Location: The Outskirts of Dholavira – Ruins Beneath the Sand
The sun dipped low over the salt plains, casting long shadows over what was once Dholavira—one of the oldest cities ever built in Bharat. Now, it was a silent wasteland, its great water reservoirs dry, its ruins half-buried in time.
But something stirred beneath the earth.
Whispers rose from the forgotten tombs. Faint at first. Then louder. And louder still, until the desert wind itself screamed in harmony.
The Hollow Choir had arrived.
---
The Second Herald
In the deepest crypt beneath Dholavira, a marble casket cracked open. Inside lay not a body—but a dozen golden masks, each grinning with hollow mouths.
They floated upward as if lifted by the breath of the dead.
Then, they began to sing.
Their voices were not sounds, but ideas. Each note was a memory, stolen from someone long forgotten.
The masks swirled and fused into a single floating entity—a robed figure with no face, only a choir of invisible voices humming through the wind.
This was Agarvan, Herald of Echoes, the second of Ashvra's emissaries. Where Vargan had brought fire and fury, Agarvan brought something far worse:
> Forgetfulness.
---
Meanwhile, in Ujjain – Temple of Kalachakra
Aarav, Aashi, and Nyra stood at the gates of Ujjain, having followed the Wheel's newest directive. They had journeyed here seeking the Second Regalia—a shard of divine time hidden in a temple that existed half in the present and half in the past.
The Kalachakra Temple was silent, yet alive. The walls shifted. Murals of gods rearranged themselves. It was a place untouched by time, and thus, sacred to the Wheel.
Aashi murmured as they stepped inside, "The Regalia of Perception should be here. It lets one see beyond—into past timelines, future fractures, and truth buried under illusion."
> "We could use that right now," Aarav said grimly. "Ashvra's next Herald is already here. I can feel it."
Nyra tightened her grip on her daggers. "So what do we do?"
Aarav looked around. "We don't just fight. We remember."
---
The Trap of Forgetting
Back in Dholavira, Agarvan's influence spread. Entire villages around the ruins fell silent. The people forgot who they were. Parents looked at their children and saw strangers. Husbands forgot their wives' names. Priests forgot their prayers.
And as their memories faded, so did their identities.
Each forgotten soul became a note in Agarvan's song.
A spy for Ashvra, dispatched by the Wheel itself, arrived just in time to see the devastation and vanished instantly in a flash of blue.
By nightfall, 12,000 people no longer remembered they existed.
> The Hollow Choir moved for Ujjain.
---
Within the Temple of Kalachakra
The Regalia of Perception did not appear in one piece. Instead, it formed as a mirror on the floor—an oval pool of light rippling like water.
Aarav approached and saw his own reflection—except… it wasn't his face.
> It was him… as Ashvra.
He staggered backward. "What—?"
Aashi placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's not a prophecy. It's a possibility. The Regalia shows what could be, not what must be."
Nyra stepped forward and saw herself bleeding, stabbed through the chest, yet laughing.
> "These aren't predictions," she said, "they're warnings."
Then the temple shook.
---
The Hollow Choir Descends
Agarvan arrived not with fire or armies—but with silence.
The city of Ujjain slowly began to forget its own name. Signs lost their text. Temples collapsed not in destruction, but as if no one had ever built them.
People screamed as their identities unraveled.
Aashi's voice caught. "We're too late. He's already begun singing."
Aarav turned to the Wheel embedded in his back—its halo form now dormant. "Can I use it again?"
> "You can," Aashi said, "but… not without cost."
> "What cost?"
> "Your past. To fight forgetfulness… you must give something you cherish. Something you might forget."
Aarav looked at Nyra. "If I forget her…"
Nyra shook her head. "Then I'll remind you."
---
The Song vs. the Wheel
Aarav stepped into the street. The wind carried no scent. No sound. Only memories unraveling like threads in a storm.
Agarvan hovered above, his choir of hollow masks circling him.
> "You do not belong, wielder of time," his disembodied voice whispered. "You cling to a name even your ancestors have forgotten."
> "Then take it," Aarav said.
And he summoned the Wheel.
The air split open. Threads of time snapped into visibility—golden strands that wrapped around Aarav like armor.
He took one step forward.
> "I offer a memory."
The Wheel responded. It spun violently.
Aarav felt something tear within him—a memory of his childhood… his father's voice, singing a monsoon lullaby.
Gone.
The Wheel surged.
He became a blur of motion, moving faster than thought, cutting through Agarvan's illusions.
Agarvan countered by singing louder, reaching into the minds of everyone in the temple.
Nyra collapsed, gasping. "I… can't remember why I fight…"
Aashi fell to her knees. "What is… my name?"
Aarav pressed forward. "Don't forget," he whispered, gripping his blade.
And then he stabbed Agarvan with time itself—a strand of the past, folded into a blade.
The Hollow Choir screamed as one. The masks shattered, one by one.
Agarvan's body unraveled, not in death—but in erasure.
> "Not forgotten," Aarav whispered. "Never again."
---
Aftermath
Ujjain took days to recover. The Wheel healed much, but not all. Some names would never be remembered. Some faces forever lost in the fog.
But Aarav… changed.
He no longer remembered what his father looked like. Or the smell of the mango trees outside his old home.
> He had traded his own history for victory.
Nyra took his hand. "You might forget, Aarav. But I won't."
He squeezed back.
Aashi walked toward them with another scroll. "The next trial… is in Takshashila. And this time, we face something… different."
Aarav raised an eyebrow. "What now?"
She held up the scroll.
> "Ashvra has sent the Mirror-Twin."