Chapter 12 The Truth Buried in Dusty Pages
The library air was thick with the smell of old paper and forgotten histories. Aarav moved through the towering shelves like a ghost his fingers tracing the cracked spines of ancient volumes. He was not searching for anything specific he was fleeing. Fleeing from the golden eyes that had watched him drive away from the mark on his wrist that pulsed with a phantom heat. He just needed to bury himself in something anything that was not his own spiraling reality.
The shuffle of hesitant footsteps on the worn linoleum floor betrayed a presence behind him. He did not need to turn. He knew the cadence the weight of that silence.
Aarav.
Kiyan's voice was a low vibration in the quiet more solid than Aarav had ever heard it. He was close now. I need to tell you
I do not want to talk Aarav cut him off his eyes fixed on a random shelf labeled Local Folklore 1600 to 1800. His voice was brittle. Just go.
But Kiyan did not retreat. He stepped closer into Aarav's peripheral vision. Then a hand closed around Aarav's wrist not harshly but with a firm undeniable intention pulling him to turn.
Aarav yanked his arm back and finally faced him. Kiyan's eyes were glowing that familiar molten gold but the light was different. It was not fierce or frightening. It was pleading. Anxious.
Aarav
I said NO The word erupted from Aarav louder than intended. He shoved Kiyan back the action fueled by a confusion that curdled into anger. I do not want to talk to you. Get away from me.
A few heads turned from nearby study carrels whispers rustling like dry leaves. Kiyan's gaze flickered to the watching students then back to Aarav. The light in his eyes dimmed guttered out. He gave a single shallow nod his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. Without another word he turned and walked away his footsteps silent on the floor leaving Aarav standing there his own hands trembling.
Aarav squeezed his eyes shut forcing air into his lungs. When he opened them his vision blurred with unshed tears of frustration landed on a book. It was nestled in the deepest darkest corner of the highest shelf apart from the others. Its spine was not cloth or modern laminate but weathered wood bound with faded leather etched with what looked like flaking gold leaf.
He reached for it his fingers brushing off a century of dust. The cover was cool and uneven. Emblazoned on it was an engraving of a woman. Her hair was a wild swirling tempest her smile enigmatic and cruel. And above her head cutting through the storm of her hair was a sharp multi spoked wheel the Aadisrashta Chakra (divine discus of the creator).
The title embossed in Devanagari read Kalprant Ka Rahasya Aprakashit Itihaas (The Secret of Kalprant An Unpublished History).
His heart hammered against his ribs. He carried the book to a heavy oak table the dust motes dancing in a sliver of sunlight as he opened it.
The first page was a hand drawn portrait. A king. A crown sat heavy on his brow his eyes held a regal unwavering resolve but there was a profound weariness in their depths. Below in elegant script Raja Manikya Singh.
The text beside it began.
The last Raja of Kalprant. Born in the year 1700 Raja Manikya ruled with a hand both just and firm his people content. Yet in the latter years of his reign a shadow fell. Mysterious deaths plagued the kingdom bodies found aged to husks overnight. The Raja ordered an investigation.
It led to a Tamomayi (dark practitioner) named Virbhadra who had woven misery into the very fabric of the land. The Raja in a single night of purging fire destroyed Virbhadra's followers. But the Tamomayi himself escaped fleeing into the deepest wilds. There in his fury and perversion he gave birth to a power a being that could steal the years from a man move with the speed of lightning walk on walls and trees bend wills a construct of myriad stolen energies. He named it Chhayagrasini (a witch like entity who drains age and life force).
Aarav's mouth went dry. He turned the page.
The End of Raja Manikya
After the purge the deaths did not stop. They came to the palace itself. First the Rani. Then his brothers. Each victim found with white hair sunken eyes faces frozen in terror bodies withered with impossible age. The royal line was being erased. Only the Raja's ten year old son Yuvaraj (crown prince) Nachiketa remained.
In desperation the Raja sought the counsel of the Margdarshak (guiding sage). A Chhayagrasini the sage pronounced his voice grave. A creature that consumes life force. It is she. The Raja fell to his knees. How do we stop it Gurudev.
The sage closed his eyes. A Aahuti Vidhan (sacred fire ritual). But you must place your son the Yuvaraj at its heart.
The Raja agreed.
The Aahuti Vidhan was performed the next dawn. From its sacred flames emerged not a Devanshik (a divinely blessed one who wields divine power) but a concentration of divine will a manifestation resembling the Aadisrashta Chakra. It shot across the clearing and sank into the chest of the young Yuvaraj Nachiketa. On his wrist the symbol of the chakra burned itself into his skin then faded to a pale mark.
That very night the Chhayagrasini came for the Raja. He fought a mortal king against an immortal hunger but his strength was that of flesh and blood. He was overcome. With his last act of sovereignty he did not resist as she took his life his years his very essence a final distraction doing umr choosna (age draining).
She then turned her gaze to the Yuvaraj's chamber. She flung back the silken covers. Only pillows arranged beneath. A child sized decoy.
Her scream of rage is said to have cracked the palace stones.
Far away the Mantri (minister) had already spirited the young Yuvaraj deep into the forest. Years passed. The Chhayagrasini's terror eventually faded. Virbhadra the Tamomayi was dead yet his lust for immortality had trapped his essence leaving him neither alive nor free a prisoner in his own Andhkaar Guha (dark cave).
But the Chhayagrasini she was now free. She took a farmer as her husband. And in the year 1765 a child was born. A boy. They called him Chhayodhbhav (a nightborn entity who drains age) the fragment of the Chhayagrasini. But the superstitious villagers discovered them. The farmer was burned. The Chhayagrasini was captured and bound with enchanted chains. And the child the child vanished into the wilderness.
Aarav's hands were ice cold. He turned the page with trembling fingers. The header read
The Secret of the Devanshik
The text was simpler final.
The descendants of Yuvaraj Nachiketa came to be known as the Devanshik (divinely blessed ones who wield divine power). The mark of the Aadisrashta Chakra was their sigil. This power lay dormant through generations awakening only when a Chhayodhbhav the offspring of the Chhayagrasini walked the earth. The Devanshik power is the sole counter to the Chhayodhbhav's curse. But one truth was always concealed The Devanshik and the Chhayodhbhav both sprang from the blood of Raja Manikya one from Satyamarg (righteous path) one from Kumarg (unrighteous path). They are two branches of the same ancient root. And one cannot be whole without the other.
The words seemed to rise from the page wrapping around Aarav's throat. Two branches of the same root. One cannot be whole without the other.
His gaze was pulled away from the page drawn to the library's high grimy window. Outside standing on the empty lawn across the street was a figure. Stark white lab coat. Featureless white mask. The man was looking directly at him. Slowly deliberately he raised a gloved hand and pointed a single finger at Aarav through the glass. Then he turned and walked away disappearing around a corner.
Aarav slammed the book shut. A jolt like a low electric current shot from the mark on his wrist up his entire arm. A warning. An acknowledgment.
The dust settled back onto the ancient cover. The truth was no longer buried. It was in his hands in his blood and staring back at him from the empty space where a masked man had just stood.
He knew now. This was just the prologue. And Kiyan Chhayodhbhav was not his enemy. He was the other half of a broken verse. The missing branch. And their story written in fate and royal blood was only just beginning.
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