The heavy wooden doors of the Ashram closed behind them with a groan that echoed like thunder. Dev, Shubham, and Laxmi stood in silence, their footsteps hesitant as they followed the monk who had first tested them.
"My name is Anant," the monk said, his saffron robes whispering against the floor as he walked ahead. "The elders are waiting."
The trio exchanged quick glances but said nothing. The Ashram stretched wide around them, alive with sounds that carried discipline and purpose. On the left, disciples practiced martial combat in rhythmic unison, their blades flashing under the sun. On the right, a group sat cross-legged, their chants resonating in the air, threads of fire and water swirling between their palms. The ground itself seemed to hum with energy.
"This place has its own energy…" Laxmi whispered, unable to hide the awe in her voice.
"It's more than alive," Shubham muttered, his eyes darting everywhere, half-curious, half-nervous. "It's like the air is… watching us."
Dev said nothing. His gaze lingered on the walls—stone so ancient that moss grew in its cracks, yet every line felt deliberate, as if the structure itself held memories. Singh had walked these halls, Dev realized. And now he was gone.
At last, Anant stopped before a pair of carved doors. The wood was etched with patterns of circles and flames, symbols Dev didn't recognize. Anant pushed them open, and the trio stepped inside.
The chamber was vast but solemn, lit by shafts of sunlight cutting through high windows. At the far end sat seven figures, each distinct, each radiating an aura that demanded respect.
"The Elders of the Ashram," Anant announced before bowing and stepping aside.
Dev, Shubham, and Laxmi lowered their heads instinctively.
The first elder spoke, his voice firm yet welcoming."I am Arjun Dev. I oversee the training of the body and spirit in combat. To master oneself is to master the blade."He was broad-shouldered, scars running across his arms, yet his eyes were calm—like steel tempered by fire.
Next, a tall man with flowing white hair inclined his head."Pranav Rishi. I walk with the elements. Fire, water, earth, and wind obey only those who respect them." His robe shimmered faintly, symbols of flame and waves embroidered into the fabric.
Beside him, a frail man leaned forward. His eyes were sharp, almost piercing."Raghav Sen," he said softly. "Mind is the sharpest weapon. Illusion, memory, and willpower are my domain." His words felt as though they brushed directly against their thoughts.
The fourth elder could hardly sit still. He was already fiddling with a small mechanical device in his hands as he spoke quickly:"Manohar Rao, the inventor. I build, I blend, I break things and put them back together better. Magic and machines—they're not enemies, they're partners." His grin was wide, but his fingers never stopped tinkering.
A woman with gentle eyes stepped next, her hands folded in her lap."I am Meera Devi. Healing is my path—herbs, touch, and the patience of time." Her voice was like a calm river, soothing just by its sound.
Another woman followed, her gaze sharp as an eagle's."Anika Varma. Strategy is survival. The future bends only to those who prepare for it." She spoke little, but each word was weighted like a stone.
Finally, a woman with long braided hair lifted her chin. Scrolls lay stacked beside her seat."Kavya Nair. I am the keeper of memory, the recorder of what has passed and the guardian of truth."
The trio stood in awe, almost overwhelmed by the presence of the seven.
"Welcome to the Ashram," Elder Meera said warmly. "Professor Singh once spoke highly of you, Dev."
At the mention of Singh, Dev's chest tightened. He stepped forward, his voice quiet but steady."Elders… do you know anything about his death?"
The chamber grew still. Whatever warmth had filled the room only moments before drained away, replaced by a heavy silence.
Elder Anika's eyes lowered, her tone sorrowful."Singh was not only a teacher. He was one of us. Just as King Rajendra Pratap was."
Dev froze."The King?"
"Yes," Elder Kavya said, her voice carrying the weight of history. "There were once nine elders. With the deaths of Singh and King Rajendra, we are seven."
The trio exchanged shocked looks. They had expected answers—just not this one.
"But how?" Laxmi asked gently. "How did the King… die?"
Elder Raghav leaned forward, his frail voice cutting through the silence like a blade."He was slain. By one of the Bloodsworn."
The name lingered in the air like poison.
"Bloodsworn?" Shubham echoed.
Elder Pranav's gaze darkened. "An ancient technique. Few can perform it now. A magician binds another with their own blood, controlling their will entirely. These puppets obey without question, even unto death. If they fail their task, they kill themselves instantly."
Elder Kavya added, "One such Bloodsworn came to King Rajendra, demanding the map. The King resisted. He fought bravely but was struck down. And when the Bloodsworn realized he could not fulfill his master's command, he ended his own life."
Dev's fists clenched. The same word repeated in his mind—map.
"And Professor Singh?" Dev asked, his voice firmer now. "Was he also killed by… them?"
The elders fell silent again. No one moved.
At last, Elder Raghav's eyes met Dev's, sharp and unyielding."Singh's death… is not as simple as we think."
The weight of his words pressed down on the trio, heavier than stone.
This was no longer about grief.It was a mystery, and it was far from over.
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