The temple interior was older than stone.
Older than breath.
Bharat moved through corridors that twisted like intestines—walls carved with script so dense it hurt to look at, air thick with incense that tasted like copper and rot.
The blood trail was real.
Not metaphorical.
Actual blood.
Drops leading deeper. Fresher with every step.
Mira's blood.
He knew it the way you know your own name.
Deep. Certain. Undeniable.
The Contract Vision flickered constantly now—showing him layers of binding woven into the very architecture. This wasn't just a temple.
It was a cage.
Built over centuries.
Fed by generations.
And now it was hungry.
The corridor opened into a chamber.
Vast.
Circular.
Lit by oil lamps that burned with flames the wrong color—too blue, too cold, casting shadows that moved independently of their sources.
In the center—
An altar.
Black stone.
Covered in script.
And on it—
Mira.
Unconscious.
Pale.
Bleeding from a cut on her wrist that dripped into channels carved into the stone—feeding the script, making it glow.
Three priests stood around her.
Old men.
Faces like dried fruit.
Eyes too bright.
Too aware.
They turned as Bharat entered.
Smiled.
"The groom arrives," the eldest said.
"Right on schedule."
Bharat's voice came out raw.
"What did you do to her?"
"Purification."
"That's not purification. That's—"
"—harvesting," the priest finished. "Yes. More accurate."
He gestured to the altar.
To the blood flowing through carved channels—feeding into a basin at the altar's base.
Where something moved.
Dark.
Liquid.
Alive.
"Your wife is a vessel," the priest continued. "Rare bloodline. Potent vitality. Perfect for extending life."
"Extending whose life?"
The priest smiled.
"Ours."
All three of them.
Skin too tight.
Bodies too thin.
Held together by binding and blood and desperation.
"We've served the family for seventy years," another priest said. "But flesh is weak. Mortal. So we take from those who owe."
"She doesn't owe you anything."
"Her bloodline does."
"That's insane."
"That's contract."
The eldest priest pulled out a scroll.
Old parchment.
Covered in script Bharat recognized.
The original Temple Contract.
"Read clause forty-seven," the priest said.
Bharat's vision focused.
The Contract Vision activated—translating script into English:
CLAUSE 47: BLOOD TITHE
In exchange for protection, prosperity, and power,
the family agrees to provide:
- One vessel per generation
- Blood sufficient for extension
- Compliance with harvesting rituals
Bharat's throat went dry.
"This can't be legal."
"Legal?"
The priest laughed—a sound like glass breaking.
"This predates law. This is law. In this temple, at least."
He stepped closer.
"And now, dear groom, you have a choice."
"What choice?"
"We can take from her—"
He gestured to Mira.
"—or we can take from you."
"Take what?"
"What we need. Blood. Vitality. Years."
"How many years?"
"Thirty. Maybe forty."
"You want me to die?"
"No. We want you to live."
The priest's smile widened.
"Just... less."
Bharat looked at Mira.
At her pale face.
At the blood still dripping.
At the way her chest rose and fell—shallow, weak, fading.
"If I refuse?"
"Then we finish with her."
"And if I agree?"
"Then we start with you."
The priests moved.
Not attacking.
Just repositioning.
Surrounding him.
Closing the circle.
"But there's a third option," the eldest said.
"What?"
"You sign a second contract."
The System stirred.
Not a gentle notification.
A violent one.
Like something had been waiting for this exact moment.
ALERT: CONTRACT OFFER DETECTED.
TYPE: GUARDIAN'S OATH.
CLASSIFICATION: HIGH RISK / HIGH REWARD.
ANALYZING...
A new display materialized:
╔════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ CONTRACT OFFER: GUARDIAN'S OATH ║
╠════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ TERMS: ║
║ YOU RECEIVE: ║
║ ├─ Tier 2 Guardian Authority ║
║ ├─ Temple Defensive Rights ║
║ ├─ Protection Protocols (Advanced) ║
║ └─ Binding Immunity (Partial) ║
╠════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ YOU SURRENDER: ║
║ ├─ Sleep (3 days) ║
║ ├─ Silence (3 days) ║
║ └─ Sanity (Variable) ║
╠════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ SIDE EFFECTS: ║
║ ├─ Auditory Hallucinations ║
║ ├─ Visual Distortions ║
║ ├─ Memory Fragmentation ║
║ └─ Possibility of Madness ║
╠════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ WARNING: ║
║ This contract cannot be undone. ║
║ Failure to complete terms = Death. ║
╠════════════════════════════════════════╣
║ ACCEPT? [YES] / [NO] ║
╚════════════════════════════════════════╝
Bharat stared at the display.
At the terms.
At the price.
"Three days without sleep," he said slowly.
