The call came at 3 AM.
Not a phone call.
A summons.
Bharat woke to the sound of Mira dressing in the dark—movements too controlled, too quiet, like she was trying not to wake something that was already watching.
"Where are you going?"
She didn't turn around.
"The temple."
"At three in the morning?"
"They don't ask. They summon."
Her voice was flat. Empty. The way people sound when they've stopped fighting.
Bharat sat up.
"What kind of summons?"
"Purification ritual."
The words fell like stones into dark water.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I go. You stay."
She pulled on a white sari—traditional, plain, the kind worn for funerals or weddings. In the dim light, Bharat couldn't tell which.
"I'm coming with you."
"No."
"That wasn't a request."
Mira finally turned.
Her face was pale. Exhausted. But her eyes—her eyes were terrified.
"Bharat, listen to me very carefully."
She crossed the room. Knelt beside the bed. Grabbed his hand so hard her nails dug into his skin.
"The purification ritual is for family only. If you come—"
"They'll what? Kill me?"
"Worse."
"What's worse than death?"
Her grip tightened.
"Being kept alive for it."
Twenty minutes later, Bharat was in the car.
Not Mira's car. Ayesha's.
"You're insane," Ayesha said, driving too fast through empty streets. "You know that, right?"
"Probably."
"The temple guards will kill you before you get through the gate."
"Then I'll die trying."
"Romantic. Stupid. But romantic."
She took a corner hard enough that Bharat had to grab the door handle.
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because I know what the purification ritual is."
Her voice went quiet. Hard.
"And no one should go through that alone."
"What is it?"
Ayesha's jaw tightened.
"They take something from you. Something you can't get back."
"What thing?"
"Depends on what the family needs."
She glanced at him. Eyes dark.
"Three years ago, they took my ability to have children."
The car swerved slightly.
Bharat's breath caught.
"Ayesha—"
"Don't."
Her voice cracked.
"Just... don't."
Silence filled the car.
Heavy. Suffocating.
"What will they take from Mira?"
"I don't know. But whatever it is—"
Ayesha's hands tightened on the wheel.
"She won't be the same person when she comes out."
The temple rose from the darkness like a wound in the world.
Stone. Ancient. Older than the city, older than memory. The gates were closed—massive iron things covered in script that seemed to move when you weren't looking directly at it.
Two guards stood watch.
Built like walls. Wearing traditional robes that didn't quite hide the weapons underneath.
Bharat got out of the car.
"This is a bad idea," Ayesha hissed.
"I know."
"You don't have a plan."
"I have the ring."
He held up his hand—Mira's family crest gleaming in the streetlight.
"And I have this."
He tapped his temple.
The Contract Vision.
The System.
And now—maybe—the Guardian Protocol.
He walked toward the gate.
The guards moved.
Smooth. Synchronized.
Like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"The temple is closed," the first one said.
"I'm family."
Bharat showed the ring.
"The groom."
The guards exchanged a glance.
"The purification ritual is for blood family only."
"My wife is in there."
"Your wife is being purified."
"From what?"
The second guard smiled. Cold. Sharp.
"From you."
Bharat's pulse kicked.
"Let me through."
"No."
"That wasn't a request."
The first guard stepped forward.
"The new groom should learn."
"Learn what?"
"How to offer."
"Offer what?"
"Everything."
The guard's hand moved.
Not toward a weapon.
Toward Bharat's chest.
Palm out.
Script crawling up his arm like living ink.
The Contract Vision exploded.
THREAT DETECTED.
HOSTILE BINDING ATTEMPT.
ACTIVATING: TEMPLE GUARDIAN PROTOCOL.
And the world changed.
Bharat's vision shattered into layers.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Layer 1: Physical Reality
The guard's hand approaching. Slow motion. Fingers spread.
Layer 2: Contract Overlay
Script pouring from the guard's palm—binding chains, designed to lock Bharat in place, force him to kneel, make him offer whatever the temple wanted to take.
