Aarav shut himself inside his flat and didn't come out for two days.
He kept the curtains drawn, the lights off, and his sketchbook shoved under the mattress like it was radioactive. Every time he passed it, he felt its presence, humming faintly, tugging at him.
"No," he told himself out loud, pacing the narrow space. "This isn't real. It's stress. Hallucinations. Maybe… low blood sugar." He laughed bitterly. "Or maybe I'm just crazy. Yeah. That's easier than—than rakshasas."
He filled out online job applications. He scrolled endlessly through LinkedIn. He made a spreadsheet of companies hiring designers. Anything to remind himself he was still just a struggling artist, not some reincarnated warrior.
But when he finally forced himself to pick up a pencil for a freelance test assignment — a poster design — his hand wouldn't obey.
Instead of fonts and layouts, the page is filled with shapes. A curved blade. A burning sky. Eyes — dozens of them — watching from the dark.
Aarav dropped the pencil like it had stung him. His chest heaved. His hand trembled.
"No more," he whispered. He grabbed the sketchbook from under the mattress, intending to tear out every page, burn them, end this once and for all.
But when he opened it, the pages weren't his anymore. They turned themselves, flipping faster and faster, until they stopped on one that hadn't existed before.
It showed him. Aarav. Sitting exactly as he was now, in his flat, clutching the sketchbook. The detail was too perfect — the tilt of his head, the fear in his eyes, the cracked mug on his table.
And beneath the drawing, scrawled in thick strokes, was a single word:
"Choose."
The air in the room shifted. The fan slowed to a crawl. The shadows in the corners deepened, stretching along the floor.
Something moved within them. A low growl vibrated through the walls, the sound of claws scraping concrete.
Aarav backed away, pressing himself against the cupboard. "No. No, no, no…"
The sketchbook pulsed like a heartbeat.
And then, as if summoned by his terror, the shadows split open. A claw reached through, long and jagged, dragging itself into his world.
Aarav screamed—
And a burst of fire slammed against the wall. The shadow recoiled, shrieking.
Through the smoke stepped Agnivesh, staff blazing, eyes hard.
"I told you," he said. "The more you resist, the more they will come."
Aarav collapsed to his knees, clutching the sketchbook like a curse. "Why me?" he begged. "Why can't they leave me alone?"
Agnivesh's voice was steady, but heavy. "Because you are not alone in this. There are others, like you. And it is time you met them."