shock of her sudden arrival, managed to reply.
"He left with Maharshi Shatriv, Lady Erythros."
She exhaled sharply. "Oh," she muttered under her breath, clearly frustrated but not surprised.
A disciple, standing near the back, took a cautious step forward. He was from Japan, his yellow-greenish Syroche catching the dim light. His voice was gentle, yet curious.
"Lady Erythros... who is that child?"
Her grip on the child tightened for a moment as she hesitated. But then, she knelt, setting him down on his feet. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before whispering to the Japanese.
"He is one of my relative's children… an orphan now. Or rather, he just became one."
A flicker of sorrow passed over her face, but she quickly masked it. Looking up at the disciple, she added in a low voice, "Please don't tell him. I trust I can rely on you, Sagishito."
The Japanese disciple, Sagishito, nodded solemnly. "You have my word."
Erythros turned to Drengvar.
"I will retrieve Daddy's brooch from that man soon!" she declared, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Until then, you must stay here."
Drengvar's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I know you have never lived apart from Mr. and Mrs. Frostulf," she continued, her tone softening, "but trust me—these people are trustworthy."
She glanced at Sagishito, who met her gaze with unwavering confidence. Together, they nodded.
Satisfied, Erythros turned on her heel and, without another word, sprinted toward Maharshi Shatriv's cave.
Erythros barely noticed the subtle aftershocks of the earthquake as she rushed toward the cave. Her mind was set on one thing—informing Jivyuj. The moment she arrived, she saw the two sages deep in prayer, their faces tense with silent determination.
"Master Jivyuj!"
Her urgent call shattered the silence. Jivyuj opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented before recognizing her.
His gaze then fell on Erythros' bloodstained sleeves
"Arithroze," he murmured, mispronouncing her name.
Erythros ignored it. "Master, are you aware of what's happening? Lunéviel Noctis has fused the Lunar and Glace Syroches—he calls it Lunaglacier!"
Shatriv groaned. "Ah, these problems… why do they keep coming one after another?"
Jivyuj remained silent for a moment before uttering a grave realization. "Kalyug approaches."
"Is anything else happening?" Erythros hesitated, scanning their faces, then Shatriv pointed down, She noticed something on the ground. A nail. Her breath hitched as her eyes darted toward the world map.
"What!? A Titan broke free!?"
Shatriv pointed to the fallen nail, confirming her fear. Her face darkened as she traced the location with her finger.
"Sofia—"
Something clicked in her memory. Her heart pounded.
"Oh no! That's where I left the child with the Sheem Syroche!"
Jivyuj's eyes widened. "You left a child with Brooch there!? Do you not realize that's Ifrit's domain!?"
Erythros swallowed. "Yes, but I left him with a polite man… a healer who used botanical methods—"
She froze.
Jivyuj and Shatriv exchanged a grim look. "Botanical healer?" they muttered darkly in unison.
Erythros clenched her fists. "I suspected him… This is my fault! I shouldn't have left the child there!" She turned to Jivyuj desperately. "What should I do, Master?"
Shatriv answered first. "Pray to the gods."
"No!" Jivyuj's voice was sharp. "This is not the time for prayer. You have made this mistake—now, you will correct it. If you succeed, return to me. If not, never show your face again."
Erythros shocked, inhaled sharply.
"Defeating a Titan alone? That's impossible! But… I have to try!"
She dropped to one knee, bowing her head. "Your command is on my head and eyes!"
Without another word, she stood.
"Psychos Teleportus!"
A crimson vortex engulfed her, and she vanished.
Silence fell in the cave.
Shatriv turned to Jivyuj, eyes filled with concern. "Do you want to kill her? No one can defeat a Titan alone!"
Jivyuj exhaled. "That is correct."
Shatriv frowned. "Then—?"
Jivyuj looked at him knowingly. "Do you know the saying—poison cuts poison?"
A flicker of realization flashed across Shatriv's face. "Yes, but what does that have to do with this situation?"
Jivyuj's voice was calm but ominous. "As poison nullifies poison, so too must this end. Titans are the result of the evil forces of Nyxath… In a way, they are creations of black magic."
Shatriv's breath caught.
"Then…"
Jivyuj nodded.
"Black magic must cut black magic."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Jivyuj turned to Shatriv. "Where is your wife?"
Shatriv stiffened. Then, with renewed urgency, he declared, "No matter what condition she is in, I will bring her."
Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted toward his home.