Layer 3: System Interface
A translucent display flickered into existence:
╔═══════════════════════════════════╗
║ TEMPLE GUARDIAN PROTOCOL ║
║ STATUS: ACTIVE ║
║ DEFENSIVE MODE: ENGAGED ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ THREAT LEVEL: MODERATE ║
║ BINDING STRENGTH: 47/100 ║
║ RECOMMENDED ACTION: COUNTER ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ YOUR STATS: ║
║ ├─ Physical Defense: 23/100 ║
║ ├─ Contract Resistance: 68/100 ║
║ └─ Guardian Authority: 41/100 ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ AVAILABLE COUNTERS: ║
║ [1] DEFLECT (Cost: 15 Authority) ║
║ [2] ABSORB (Cost: 25 Authority) ║
║ [3] REFLECT (Cost: 40 Authority) ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════╝
Bharat's mind raced.
Forty-one Authority points.
Just enough for Reflect.
He chose.
Mental command. Instant.
[REFLECT ACTIVATED]
His body moved on its own.
Not possession.
Optimization.
The System guiding his muscles, his stance, his breathing—turning him into something more efficient than human instinct.
His hand shot up.
Met the guard's palm.
Palm to palm.
Script to script.
And the binding chains reversed.
The guard's eyes went wide.
"What—"
The chains slammed into him instead. Wrapped around his wrist, his arm, his chest—squeezing.
He gasped.
Dropped to one knee.
The second guard moved.
Faster.
Blade drawn.
Not a ceremonial weapon.
Real steel.
Aimed at Bharat's throat.
NEW THREAT DETECTED.
LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED.
GUARDIAN AUTHORITY: 26/100 REMAINING.
The display updated:
╔═══════════════════════════════════╗
║ EMERGENCY OPTIONS: ║
║ [1] SHIELD (Cost: 20 Authority) ║
║ [2] EVADE (Cost: 10 Authority) ║
║ [3] DISABLE (Cost: 25 Authority) ║
╠═══════════════════════════════════╣
║ WARNING: LOW AUTHORITY ║
║ CRITICAL COMBAT NOT RECOMMENDED ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════╝
Bharat chose SHIELD.
[SHIELD ACTIVATED]
The air around him solidified.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
But the guard's blade hit resistance—
Like cutting through water turned to glass.
The steel stopped. One inch from Bharat's throat.
Held.
Suspended.
Trembling.
The guard's face went pale.
"You... you have Guardian Authority?"
"Apparently."
Bharat's voice came out calm.
Steadier than he felt.
"Now let me through."
"We can't—"
"You can."
He pushed forward. The shield moved with him—invisible pressure forcing both guards back, step by step.
"Or I can break this gate myself."
"You don't have enough Authority for that," the second guard hissed.
"Want to test that theory?"
Silence.
Calculation.
Fear.
The first guard stood.
Breathing hard.
"If you go in there, you won't come out."
"I know."
"The ritual has already started."
"I know."
"And the priests—they'll take from you what they would've taken from her."
Bharat stopped.
"What do you mean?"
The guard's smile was bitter.
"The purification ritual requires a sacrifice."
"What kind?"
"Flesh. Blood. Future."
His eyes dropped to Bharat's ring.
"They were going to take her womb."
Bharat's blood ran cold.
"Take her—"
"To ensure no heirs. No children. No dilution of the family bloodline."
The guard stepped aside.
"But now that you're here—"
"They'll take mine instead."
"Yes."
Silence.
The gate creaked open.
Just wide enough for one person.
"Last chance to run," the guard said.
Bharat looked at the darkness beyond the gate.
At the temple rising like a throat waiting to swallow.
At the faint sound of chanting echoing from somewhere deep inside.
"Where is she?"
"The inner sanctum."
"How do I get there?"
"Follow the blood."
"What?"
But the guards were already stepping back. Fading into shadows.
Leaving him alone.
At the threshold.
Bharat stepped through.
The gate closed behind him.
Locked.
Final.
And deep in the temple—
He heard it.
Faint.
Distant.
A scream.
Mira's voice.
Calling his name.
Then silence.
Thick.
Absolute.
Broken only by the sound of bells.
Ringing.
Slow.
Methodical.
Like a countdown.
To something he couldn't stop.