The voice whispered again, soft yet merciless: "Now you see… what lies beyond the veil."
Everything stopped. The chaos, the sound, the fractals - all vanished. Bhairava knelt on the flying floor, his body trembling, his breath shallow. Then he slowly opened his eyes.
In front of him, a figure stood. It was shaped like a girl. But Bhairava's chest rose and fell in jagged breaths as he stared at the figure. Her body was black as shadow, long hair flowing like smoke in the wind, and tiny stars blinked across her form as if the universe itself lived inside her. Her eyes glowed pure white, piercing through him.
She extended her hand toward him, offering to lift him up. But Bhairava did not take it. He stared at the hand, frozen, his chest tight with fear.
"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice breaking.
The figure tilted her head, her hair swaying like liquid night. Bhairava rose slowly to his feet, his eyes locked on hers, searching desperately for an answer.
She smiled faintly, her voice soft yet unsettling. "Who am I?"
She paused, then continued, her words echoing like riddles in the void. "Hmm… a question with no meaning. And the answer makes no sense in this world."
Bhairava's heart raced as he gazed into her glowing white eyes. "What is this feeling?" he thought, trembling.
She stepped closer, her voice soft yet unsettling. "I could be anything you know. It depends on how you see me."
Her shape shifted instantly. Wings unfurled, radiant and divine and she became an angel bathed in light. "If you think I am angel, then I am angel."
Her form twisted again, horns curling from her head, her body cloaked in fire. "If you think I am demon, then I am demon."
Bhairava's mind faltered, blank and overwhelmed. He could only watch as her body kept changing, his thoughts shutting down under the weight of her presence.
The figure's voice deepened, echoing from every direction. "If you believe in god, I might be god." Her body glowed white, divine and blinding.
Then, from behind him, claws scraped his throat. A devil's hand gripped his neck, nails digging into his skin. He turned, and a monstrous face leered inches away. It was her again—the same figure, now wearing the mask of the devil. "Or I might be devil as well."
Her laughter rippled through the void as her form shifted endlessly—angel, demon, god, devil, human, beast. "I could be a human or an animal. I could be everything in the universe… and at the same time, I will be nothing."
She came near and asked. "Let me ask you the same. Who are you?"
Bhairava's lips parted, hesitation breaking his voice. "I… I am Bhaira…"
The figure interrupted, her tone sharp. "Bhairava? That is your name. I am not asking for your label. I asked, who are you?"
"Who am I?" Bhairava thought to himself.
Before he could answer, a voice thundered inside his head, cutting through his thoughts. "If you are Bhairava… then who is that?"
A light appeared before him, stretching into a screen. On it, he saw himself—his body lying peacefully in bed, asleep in his room. His chest rose and fell with calm breaths, untouched by the chaos of the dream.
Bhairava's eyes widened. "It's obvious… that is also me. I was sleeping in my room, and now I am awake in my dream."
The figure's gaze sharpened, her voice steady. "Do you still believe this is your dream?" She didn't linger on the argument, instead moving forward.
The figure stepped closer, her hair flowing like smoke "Whatever. Tell me, what makes you so certain that was you? Is it only because you both share the same appearance?"
Bhairava's breath caught. "What are you talking about?" he whispered.
The figure's lips curved into a faint smile. "If it is appearance that defines you… then I might be Bhairava as well."
Her body rippled like liquid shadow, reshaping until Bhairava found himself staring at his own reflection—his face, his eyes, his trembling lips.
He remained calm, though unsettled. In this strange space, the figure had already shown it could become anything. Yet confusion gnawed at him. "What could it really be?" he thought.
Bhairava said firmly. "Just because you look like me does not make you me. You are only an illusion of shadow, created by my mind."
The replica smiled, his own smile reflected back at him. "Then tell me, what defines you? Is it your physical body? If so, then the one lying asleep in your room must be the real Bhairava, isn't it?"
The replica began to walk slowly toward him, its voice steady, almost philosophical. "There are countless living beings in this world, each unique in their own way. Even among humans, no one are the same. What makes them different? What makes you unique?"
Bhairava's thoughts raced. "What is it talking about? Think, Bhairava… this is still your dream. Nothing else could do such things here. But then… what is it?"
The replica circled him, its words pressing deeper. "So tell me Bhairava, what defines you? Is it your name? Your appearance? Your memory? your experience? Or is it conscious?"
Bhairava's mind jolted suddenly, a spark of realization breaking through the fog. "Consciousness… how did I forget? I am awake in this dream because my subconscious stirred my conscious mind. That means my subconscious could be here as well."
He steadied himself, whispering with conviction. "Yes… that explains everything. This figure must be my subconscious self."
The replica stopped in front of him, staring straight into his eyes. Its tone sharpened. "So, tell me Bhairava..!"
Bhairava frowned, his voice trembling. "Are you… my subconscious?"
