Shadows in the Light
The next morning broke quietly over Lumenkar.
The air was still damp from the night's chaos, and the sky held the pale shimmer of dawn — not golden, but silver, like a blade cooling after fire.
The city seemed calm again, yet Arjun could feel it breathing beneath him — its pulse steady but wary, as if the storm had left a wound.
He sat at the edge of the temple's terrace, watching steam rise from the repaired conduits. The cube Veda had given him — the Vayu Core — rested beside him, faintly humming with every breath he took.
It was strange how alive it felt.
Mira joined him silently, her hair still damp. She handed him a small clay bowl filled with herbs. "For grounding," she said.
He took it without a word.
After a few moments, Mira spoke.
"You touched something last night that few mortals survive. Do you feel any different?"
Arjun looked at his hand. The mark shimmered faintly, still surrounded by the two concentric rings of Vayu's blessing. "Different… yes. Lighter and heavier, both at once."
Mira smiled softly. "That's how it begins. The gods never give — they trade."
He frowned. "Trade what?"
"Certainty," she said, standing. "They take away the ease of being sure."
---
Later that day, Veda summoned them to the lower sanctum — a quiet chamber deep beneath the temple.
She stood before a console carved with ancient runes, her eyes scanning through projections of energy waves.
"The city's divine network has stabilized," she said. "But your mark's activity hasn't reduced. In fact, it's… fluctuating."
Her gaze lifted to Arjun. "The Vayu Fragment isn't just merging with you. It's reflecting you."
He didn't understand. "Reflecting?"
"Every Divyaastra is a mirror," she said. "It amplifies what you carry within. Your compassion steadies it. But if you falter, even once…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Mira crossed her arms. "Then the Divyaastra turns."
Veda nodded. "Yes. Into corruption."
The room fell silent. Arjun's heart pounded softly, each beat echoing the faint hum of the cube in his palm.
He whispered, "So the gods gave me a weapon that can destroy me."
Veda smirked faintly. "All gifts are dangerous when you forget why you wanted them."
---
That night, Arjun couldn't sleep.
He stepped out onto the temple balcony where the city lights flickered like scattered embers. The wind was cool, soft — yet beneath its calmness lay a strange rhythm, pulsing like a heartbeat out of sync.
He placed his palm on the railing.
The mark shimmered — first golden, then faintly red.
For a heartbeat, he heard it again — the whisper, but not Vayu's.
This one was sharper, colder, familiar in its cunning.
> "Mercy is weakness. You felt it when the thief begged. You held back when you could have ended pain."
He froze.
The voice was inside him, yet apart — like a thought wearing someone else's tone.
He closed his eyes.
> "Who are you?"
The whisper came as laughter — soft, almost kind.
> "I am what hides in the breath between justice and hesitation."
"The same shadow that found the protector before you."
Raghav.
Arjun gripped the railing tighter. "You're not him."
> "No," the voice replied. "But I was once inside him."
The wind suddenly turned harsh, swirling around him. The cube in his pocket began to hum uncontrollably. He dropped it, and it rolled across the floor, glowing brighter and brighter until it burst into a wave of air that knocked him back.
The world around him flickered — the temple fading, the city dissolving into light and shadow.
He stood in a vast void of smoke and echoes.
And there, before him, was Raghav — or what remained of him.
The once-human protector stood surrounded by dark flames, his armor cracked, his eyes like dying stars. The double-edged sword Dhvaja-Khanda rested across his shoulder, whispering in a language older than gods.
"Arjun," the figure said, voice echoing in the void. "The gods sent you, didn't they? To fix what they broke."
Arjun raised his hand. "They sent me to save what's left."
Raghav's smile was brittle. "Save? You think mercy saves? Mercy rots. It turns justice into apology. I tried mercy — and the world burned for it."
He stepped closer.
Each step left behind ripples of shadow that ate the light.
"You want to help me?" Raghav's voice softened. "Then stop pretending you're different. The same wind that blesses you once blessed me. The same gods that chose you abandoned me."
Arjun's pulse thundered. "I'm not you."
"Not yet," Raghav whispered.
And suddenly, the blade in his hand gleamed, and with it came a shockwave that tore through the dreamscape. The world fractured like glass.
Arjun screamed— and woke.
---
He sat upright on the temple floor, drenched in sweat. The cube beside him lay cracked — leaking faint tendrils of smoke.
Mira rushed in, alarmed. "What happened?!"
Arjun's breath came in ragged bursts. "He was here. Raghav. Or something wearing his shadow."
Veda arrived moments later, scanning the cube. "The corruption trace… it's not local. Whatever entered your dream came from another Divyaastra source."
Mira's face turned pale. "That means—"
"Yes," Veda said grimly. "Your connection to him is no longer just spiritual. It's linked through the weapons themselves."
Arjun stood, trembling, staring at his palm. The outermost ring of his mark had turned faintly dark at one edge — like a drop of ink staining gold.
He clenched his fist. "Then the war has already begun."
The wind blew through the chamber — but this time, it didn't feel divine.
It felt like breath before a storm.