"Three days hearing bells," the priest corrected. "Constantly. Loudly. The temple's heartbeat. Most men go mad by the second day."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you gain power few possess."
"Why offer this?"
"Because the temple needs a Guardian."
The priest gestured to the altar. To Mira.
"Your wife was supposed to be the vessel. You were supposed to be the sacrifice. But if you become the Guardian—"
"Then neither of us has to die."
"Correct."
"But I might go insane."
"Also correct."
Silence.
Just the sound of blood dripping.
And somewhere—distant, faint—
Bells.
Already starting.
Or had they always been there?
Bharat looked at Mira again.
At her closed eyes.
At the way her hand twitched—like she was reaching for something in a dream.
Reaching for him.
"If I sign," Bharat said, "she goes free. Completely."
"Yes."
"No more rituals. No more harvesting."
"Correct."
"And my mother gets the antidote."
The priest's eyes narrowed.
"That's not part of—"
"Make it part."
Bharat's voice went cold.
"Or I walk out. Let you take Mira. And then I burn this temple to the ground."
"You don't have that power."
"Want to test that?"
The Contract Vision flared.
Showing him the temple's weak points—structural flaws, binding nodes, places where one well-placed strike could bring the whole thing down.
The Guardian Protocol could do it.
If he was willing to die in the process.
The priests saw it in his eyes.
"Fine," the eldest hissed. "The antidote. But you sign now."
"How?"
The priest pulled out a knife.
"Blood."
"Of course."
Bharat held out his hand.
The blade cut deep.
Pain flared.
Blood welled.
Dripped onto the scroll.
The script flared—
Gold. Blinding.
And the System screamed.
CONTRACT ACCEPTED.
GUARDIAN'S OATH: BINDING.
INITIATING TIER 2 PROTOCOLS...
The world tilted.
Bharat's knees hit stone.
The bells got louder.
Not outside.
Inside his skull.
GONG. GONG. GONG.
Each one like a hammer.
Breaking something.
Reshaping it.
His vision fractured—
Layer upon layer upon layer—
He saw:
The temple. The priests. Mira.
But also—
The contracts binding everything.
The history written in blood.
The names of every groom who'd come before.
Every one who'd died.
Every one who'd signed.
And in the bells—
Voices.
Screaming.
Begging.
"Help us."
"Free us."
"Don't become us."
Bharat's mouth filled with copper.
He was bleeding.
Nose. Ears. Eyes.
The price being paid.
In real time.
"Stand," the priest commanded.
Bharat stood.
Somehow.
Legs shaking.
Vision swimming.
"You are now Temple Guardian," the priest said. "Bound to protect. Bound to serve. Bound to—"
"Shut up."
Bharat's voice came out wrong.
Layered.
Like multiple people speaking at once.
He turned to Mira.
The binding on her wrist dissolved.
Just vanished.
Like it had never been.
She gasped.
Eyes flying open.
"Bharat?"
"I'm here."
He tried to smile.
Wasn't sure if his face obeyed.
Everything was bells and blood and breaking.
"What did you do?"
"What I had to."
He collapsed.
Mira caught him.
Barely.
"Bharat—"
"Three days," he managed. "Can't sleep. Can't stop hearing—"
The bells got louder.
GONG.
GONG.
GONG.
And in them—
A voice.
Clear.
Desperate.
Familiar.
"Brother."
Bharat's eyes went wide.
"Did you hear—"
"Hear what?" Mira asked.
"The voice in the bells."
"There's no voice. Just—"
"It's your brother."
Mira went pale.
"That's impossible. He's—"
"Not dead."
Bharat looked at the priests.
At their too-bright eyes.
At the altar.
At the basin where the blood fed into darkness.
"He's in there."
"What?"
"The sanctum. The bells. He's trapped in—"
The priests moved.
Fast.
"That's enough."
One of them grabbed Bharat's shoulder.
"You're delirious. The contract's side effects—"
Bharat's hand shot up.
Grabbed the priest's wrist.
The Guardian Protocol flared.
[BINDING: DETECTED. HOSTILE. TERMINATE?]
"Yes."
The priest screamed.
His arm withered.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Skin pulling tight over bone, muscle dissolving, script unraveling—
He dropped.
Gasping.
Dying.
The other two priests ran.
Bharat stood.
Pulled Mira up.
"We're leaving."
"Bharat, you're bleeding—"
"I know."
"And you can't sleep—"
"I know."
"And the bells—"
"I KNOW."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
"But your brother is alive."
"How do you—"
"Because I can hear him screaming."
Silence.
Just the bells.
And somewhere in them—
Faint.
Desperate.
A voice Bharat had never heard before.
But Mira had.
"Arjun?" she whispered.
And the bells answered.
YES.