The ruins of Bhairavgarh had fallen silent. The fire Arjun had tended the night before was nothing but embers, faintly glowing against the ash. Birds had stopped calling in the trees, as if nature itself withdrew from what was about to unfold.
Rose clutched the sword tighter, though her palms still burned from where its hilt had bitten her skin. The blade pulsed faintly beneath its wrappings, as if eager, restless, aware.
Arjun stepped closer, and though his movements were slow, deliberate, there was no mistaking the unnatural energy burning behind his eyes. That faint red glow was not firelight, nor fatigue. It was recognition.
"You're cursed," Rose whispered, her voice hoarse. "Like me."
Arjun's smile was weary, yet there was hunger beneath it. "I carried it long before you were born. And when I cast it aside, I thought perhaps I had freed myself. But the oath never dies, girl. The sword always comes back."
Rose shook her head. "Then help me. If you've lived through this, if you've fought it—tell me how to break it."
Arjun's smile vanished. "Break it? Foolish child. Do you think you are the first to beg for such mercy? I bled for decades, searching. Priests, sages, ascetics—I sought them all. Their prayers rotted in the dust. Their rituals only deepened the curse. There is no breaking it. There is only… embracing it."
His hand reached out, trembling but eager, as if his whole body strained toward the sword at her hip. "Give it to me. I know its hunger. I can wield it without fear."
Rose staggered back, the ruins spinning slightly around her. "No."
The word rang through the courtyard, sharper than she'd intended. The sword hummed in answer, almost as if pleased.
Arjun's eyes narrowed. "Then you choose to suffer."
He raised his staff, the sigils carved into it flickering briefly with sickly light. The ground beneath Rose's feet trembled. She barely had time to draw the blade before shadows spilled from the cracks in the earth—black tendrils of smoke, writhing like serpents. They surged toward her, slamming into her chest with a force that stole her breath.
She swung blindly, the cursed sword slicing the air. Light burst from the carvings, cutting through the shadows with a scream like tearing metal. The courtyard filled with the stench of burning blood.
Arjun's voice rose above the chaos, booming with authority not entirely his own. "You think you resist it? You are already bound. Every strike you make, every life you take, feeds it further. That is the oath!"
Rose gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright. "Then I'll starve it."
She lunged. The blade cut through the air between them, but Arjun moved with startling speed, faster than any old man should. His staff caught the blade, wood sparking against steel.
The impact sent them both staggering, and in that instant, Rose felt it—the clash wasn't just physical. The sword pulled. It dragged. It yanked her mind into a place not of stone and dust, but of blood and betrayal.
She stood on a battlefield again.
Not the one she had seen before, but another. Different banners fluttered, different corpses sprawled across the ground. The air was thick with smoke and screams.
Arjun was there too, though younger, his face unlined, his arms strong. In his hands, the sword blazed, its carvings burning like molten veins. He cut down man after man, his eyes empty, his mouth twisted in rage.
Rose gasped, stumbling backward. She wasn't watching a vision. She was inside his memory.
Arjun turned, his blade dripping red. His eyes found hers—not the Arjun of the past, but the one bound to her now. "Do you see? This is what it demands. This is what it makes of us."
Rose tried to shut her eyes, but the vision burned on. She felt the sword in her hands, hot and heavy, as though it had drunk from the same river of blood. She felt its hunger, its satisfaction, its endless, gnawing need.
She screamed, and the battlefield shattered.
They were back in the monastery ruins, both panting, both trembling. Rose's arms shook with fatigue, but Arjun only smiled faintly.
"You cannot escape it," he whispered. "The sword shows us the truth. It feeds on betrayal, and betrayal is endless. Every man, every woman, every soul will betray or be betrayed. That is why the curse endures."
Rose spat blood onto the stone. "Then I'll end the cycle."
Arjun's smile twisted. "By ending yourself?"
She hesitated. The thought had haunted her since the first whispers. What if she drove the blade into her own heart? Would it end? Or would it only pass to another, waiting for the next broken soul to stumble across it?
The sword pulsed in her grip, as though mocking her indecision.
Arjun lowered his staff, his voice softening. "Listen to me, girl. Give me the blade. I have carried it. I understand it. I can bear its weight again. You are too fragile. Too young. It will consume you before you learn to control it."
Rose stared at him. And in that moment, she saw it: the desperation in his eyes. This wasn't mercy. This wasn't compassion. It was greed.
"You don't want to save me," she said slowly. "You want it back."
His silence was answer enough.
The fight resumed.
They circled each other among the broken columns, dust swirling like storm clouds around them. The sword clashed against Arjun's staff again and again, each impact sending sparks of red light across the stones. The ground shook with their struggle, ancient walls crumbling further with each blow.
But the true battle was inside. Every strike dragged Rose deeper into visions—betrayals not her own.
A woman kneeling before a shrine, poisoned by her brother for an inheritance.A soldier bleeding in the dust, speared by his comrade's treachery.A mother abandoned by the children she raised.
