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Chapter 6: The Weight You Carry
The temple smelled of sandalwood and ash.
Eshan followed Omkar through the dimly lit hall, his eyes darting over the walls — each carved with gods, battles, and strange symbols that pulsed faintly like they were alive.
At the far end, seated cross-legged on a raised platform, was the old man.
The Guru.
His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and steady, as if the world outside didn't exist.
Eshan stood there, unsure what to do, until Omkar nudged him forward.
"Well?" Omkar said, smirking. "Go say hi. He doesn't bite."
Eshan gulped, stepping closer. "Um… Guru-ji?"
The old man opened his eyes.
And suddenly, Eshan couldn't breathe.
It was as if those eyes could see everything — his fears, his pain, even the thoughts he tried to hide from himself.
"So you are the boy," the Guru said simply.
"The boy who carries it."
Eshan frowned. "You keep saying that. Carries what?"
Instead of answering, the Guru rose.
"Omkar," he said.
Omkar yawned. "Yeah?"
"Leave."
Omkar blinked. "Huh?"
"This is between me and him."
Omkar gave Eshan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Good luck, kid. Try not to cry."
"Wait—what—?"
Before Eshan could protest, Omkar strolled out, humming casually.
The temple doors closed with a heavy thud.
The Guru approached slowly, each step echoing like a drumbeat.
"You want answers, boy?" he asked.
"Yes," Eshan said quickly.
"Then earn them."
Before Eshan could ask what that meant—
WHAM!
The Guru struck.
No warning. No holding back.
Eshan was flung across the room, crashing into the wall.
Pain exploded through his body.
"W-what the hell?!" he gasped.
The Guru didn't stop. He moved like lightning, appearing in front of Eshan before he could react.
"Defend yourself," the Guru said.
"I—I don't even—!"
BAM!
Another strike. This time to his chest. Eshan coughed, his vision blurring.
The Guru's voice was calm, almost cold. "Do you think you will survive what is coming if you cannot even withstand this?"
Eshan gritted his teeth, trying to stand. "Why are you—doing this?!"
"To wake you up."
The words cut deeper than the blows.
Eshan clenched his fists. Wake up? What does that even—
And then he felt it.
A spark.
Deep within.
Something ancient.
Something that wasn't entirely his.
The Guru paused mid-strike, his lips curling into a faint smile.
"There it is," he murmured. "The Shakti stirs."
Eshan blinked, confused and terrified. "What… is happening to me?"
The Guru straightened, turning away. "You carry more than you know. And if you cannot awaken it… you will die."
Eshan's breathing was ragged. His body ached. But his heart… pounded with a strange, burning energy.
For the first time, he wasn't just afraid.
He was angry.
---
Meanwhile…
A great hall of black stone.
Chains rattled in the shadows as Arkan knelt, his head bowed.
"Krayn is dead," he said. His voice betrayed no emotion.
From the darkness, a voice replied.
Deep. Resonant.
"By whose hand?"
Arkan hesitated. "…Omkar."
The shadows stirred.
And then, slowly, a figure emerged.
Tall. Cloaked in black, his face hidden behind an ornate mask carved like a demon's visage. But his presence… it was suffocating.
Even Arkan, who feared nothing, dared not look up.
"So," the masked figure said softly. "The ghost still walks."
Arkan bowed lower. "Forgive me, my Lord. I did not anticipate—"
"Enough."
The Lord's voice silenced him instantly.
"Omkar will not protect the boy forever," the Lord continued. "And when he falters… we will claim what is ours."
His hand rose, fingers curling slightly.
The air grew heavier.
"Send word to the others," the Lord said. "If Omkar wishes to play guardian… then we shall bring a storm."
Arkan's lips curled into the faintest of smirks. "As you command, my Lord."