The Winds of Test
Night hung heavy over Lumenkar.
The city's spires shimmered faintly, their tips lost in clouds that carried static light instead of stars.
Every circuit, every mantra-coded light was alive — humming, breathing — as if the whole city was a living organism made from faith and forgotten technology.
Arjun and Mira had found a small lodging above an old scripture hall — its walls carved with faded yantras and hollow screens. From the window, he could see the golden circuits that ran like rivers through the streets below.
The wind — his constant companion since the shrine — had turned restless.
He sat by the window, watching the air currents ripple through the mist like unseen serpents. Every now and then, he thought he heard faint murmurs — words half-formed, like the city itself was trying to speak.
Mira entered quietly, carrying a cup of herbal decoction.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.
Arjun shook his head. "The wind keeps whispering. Like it's… warning me."
Mira placed the cup down beside him. "Wind doesn't warn. It remembers."
He turned toward her. "You speak like you've lived with gods all your life."
"I've lived with their silence," she replied softly. "That's worse."
---
A faint tremor rippled through the floor.
Arjun frowned. "Did you feel that?"
Mira nodded, already on edge. The wind outside had begun to spiral unnaturally, pulling the mist into a vortex over the city's central plaza. The air vibrated with a low-frequency hum — half mechanical, half divine.
A few seconds later, the bells of Lumenkar's temples began ringing on their own.
The city lights flickered. Neon halos that crowned the temples dimmed, and one by one, the idols of the gods projected through holograms started to shimmer — glitching between their divine and corrupted forms.
Mira's expression turned grave. "It's happening again…"
Arjun grabbed his satchel. "What's happening?"
"The Vayu channels. The energy lines that feed the city's wind-turbine temples — they're reacting to your mark."
Before he could respond, the air shattered with a thunderclap.
From the direction of the main square, a pillar of wind shot upward, tearing chunks of stone into the air. The cry of thousands of people echoed through the metallic corridors of the city.
Arjun bolted for the door, but Mira blocked him. "Don't rush in blind! The wind answers your intent. If you lose control—"
He shook his head. "People are dying out there, Mira. The wind doesn't need control. It needs direction."
And with that, he leapt down the spiral stairs, cloak fluttering behind him like a torn banner.
---
The streets were chaos.
Merchants and pilgrims ran for cover as the very air rebelled. Whirlwinds ripped through banners and prayer-cloths. Floating platforms carrying temple priests spun uncontrollably.
At the center of it all, the Main Vayu Conduit Tower — the core of the city's divine power grid — blazed with an unstable blue light.
The tower was old — built centuries ago by the first generation of Celestial Engineers, blessed directly by Vayu. But now, that blessing was fracturing.
And somewhere inside that maelstrom, Arjun could sense a consciousness — wild, terrified, angry.
He knew it wasn't human.
---
He reached the edge of the plaza. Wind tore through his hair and cloak, stinging his skin like a thousand needles. He pressed his hand against the nearest wall, feeling the hum of divine energy gone wrong.
"Veda!" Mira shouted from behind, fighting against the storm as she approached.
The techno-priestess appeared from an adjoining tunnel, eyes wide with shock. Sparks ran down her braids like lightning.
"It's not the tower," she yelled. "It's the spirit bound inside — the Vayu Fragment. It's rejecting its containment field!"
Arjun shouted back, "What does it want?"
Veda's gaze snapped toward his palm, glowing even through the storm.
"You! The fragment senses your mark. It thinks you're the new channel!"
The wind howled louder, swirling toward him like a beast smelling its lost master.
Mira's eyes widened. "Arjun—don't fight it! If you resist, it'll tear you apart!"
Arjun took one step forward, the wind almost lifting him off the ground.
His instincts screamed to run — but the mark on his palm pulsed steadily, reassuringly. He could hear Vayu's whisper from the shrine echoing in his ears:
> "To master the wind, you must learn to yield."
He closed his eyes. Instead of bracing, he opened his stance, arms spread, letting the gale crash into him.
The force was overwhelming. His skin burned, his breath vanished, and the world dissolved into blinding light.
---
He found himself standing in a vast sky made of liquid air — clouds beneath his feet, thunder above his head.
The fragment appeared before him — a swirling mass of translucent energy, shaped vaguely like a giant bird with wings made of storm.
> "You carry the mark," the being said, its voice both echo and roar.
"But your spirit wavers. What do you protect, Yodha?"
Arjun struggled to speak. "Life. Innocents. Balance—"
> "Lies," the being thundered. "You protect because you fear loss."
The words struck like lightning.
Images flashed — his father's death, his village burning, the helplessness that drove him to the shrine.
He fell to his knees in that impossible sky.
The being's storm-circle closed in, but he forced himself to rise again.
"You're right," he said, his voice barely audible against the roar. "I fear loss. But I'll still protect. Even if it means I lose again."
The wind stilled. The storm faltered, as if surprised.
Then, slowly, the enormous bird lowered its head.
> "Then you understand mercy."
Light flared — brilliant, cleansing — and when Arjun opened his eyes, he was back in the plaza.
The storm had vanished. The tower stood quiet, its circuits glowing with a steady azure light. People peered cautiously from windows and doorways, murmuring prayers.
Veda knelt beside him, scanning his vitals. "You stabilized the conduit. The fragment accepted you."
Arjun's mark gleamed brighter than ever — a second ring had formed around it, this one carved with wind symbols.
Mira exhaled in relief. "You just passed your second divine test."
He smiled faintly, exhaustion in his eyes. "No. I just learned to stop running from myself."
---
Far away, beyond Lumenkar's electric horizon, Raghav stood before a canyon, his blade humming. The wind that had once obeyed him now refused his call.
He looked toward the distant city, eyes narrowing.
> "So… the gods have a new toy."
The Dhvaja-Khanda pulsed darkly in his grasp.
> "Let's see how long mercy lasts."
Lightning split the sky, and with it began the next storm.