The first cart of grain left Dharmapura at sunrise.
Oxen pulled.
Dust rose.
Raghav walked beside the headman, talking of roads and markets as if he were leading an army into glory.
People waved.
Some waved because they believed.
Some waved because they were afraid not to.
Aarav stood with Kiran near the edge of the village, watching until the cart became a moving speck and then nothing.
"How long until it comes back?" Kiran asked.
"Raghav said three days," Aarav replied.
"Three days," Kiran repeated, chewing his lip. "Three days until we know if this is fortune… or another kind of story."
Aarav didn't answer.
He felt the flame in his chest pulse like a slow drum.
As the cart had rolled past, he'd seen it:
a faint shimmer in the air just behind the last wheel, like the light bending the wrong way.
Not yet a crack.
But close.
He'd whispered the protective mantra inside his chest as it left.
"Om… Satya-Dharma-Rakshaka… Om…"
The shimmer flickered.
The cart rolled on.
Three days.
The whole village seemed to count them.
⏳ Waiting with Heavy Hearts
On the first day, everyone talked loudly.
"What will you do with your share of silver?"
"I'll buy a metal pot that doesn't leak."
"I'll get earrings for my daughter's wedding."
"I'll fix our roof finally."
On the second day, voices dropped.
"What if the city price is low?"
"What if bandits come?"
"What if the cart breaks a wheel and never reaches?"
On the third day, no one talked much at all.
People worked, but their eyes kept shifting to the road.
Even those who hadn't given grain watched, as if the answer would still decide something for them too.
Aarav spent the afternoon in the clearing with Vardaan, but his thoughts kept drifting.
"You are not in your body," Vardaan observed at last.
"My body is here," Aarav muttered.
"Your eyes are with the cart," Vardaan said. "And your chest is with the people waiting."
Aarav sighed.
"What if it goes badly?" he asked. "What if… this is the moment everything breaks?"
Vardaan tapped his staff on the earth.
"Then we will stand inside that breaking and do what we can," he said. "You cannot stop the world from reaching its tests. You can only choose how you meet them."
They walked back toward the village together.
The sun was lower now.
Shadows were long.
And then, from the far end of the road, a shout:
"They're back!"
🐂 Silver and Smoke
The cart rolled in slower than it had left.
Dust caked the oxen's flanks.
Raghav's turban was less neat, his vest less bright.
But his smile was still there.
"Friends!" he called, raising an arm. "We have returned!"
A knot of villagers gathered at once.
Kiran elbowed his way to Aarav's side.
"This is it," he whispered.
The headman climbed onto a low stone so he could be seen.
Raghav opened a heavy cloth bag with a flourish.
Silver coins clinked together.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The sound was… beautiful.
Bright.
Clear.
"It worked," someone breathed.
Aarav looked deeper.
He softened his gaze.
Each coin seemed to carry a faint echo of something—not light, not exactly dark.
More like a stain from many hands.
Fair trade leaves a light feeling, Vardaan had told him once. Unfair trade leaves a weight.
These coins looked heavy.
Not just in metal.
In their story.
Raghav pulled out a small slate and a stick of chalk.
"We will do this properly," he announced. "Names. Grain given. Coin returned. No one can say Raghav the Fortunate is unfair."
He began to read from his list.
"Devan," he called. "You gave ten sacks. After city tax, road fees, guard tips, and small losses from spoilage… your share comes to—"
He counted quickly, fingers moving, voice smooth.
"Eight coins."
The crowd murmured approvingly.
Eight silver coins at once was more than most had seen.
Devan's face lit up as he stepped forward.
Aarav watched his inner light.
It flared brighter.
At the same time, a small coil of Greed-colour curled around it, whispering, More next time. Give more next time.
One by one, people stepped up.
Raghav called names.
Coins changed hands.
Voices rose.
But as the list went on, Aarav realized something.
The numbers did not add up.
Not if Raghav's earlier promises had been true.