For a moment, the replica's face was blank. Then it broke into laughter, the sound echoing unnaturally in the dream‑space. "Subconscious? Where did you get that idea? Not a bad thought, but no."
Bhairava's jaw tightened. "Then don't act like you know everything about me. You're just a shadow created by my mind."
The replica's smile widened as it circled him again. "A shadow, you say? Is that all I am?"
Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder from behind. It felt warm, almost friendly, but carried a weight that made his skin crawl. The voice shifted, deeper, more deliberate.
"Fine. Let's see what this shadow can do. Where shall we begin?"
Bhairava turned his head and saw Mano standing beside him. But he knew at once—it wasn't really Mano. It was the figure, now transformed into his friend's likeness. Shadow Mano placed a hand gently on Bhairava's shoulder, the gesture warm and familiar, and spoke in a calm voice. "Let's begin with how we first met."
As soon as those words were spoken, a glowing screen appeared in the air before them. On it, Bhairava saw himself—nervous and uncertain—walking into college for the very first time. The scene unfolded like a memory he had long forgotten. He watched the younger version of himself meeting Mano, their first words exchanged, the awkward smiles, and how quickly they became close.
Bhairava's eyes softened as he stared at the vision. He realized he had forgotten those small details—the way Mano's charm had eased his nervousness, the laughter that broke the silence, the spark of friendship that grew into something strong. Watching it now, he remembered clearly how they had become friends.
The figure withdrew its hand from Bhairava's shoulder, and its form shifted again. This time, it became Aarya. The voice was steady, almost playful. "Or perhaps we should look at the times you spent with your friends."
Before Bhairava could respond, the figure transformed once more, its body reshaping into Shreya. She walked slowly around him, her presence unsettling yet familiar. "Or maybe we should see your love. How about the time you waited for your father to come home? Or the moments when you longed to spend time with your mother?"
Each time a name was spoken, the figure changed into that person—Mano, Aarya, Shreya, his father, his mother—surrounding Bhairava with faces from his life. And with every transformation, new screens appeared in the air, glowing like windows into the past.
Scenes flickered all around him: his laughter with friends, the first time he met Shreya, the cruel days when bullies tormented him at school, moments in college filled with joy and struggle, quiet evenings at home, moments when he was alone in home and waiting for his parents to return home, fragments of his childhood. Memories he had forgotten came rushing back, playing out in vivid detail before his eyes.
Bhairava stood in the centre of it all, turning slowly, overwhelmed. The air was alive with visions of his past, and he watched in astonishment.
Some of these memories he had long forgotten, yet now they returned vividly before his eyes. Some memories filled him with warmth, others with pain.
Then, a new voice broke through—soft, high‑pitched, like that of a small boy. "Found it. This will work."
Bhairava spun around, his eyes widening. Standing before him was his childhood self, a smaller version of him, fragile and innocent. A large screen appeared behind the boy, glowing with another memory.
On the screen, young Bhairava stood alone at the front of a classroom, waiting nervously. His lips trembled as he whispered, "I think they will not come."
The vision shifted. Now the boy was on a rooftop, staring down with despair in his eyes. His voice cracked as he muttered, "What am I doing wrong? I just want to be like everyone else. No one likes me. I should not have been born."
Another screen flickered to life. Bhairava saw himself covered in dirt and wounds, kneeling outside the principal's office. His mother stood inside, speaking with the principal, her face tense with angry.
The child's voice echoed through the dream‑space. "It is all you, right?"
Bhairava's chest tightened. He looked at the screens and whispered, "That's enough. I agree, you know about me."
The boy tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "Gave up already?"
Bhairava's voice trembled as he asked, "What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"
The child version of himself tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "So impatient, huh?" he replied softly. "Before that, let me ask you something."
Bhairava frowned. "What is it?"
The boy raised both hands, and in each palm an illusion appeared—Shreya in one, Aarya in the other. Their figures glowed faintly, suspended in the air like fragile spirits.
"You have two people whose lives are in danger," the boy said. "One is Shreya, the girl you love. The other is Aarya, your closest friend. Who will you save?"
Bhairava's answer came instantly, without hesitation. "What kind of question is that? I will save both."
The boy shook his head, his voice sharp yet calm. "That's not how it works. You cannot save both."
He lifted his hands higher, the illusions of Shreya and Aarya glowing brighter. "Let's put it this way. You love Shreya, don't you? And Aarya… she is your best friend, isn't she?"
The figures shimmered, each one stepping forward from his hands—Shreya on one side, Aarya on the other.
The boy's voice grew heavier, echoing in the dream‑space. "Imagine this: Shreya tells you she will only love you if you leave Aarya behind. If you choose Aarya, you lose Shreya. If you choose Shreya, you must abandon Aarya. Which one will you choose, Bhairava? The person you love… or the person you care for? Love… or friend?"
The illusions stood before him, waiting, their eyes fixed on him. The air grew thick, pressing against his chest, demanding an answer.