The sound of Vikram's footsteps echoed across the strange floor—rippling like water, yet hard as stone beneath his feet.
His breathing grew heavier. Faster.
He risked a glance over his shoulder—
They were still coming.
Dozens of them.
Faces twisted with anger. Weapons drawn. Voices rising into a chaotic roar.
"Why are they so serious about this?!" Vikram muttered, panic creeping into his voice.
He turned sharply to the left—
—and slammed straight into a wall.
Thud.
"Ahh—!"
Pain exploded across his forehead as he dropped to the ground, vision spinning.
For a moment, everything blurred.
"…Great," he groaned, pressing a hand to his head. "Perfect. Just perfect."
He staggered back to his feet, blinking hard, trying to focus.
Left—blocked.
Right—open.
"No… not falling for that again," he whispered, narrowing his eyes.
His jaw tightened.
"Open door, closed door… closed door, open door…"
Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes—and ran straight toward a closed door.
It worked.
The door gave way—
—and he crashed straight into someone.
A maid.
She slipped instantly, her footing gone as the pot she was holding flew from her hands.
Clang—!
Sambhar splattered across the floor.
Her scream tore through the kitchen.
"Ahhh!"
Every head turned.
Vikram froze.
"…Uh-oh."
The maid scrambled back, her saree slipping from her shoulder as she clutched at it in panic. Her face flushed red with anger and embarrassment.
"H-Help! This man—he's—!"
She pointed at Vikram, voice shaking.
"He's a pervert!"
"WHAT?!" Vikram's eyes went wide. "No, no—wait—that's not—!"
Too late.
The kitchen erupted.
"You bastard!"
"How dare you!"
Men grabbed knives. Others picked up sticks. The cook stepped forward, fury burning in his eyes.
"I'll cut you down right here!"
"WAIT—!" Vikram threw his hands up defensively.
A knife swung toward his face.
He ducked instinctively.
"Okay—no talking. Got it!"
He bolted.
Two men blocked the exit.
Vikram skidded to a halt, heart hammering.
Behind him—
Footsteps.
Closing in.
Fast.
"…I'm dead," he whispered.
Then his eyes sharpened.
The two men lunged at him—
—but Vikram stepped back at the last second, slipping past their reach like a kabaddi player dodging a tackle.
He twisted between them, barely fitting through the gap—
—and broke free.
Landing on his feet, he pointed back at them with a quick grin.
"Too slow!"
Then he ran.
Harder this time.
His chest burned. Sweat soaked his clothes. His legs screamed for rest.
"I can't keep this up…" he thought, breath ragged.
Spotting an open room, he slipped inside and pressed himself against the wall.
The mob rushed past.
Their footsteps faded.
Silence.
For a moment, Vikram just sat there—head tilted back, gasping for air.
"…Where the hell am I?" he whispered.
His fingers dug into his hair.
"This doesn't feel like a dream…"
His gaze drifted to the strange floor outside.
Water… that looked like glass.
Doors… that lied.
His eyes slowly widened.
"…Wait."
His breathing slowed.
"I've heard of this before."
He froze.
Then—
His hand shot to his mouth.
"No way…"
A chill ran down his spine.
"I'm in… Mayasabha."
The realization hit him like a punch.
"The hall of illusions…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Everything that looks real… isn't."
Memories clicked into place.
"That man who slipped… Duryodhana."
"And the woman laughing…"
His eyes narrowed.
"Draupadi."
He exhaled slowly.
"…So I just interrupted a royal humiliation scene."
A beat.
"…and now everyone wants to kill me."
"Great."
Before he could think further—
Footsteps.
Close.
He turned—
—and walked straight back into the kitchen.
"Hello again!" he said quickly—
and without hesitation—
lifted the maid onto his shoulder.
"HEY—!" she shrieked, struggling. "PUT ME DOWN, YOU IDIOT!"
She started hitting him.
"OW—! Okay, okay, calm down!"
He ducked into another room and quickly covered her mouth as the chasing crowd ran past again.
Silence returned.
Slowly, he removed his hand.
She turned and bit him instantly.
"AHH—!"
He winced but didn't pull away.
"Just listen!" he whispered urgently. "I won't hurt you."
She hesitated.
Her breathing slowed.
"…You promise?" she asked, eyes searching his face.
Vikram nodded.
"I promise."
After a moment, she relaxed.
They sat facing each other.
"My name is Lavya," she said, narrowing her eyes. "And can you stop staring at my waist?"
Vikram blinked.
"…I wasn't—"
She raised an eyebrow.
"…Okay, maybe a little," he admitted awkwardly.
She sighed.
"Men."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Anyway… where am I?"
Lavya leaned back slightly.
"You're inside a Mudra."
"…A what?"
She pulled out a small coin.
"A Mudra. A weapon. It awakens power."
She flicked her fingers—
—and a glass of water formed out of thin air.
Vikram's eyes widened.
"…Okay, yeah. That's magic."
"It's not magic," she corrected. "Not exactly. Mana is banned in this era. Mudras borrow it… from somewhere else."
She handed him the water.
He drank it in one go.
"So… magic with extra steps," he said.
She rolled her eyes.
"You really don't know anything, do you?"
Then her expression shifted.
More serious now.
"There's only one Mudra that has its own world."
Vikram leaned forward slightly.
"…Which one?"
Lavya met his eyes.
"The Supreme King's Mudra."
A pause.
Then—
"The King of the Dead Realm."
Vikram felt his heartbeat slow.
Inside his chest… something stirred.
"Inside it," she continued quietly, "is Mayasabha."
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.
"The home of thirty-two Heavenly Queens… the goddesses of virtue."
Silence filled the room.
Vikram didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Because for the first time—
He understood.
This wasn't a dream.
And whatever he had stepped into…
Was far bigger than him.