"You said ten sacks might become twelve sacks' worth of coin," Aarav whispered to Kiran.
Kiran shrugged.
"Lots of 'might' in those words," he said. "You know how adults are."
Aarav's jaw tightened.
He looked at Vardaan, standing quietly near the back.
The sage's face was unreadable.
Inside Aarav's chest, the black side of his flame grumbled: Say something. Make a scene. Tear the scales from his hands.
The gold side replied: Wait. Look. See the whole shape first.
He forced himself to breathe.
🌊 The First Crack You Could Hear
Then Raghav called a man whose name Aarav knew very well.
"Suresh," he said. "You gave seven sacks. After costs and losses, your share comes to… four coins."
Suresh stepped forward slowly.
Four coins dropped into his hand.
They looked very small.
His mouth twisted.
"Four?" he repeated. "I gave seven full sacks of good grain."
Raghav sighed, a carefully shaped sound.
"My friend," he said, "you know how the roads are. The guard at the city gate wanted more this time. Prices in the market were not as high as I'd hoped. We must share the risk, as we share the profit."
"You told us there would be more," Suresh said.
Raghav spread his hands.
"I told you what was possible," he replied. "Not what was guaranteed. The world changes. I am only a trader in it, not its king."
The villagers muttered.
A strange sound brushed the edge of Aarav's hearing.
Like stone… very far away… cracking.
His chest flame flared in alarm.
He looked toward the cart.
There it was.
The faint shimmer he had seen before was now a thin, glowing line in the air, just behind one wheel, stretching from the ground up to waist-height.
A hairline crack in reality.
It pulsed with each angry heartbeat in the crowd.
No one else seemed to see it.
The noise of debate grew.
"Four coins is still much!" someone said. "Be grateful."
"Easy for you to say," another snapped. "You had more sacks to spare. If I gave seven and got four, I'd be ruined."
Anger.
Jealousy.
Fear of missing out.
All of it tugged at the crack, feeding it.
The glowing line widened the tiniest bit.
Aarav swallowed.
"Rishi-ji," he whispered. "It's opening."
"Yes," Vardaan's voice said beside him. "Greed's fingers are testing the cloth."
Aarav glanced up.
The sky looked normal.
But the air near the cart felt… slippery.
"We have to close it," he hissed.
"We cannot yet," Vardaan said. "The people's own hearts are pulling it wider. If we try to seal it while they tug, it may tear instead. Watch."
There was that word again.
Watch.
Aarav's nails dug into his palms.
💥 The Breaking Point
The tension snapped when Raghav called out another name.
"Devan's brother, Arun," he said. "You gave three sacks. After costs… one coin."
Arun stepped forward slowly.
"You promised small contributions would still help us rise," he said, voice tight. "Now I'm left with less grain and only one coin?"
Raghav's smile thinned.
"I promised opportunity," he said. "Not miracles."
Murmurs rose to shouts.
"You said 'profit for all'!"
"You said 'we share the gain'!"
"What if next time we get nothing?"
"Are you cheating us?"
Raghav's eyes hardened for a moment.
Then he put a hand to his chest, as if wounded.
"Cheating?" he said. "I risk my life on dangerous roads for you. I leave my family, my comfort. I stand in strange markets haggling until my throat hurts. And you call me a cheat because the world does not behave like a puppet on a string?"
The headman stepped in.
"Enough," he said loudly. "We knew there was risk. We agreed."
"But did we know this?" Arun shouted, holding up his lone coin. "Did we know we might end up poorer while others boast they are 'fortunate'?"
The crowd's mood shifted.
Not just disappointment.
Resentment.
Some glared at Raghav.
Some glared at the ones who had gained more.
Lines of invisible tension crisscrossed the square.
The crack near the cart pulsed faster.
A faint, wrong-smelling wind pushed out from it.
Aarav's skin prickled.
He saw it clearly now:
shadows gathering just behind the glowing tear, pressing from the other side, like fingers behind thin cloth.