Each vision cut into her like a blade, each betrayal echoing her own scars. The sword fed on them, throve on them, binding her tighter with every heartbeat.
Arjun pressed forward, his strikes merciless. "Give in! Feel its power! You cannot resist forever!"
Rose's arms ached, her chest heaved, but she forced the words out through gritted teeth. "I'm not you."
With a cry, she twisted, breaking his guard. The sword slashed across his staff, splintering the wood in two. Arjun staggered back, eyes wide, the faint red glow in them flaring like fire.
But before she could strike again, the world froze.
The air grew thick, heavy, oppressive. The sword in Rose's hands burned white-hot. Shadows coiled upward from the earth, twisting into a towering form.
The Rajput warrior.
Rana Ishvar Singh.
His armor gleamed like black fire, his eyes twin embers of rage. His voice rolled through the ruins like thunder.
"Enough."
Both Rose and Arjun collapsed to their knees, their bodies no longer their own. The warrior's presence filled the space, larger than life, heavier than stone.
"You think this is your fight?" he roared. "This is my oath. My curse. My vengeance. You are nothing but vessels."
Rose gasped, the weight of his gaze crushing her chest. "Why us?" she whispered.
The warrior leaned closer, his face a mask of fury and sorrow. "Because you know betrayal. Because you carry it in your blood, in your bones. That is why the sword calls you. That is why it binds you. And that is why you will never be free."
Arjun bowed his head, trembling. "Master… let me serve again. Give me the blade. Let me avenge you."
But the warrior's laugh was cruel. "You failed me once, Arjun. You cast it aside. You broke faith. You betrayed the oath."
Arjun's scream was one of anguish, of desperation, but the warrior ignored him. His gaze fixed on Rose.
"You resist. You fight. That makes you stronger. But resistance is a chain, girl, and chains break. Soon, you will give in. You will spill blood. And when you do, the oath will be fulfilled again."
Rose's heart pounded. She wanted to deny him, to scream her defiance, but the sword pulsed in her hands, hot, eager, alive. It wanted what he promised.
The warrior straightened, his voice echoing across the ruins. "Blood for blood. Death for dishonor. The cycle never ends."
And with that, his form dissolved into smoke, leaving only silence.
Arjun lay sprawled on the stones, sobbing quietly. Rose staggered to her feet, the sword heavy in her grip. Her body ached, her mind burned, but her spirit was not yet broken.
She looked down at him, at the man who had once carried this burden and failed.
And she realized, with a chill that froze her blood, that his fate could easily be her own.
The sword pulsed once more, harder this time, the carvings glowing bright enough to cast long, jagged shadows across the ruins.
Rose raised her eyes to the horizon. For a moment, she thought she saw figures there—faint silhouettes watching from the hills. Soldiers, priests, villagers. Real or visions, she couldn't tell. But she knew one thing: the sword was not finished with her.
Her grip tightened, her breath ragged. She would not surrender. Not yet.
But as the sun sank, staining the ruins red, the whispers returned.
And this time, they did not call her name.
They called her betrayer.
The word echoed through Rose's skull like a hammer on iron. Betrayer. Not whispered now, but shouted, chanted, a thousand voices overlapping until she thought her head might split apart.
She staggered across the ruined courtyard, clutching the sword with both hands, knuckles white. Arjun lay a few feet away, groaning, his face half-buried in the dust. He was broken but not defeated, and the red gleam in his eyes flickered like a coal refusing to die.
The air grew colder. Rose's breath came in clouds, and though the sun still glowed faintly on the horizon, its warmth had vanished. Around the ruins, shadows lengthened unnaturally, bending against the angle of the light. They crawled like living things, stretching toward her feet.
Betrayer… betrayer…
Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall. She lifted her head, forcing herself to meet the emptiness beyond the monastery walls. No figures lingered now, no imagined audience—only darkness creeping steadily closer.
"Do you hear it?" Arjun rasped, pushing himself to his knees. His staff lay broken, splinters scattered across the stone. Yet he smiled through bloodied lips, a grin of madness. "It names you already. You belong to it."
Rose raised the sword as though to strike him down, but the weapon pulsed with such violent hunger that her grip faltered. She could almost feel it licking her skin, eager for the kill, eager to drink.
"No," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Not me. Never me."
The sword disagreed.
The world tore open.
Rose's vision blurred, the monastery dissolving into smoke. She was dragged again into the realm of blood and betrayal, but this time it was not a single battle or memory—it was all of them at once.
She stood in a storm of dying screams. Soldiers cut each other down, brother against brother, father against son. She saw kings betrayed by their councils, wives poisoned by husbands, generals stabbed by their own guards. The sky wept fire, the earth drowned in rivers of gore.
And in the center of it all loomed the Rajput warrior, his sword raised high, his laughter rolling like thunder.
"You see?" his voice boomed, echoing across centuries. "There is no loyalty, no honor. Only betrayal. And betrayal demands blood."
