The wind whispered across the empty streets, carrying with it a strange unease. Within moments, Richerd's mansion—once alive with servants, chatter, and the bustle of wealth—fell into silence. A silence so deep it felt like the breath of the place itself had been stolen, leaving behind the husk of a haunted house.
At Richerd's command, every person—maids, guards, stablehands, even the kitchen staff—had been evacuated. Nearly a hundred souls abandoned the estate in a single wave. It was an unnatural sight: the wealthiest merchant of the capital standing under the shade of a withered tree, stripped of his fortress of luxury, waiting in the open like any commoner.
Richerd drew in a slow breath, his chest heavy. Alex's voice echoed in his mind: "That boy will bring you trouble one day." At the time, he had brushed it aside with the arrogance of certainty. But now, watching events spiral far beyond his control, he could only muster a faint, rueful smile.
Beside him, Victoria was a storm barely contained. Her hands shook as she paced, her lips moving with prayers that dissolved into broken sobs. She clutched Richerd's arm, then his chest, as if grounding herself, until exhaustion overpowered her. With tears still wet on her cheeks, she collapsed against him and drifted into sleep.
Richerd brushed a strand of hair from her face, his heart sinking. At least she rests, he thought. It gives me time to gather courage… before the truth unveils itself.
Inside the deserted mansion, Lady Pravisha Oshadhi stood over Rudra's fragile body. She removed his garments with reverent care, her old hands trembling as her eyes traced the jagged wounds. For a healer as seasoned as she, the sight was almost unbearable.
"This…" she whispered to herself, "…is no ordinary affliction."
It wasn't the flesh that concerned her—it was what lay beneath. His kundalini system, the sacred current of life and spirit, was torn and ruptured as though some unseen hand had severed his very essence. These were not wounds of steel or fire. They were wounds of fate.
Pravisha's shoulders sagged. Alone, she could not mend this. Even her decades of knowledge, her herbs and mantras, were nothing before such devastation. There was only one chance left she never thought that there will be a day come when she have to use her biggest healing spell.
She placed her palms together, shut her eyes, and began to chant—not softly, but with a voice that carried into the bones of the mansion:
"O radiant sons of the Sun, Ashwini Kumaras—healers unmatched, guardians of life—answer my call. By the bond of disciple and master, by faith unbroken through ages, I summon you. Save this child. Grant him your blessing, mend his wounds, restore his flame."
The air thickened, vibrating with power. A golden circle blazed on the floor, etched in patterns older than the written word. From it rose a gateway of light, its frame shaped by mantras, its doors sealed with fire and purity. As the final word left her lips, the gate creaked open, spilling forth a torrent of radiance so pure it forced the shadows to flee.
Outside, Richerd and Victoria stirred as the mansion glowed like a second sun. The winds softened, the harsh glare of day melted into a gentle warmth. Even the restless cries of crows fell silent. The world, for a heartbeat, seemed to kneel before the divine.
Two figures stepped through the gate—the Ashwini Kumaras. Their presence was overwhelming, a harmony of beauty and might. Their upper bodies gleamed with celestial ornaments, their skin aglow with the light of dawn their upper body look like a horse a symbol of speed and vitality and lower body look like human represent life and youth.
Pravisha dropped to her knees, tears streaking down her face. "My lords… please, take mortal form. The world is blind to your existence now, and it must remain so."
The twins exchanged a glance. Then, as their bodies shifted, their brilliance condensed into human guise. What emerged were two men so flawless in form that their very presence could ensnare the hearts of mortals. Eyes like twin suns, voices like melodies woven from dawn itself.
Nasatya spoke first, his tone warm yet commanding.
"Pravisha… it has been an age. You endure."
She bowed lower. "That you remember me… even a speck such as I… it humbles me beyond words."
Dashra chuckled, though his voice carried the weight of forgotten centuries.
"You belittle yourself. Few remain who still carry our teachings. You are one of them. That is no small honor."
Pravisha's lips quivered. "You saved me when fate sought to destroy me. You gave me purpose, knowledge, and a path. I could never repay your debt."
Nasatya's gaze shifted to Rudra. His expression hardened. "And this boy?"
Pravisha swallowed. "The son of this city's merchant. Marked by tragedy. His body… his very spirit… are breaking. I cannot heal him. Only you can."
Dashra knelt, his hand hovering over Rudra's chest. His eyes narrowed, reading not just the body but the currents of energy within. His voice grew low.
"…His kundalini system is fractured. Not just the root, not the sacral… but the Manipura, the third chakra. Destroyed."
Nasatya's brow furrowed. "Impossible. Humans of this age barely sense the root chakra. For the third to shatter, it means the lower two had already awakened."
Pravisha stared in disbelief. "I… I do not understand, my lords."
Nasatya turned to her, his voice slow, deliberate.
"Every human carries the serpent power, Kundalini Shakti, coiled at the spine. Along its path are seven chakras—the anchors of body, spirit, and cosmos."
He began to recite, each word a spark of knowledge:
"Muladhara—the root, foundation of earth."
"Svadhisthana—the sacral, flowing like water."
"Manipura—the solar plexus, the fire of life."
"Anahata—the heart, the breath of air."
"Vishuddha—the throat, the ether of sound."
"Ajna—the third eye, the sight beyond sight."
"Sahasrara—the crown, union with the divine."
He lowered his voice. "This boy's fire—his Manipura—has been extinguished. And without fire… the body collapses, the will falters, the spirit withers."
Pravisha covered her mouth in horror. "That is why… my herbs could do nothing. His wounds are beyond mortal reach."
Dashra placed his hand firmly on Rudra's chest. "Then we will act together Brother, you will reconstruct the Manipura. I will mend the wounds. And Lady Pravisha, prepare what you can—redwood bark, turmeric, anything to anchor his spirit during the rite."
Pravisha rushed to her satchel, grinding herbs with trembling fingers, while divine light gathered in the twins' palms.
As Nasatya and Dashra exchanged a glance, an unspoken shadow passed between them. Something more lay hidden in Rudra's broken chakras—something neither wished to voice aloud.
And Pravisha, though the question burned in her chest, dared not ask.