Musa's Candidate
The world shifted again.
Raghu felt the pull — that weightless, stomach-dropping sensation that came before the fall. The ruins dissolved into shadow, violet light streaking away into nothingness. He fell through the void until the ground rose to meet him with a heavy thud.
He was back at the Pit.
The air was thick, vibrating with pressure, heavier now — as if aware of what he carried. The falchion at his side throbbed faintly, a heartbeat of violet light. Raghu stood still, taking it all in, until a voice drifted through the gloom.
"Back so soon, are we? I must say, you have quite the flair for reappearing."
Raghu looked up. A figure lounged against a jagged shard of rock, completely at ease. His robe was a patchwork of deep blues, crimson, and gold, and his hair shifted subtly with the faint light. A jovial grin stretched across his face, like someone who had mastered the art of amusement even in darkness.
"Who are you?" Raghu asked cautiously.
The man stood, giving a dramatic bow. "Ah! I am Jivan, 2nd Seat of Musa. The Bureau insists on formalities, but you can call me Jivan. Easier to yell if I vanish mid-sentence." He flicked his fingers, and a small flame danced atop his palm before vanishing. "Do try not to panic."
Raghu frowned. "Examiner?"
"Indeed!" Jivan clapped his hands, and a ripple spread across the pit walls. "Congratulations, Raghu. You've survived the Ridge, the ruins, touched the Fang's memory — and not melted. Quite the résumé! So, I offer you a bonus trial. Optional, but strongly recommended."
Raghu's pulse quickened. "A bonus trial?"
"Precisely! You can walk away, or you can test yourself further. Only the daring reach true understanding." Jivan winked. "Or madness. But the line is often so fine that most confuse one for the other anyway."
He glanced at the falchion, which pulsed faintly. He stepped forward.
"Ah! Reckless, excellent," Jivan said. The ground beneath Raghu glimmered, runes sparking in silver and violet. The Pit stretched, twisted, and folded — until they were standing on a stone platform suspended over a black, endless abyss. Fragments of rock floated lazily around them, etched with faint sigils. Jivan hovered a few inches above the ground, reclining in mid-air as though on a chair of nothing. "Four tests: talent, will, blood, and character. Fail one, and… well, you'll see."
Test of Talent came first. Crystal shards shot from the air. Raghu's body moved instinctively, the falchion slicing arcs of violet light. Each strike destroyed the shards, which dissolved into black mist.
Jivan clapped his hands, floating closer. "Reflexes, instinct, channeling — check! You fight like someone listening to an ancient god whispering. Or perhaps the god is eavesdropping on you — tricky creatures, gods. They love irony."
Raghu gave a half-smile, shaking his head. "Do they always interfere?"
"Always," Jivan said, twirling a strand of hair. "And sometimes not. Chaos is their hobby."
Test of Will followed. The platform darkened. Illusions arose: failures, fears, and faces of those he couldn't save. They circled him, whispering.
"Lay it down. Rest. You've done enough." the whispers hissed.
Raghu clenched his jaw. "No. Not yet."
The illusions shattered. Jivan floated closer, voice softer. "Courage under pressure. Always a joy to see. Though, between us… you could have blinked and ended it all with one shrug. Yet you didn't. Not bad, Raghu. Not bad at all."
Raghu glanced at him. "You make it sound like a game."
Jivan's grin widened. "And isn't life a game, in the end? Or perhaps a very poorly written one. I like to play my own rules, makes the boredom bearable."
Test of Blood came next. A crimson circle appeared, etched with runes.
"Just a drop," Jivan said. "Blood remembers what words forget. Unless your blood is lazy, of course. Then we have to negotiate." He winked.
Raghu pricked his thumb, letting a drop fall. The circle blazed. In its flame, a vision flickered — the Fang piercing light itself. Jivan's eyes sparkled. "Ah… the sword likes you. Or perhaps I'm being tested through you. Either way, fascinating. You'll make someone very pleased, eventually. Or very annoyed."
Test of Character was last. Jivan's jovial tone softened. "No tricks. Tell me, Raghu — if given the power to unmake, to erase your torment, would you?"
Raghu met his gaze. "If I destroy what torments me, I destroy myself too. That's not strength. That's escape."
For once, Jivan didn't smile. "Good answer. And honest. Those two rarely meet in the same body, you know."
The platform dissolved. They were back in the Pit. Raghu's body trembled. Jivaan approached, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Well done, candidate. The others will be jealous. Or terrified. Maybe both. You'll find the distinction is minimal."
He drew a glowing sigil in the air, pressing it gently against Raghu's chest. The falchion pulsed in approval.
"What was that?" Raghu asked.
"My mark," Jivan said, grin returning. "Won't hurt. Just lets certain people know you're under… special consideration. From this moment, you carry an additional title: Musa's Candidate. Try not to lose any limbs before the next phase. Or teeth, though teeth are less important." He gave a small shrug as if revealing cosmic secrets while cracking a joke.
Before Raghu could speak, the Pit folded into itself, and he was gone.
The Doom Train -- Coach14
He awoke to a low, rhythmic hum.
Its metallic walls glimmered under dim violet lights. The falchion lay across his lap, the mark faintly warm. Raghu rose, stepping into a narrow corridor. The air smelled of ozone and iron, with a faint hum of engines beneath the floor. Carriages stretched endlessly in both directions. Each door was numbered, some sealed, some slightly ajar. Figures marked with faint sigils moved silently, some examining their weapons, others staring at the dim windows that framed a shifting, dreamlike landscape outside.
Raghu wandered briefly, exploring. He noticed strange compartments with instruments of unknown purpose, benches that seemed alive with subtle hums, and corridors that curved in ways defying logic. At one point, a small mechanical device squeaked, and he heard Jivan's voice echo faintly: "Ah, exploring already? Excellent! Curiosity and bravery — a combination that either kills or inspires legends. Keep your balance."
The train itself felt alive, moving with purpose, as if carrying not just passengers but destiny itself.
Finally, a mechanical voice echoed through the metallic halls:
"All tested candidates — assemble in Compartment Six."
He followed the procession of candidates, corridors twisting around him. The falchion pulsed, steadying with each step. He reached Compartment Six and entered. Rows of figures turned toward him — all marked, all chosen, all uncertain. Some whispered among themselves; others remained silent, examining him and each other with wary curiosity.
Raghu noticed flickers of Jivan's grin reflected in the metallic surfaces, always just out of reach before vanishing. The door sealed behind him with a hiss. The train surged forward into darkness. Raghu felt the weight of the mark on his chest, the pulse of the Fang, and the quiet expectation of the others.
The next trial had already begun. And though he did not yet understand the full weight of the title Musa's Candidate, he knew one thing: nothing about this journey would ever be ordinary again.