Rose stumbled, clutching her head. "Stop it! Stop showing me this!"
But the visions only worsened. Now she felt each death as though it were her own—the spear through her stomach, the blade across her throat, the poison burning her tongue. Betrayal after betrayal, life after life, a thousand lifetimes of treachery funneled into her veins until she screamed herself hoarse.
Through the agony, she caught sight of Arjun within the storm. His younger self cut down men with ruthless abandon, his eyes glazed and soulless. But there, too, was the present Arjun, clutching his chest, gasping, his face contorted in torment.
He looked at her through the maelstrom of death, and for a fleeting moment, Rose saw the broken man beneath the hunger.
"We are the same," he croaked. "We are cursed together."
The storm collapsed.
Rose crashed to her knees back in the ruins, bile burning her throat. The monastery was shaking now, stones groaning as if the earth itself sought to bury the cursed place. Statues toppled, and a long crack split the courtyard, bleeding black smoke.
Arjun dragged himself upright. His body trembled with weakness, yet his eyes were wild with determination. "Give it to me!" he shouted, reaching out. "Better me than you! You'll never survive it!"
Rose staggered back, brandishing the sword like a shield. "I won't let you feed it."
"It doesn't matter!" Arjun screamed. His voice cracked into hysteria. "The oath feeds itself! If you don't kill me, you betray yourself. If you do, you betray me. Either way, the cycle drinks your soul!"
His words struck deeper than any blow. She froze, the logic of his madness sinking its claws into her. Was there truly no escape? Every path led to betrayal, every choice a trap.
The sword pulsed with delight, glowing brighter, feeding on her indecision.
"No…" she whispered, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks. "There has to be a way."
But even as she said it, doubt coiled in her chest like a serpent.
The sky split with thunder.
Both Rose and Arjun turned as lightning clawed across the heavens, striking the monastery's tallest spire. The stones exploded, raining shards down around them. From the smoke rose the warrior again, taller than before, his armor black as obsidian, his eyes molten with fury.
He towered above them, a god of vengeance. His voice cracked the air like a whip.
"Choose."
Rose's breath caught. "What?"
The warrior pointed his blade, first at Arjun, then at her. "One must die. The other must serve. There is no third path."
Arjun fell prostrate, arms outstretched. "Take me, master! I will serve again! I will not fail this time!"
Rose's grip tightened on the sword. The whispers roared through her skull, a storm of demands: Kill him. Spill his blood. End his betrayal. Take your place.
Her heart hammered so loudly she thought it would burst. Sweat soaked her skin, her muscles trembling with the weight of decision.
Was this truly it? Kill or be killed? End the cycle by feeding it? Or deny it and perish?
She raised the blade, her vision swimming.
Arjun lifted his head, eyes burning with desperation and fear. "Do it!" he begged. "Save yourself!"
The warrior's shadow loomed, vast and suffocating. The courtyard shook, stones tumbling, the earth opening into jagged chasms. The monastery seemed ready to swallow them whole.
Rose's scream ripped through the chaos.
She brought the sword down.
The sound was not steel meeting flesh.
It was shattering.
The blade struck the stone instead of Arjun's throat, splitting the ground. Light burst upward in a torrent, a pillar of searing white fire. Rose was thrown back, her body slamming into the broken wall.
The warrior bellowed in rage, his form flickering, distorting. "Betrayer!" he roared. "You deny the oath!"
Arjun's face was frozen in horror and disbelief. "What have you done?"
Rose forced herself upright, every bone in her body screaming. Her voice shook, but it carried through the ruins like a vow. "I will betray the sword itself. I will betray you."
For the first time, the warrior faltered. His molten eyes narrowed, his form wavering as though the fire had burned through his armor. He stepped back, snarling, but there was fear buried in his fury.
The earth groaned louder, the courtyard collapsing into darkness. The sky churned black, and the whispers became a shriek, not of power, but of pain.
Rose clung to the hilt of the sword, the carvings burning her palms, flesh blistering. Yet she held on, screaming against the storm.
"I am not your vessel!"
The warrior's roar shook the heavens. His body cracked, split, fragments of shadow peeling away like broken glass. But as he shattered, his voice thundered one final curse:
"Then you are nothing but the greatest betrayer of all."
The ground gave way.
Rose fell.
Darkness swallowed everything.
She plummeted into a void of smoke and fire, the sword dragging her down, her body weightless and broken. Visions flashed around her, faster now, too many to comprehend. Faces she didn't know. Lives she'd never lived. A thousand betrayals, a thousand deaths.
Her screams vanished into the abyss.
And then, silence.
When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the monastery. She stood in an endless desert, the sand red as blood beneath a blackened sky. The sword lay heavy in her hand, glowing faintly, its hunger undiminished.
But she was alone. Arjun was gone. The warrior was gone.
And on the horizon, shapes were moving. Human silhouettes, thousands of them, marching steadily toward her.
Their voices rose, a single word rolling across the wasteland like thunder.
Betrayer.