If this rips, he thought, something will come through.
"Rishi-ji—"
"I know," Vardaan said. "This is the moment."
He stepped forward, staff in hand.
"Friends," he said, voice calm but carrying. "Before you tear each other apart, ask a question: what is breaking more today—your grain, or your trust?"
People turned.
Some looked relieved to have a calmer voice.
Others looked annoyed.
"Trust won't feed our families," someone snapped.
"No," Vardaan said. "But losing it completely will starve your souls."
Aarav's chest tightened.
He could almost feel the Shadow King of Greed leaning closer, waiting to see which way the village would tilt.
🛡️ Bubble Around a Crowd
The arguing swelled again.
A few men stepped closer to Raghav.
Their fists were clenched.
Aarav saw their inner lights flicker under a sudden surge of rage.
Smoke thickened around their heads.
The crack behind the cart widened another hair.
The air whined softly, only just audible.
If someone throws a punch now, Aarav realised, if someone hits him, if blood is spilled over this trick…
The crack will tear.
He didn't think.
He moved.
He pushed through the cluster of bodies until he stood where he could see both Raghav and the crack clearly.
His heart hammered so loud he could hardly hear the shouting.
He grabbed the warmth in his chest with his attention.
Shield, he thought. Not strike. Shield big.
Inner room.
Two-coloured flame.
Door firmly shut.
He imagined the flame growing.
Not shooting into his hand.
Expanding.
Light filling his chest.
Light pouring outward.
Gold edged with black, reaching from his skin into the space around him.
He had stretched it for his mother.
For Kiran.
Now he tried something reckless.
He imagined it stretching further.
Outward.
Like a dome.
Like the Dharmic Point circle… but made of his own strange fire.
He whispered inside:
"Om… Satya-Dharma-Rakshaka… Om…"
The mantra hummed.
He felt a ripple move out from him.
It brushed against Vardaan.
The sage's own shield flared in answer, like two circles touching.
Between them, a faint shimmer formed.
Most people couldn't see it.
But they felt it.
The ones stepping toward Raghav stumbled slightly, as if walking into thicker air.
Their fists slowed.
The shouting lost a little of its sharp edge.
The crack behind the cart hissed.
The pressure from the other side pushed.
The new dome pushed back.
For a second, Aarav thought his lungs would burst.
It felt like trying to hold back floodwater with his bare hands.
"You are doing more than you are ready for," Vardaan's mind brushed his like a thought. "Steady. Don't try to be a wall. Be a drum. Let Dharma's sound move through you."
He tightened his focus.
Not I am protecting them.
Dharma, through me, protect them.
The flame steadied.
The bubble vibrated instead of straining.
The crack shuddered.
A ghostly shape began to press against it from the other side—
long limbs, shifting edges, too many sharp lines—
and then, unable to push through the humming dome, it withdrew with a frustrated twist.
The crack shrank… just a little.
It didn't close.
But it stopped widening.
Aarav sagged inside, though he kept his body standing.
His vision swam for a moment.
Through the blur he saw Raghav staring at him.
Really staring.
Not with the eyes of a salesman.
With the eyes of someone who had just realised a stone he'd kicked was actually a hidden blade.
Their gazes met.
Raghav's inner coils tightened.
He had not seen the crack.
But he had felt the air change.
He had felt something invisible push against the moment when chaos might have broken loose.
And he had seen Aarav at the center of that shift.
⚖️ Words Instead of Blows
Vardaan seized the space the bubble had created.
"Raghav-ji," he said, voice clear. "No one here denies that the road is risky. That markets are uncertain. But risk should be shared fairly. If the villagers give you their trust and grain, they deserve a window into your truth."
"What do you suggest, Rishi-ji?" Raghav asked, his tone smooth—but his eyes never left Aarav.
"Simple things," Vardaan said. "Next time you weigh grain for the city, weigh it first on our old scale, then on yours. Let many eyes see the measures match. When you return, show not only coin but your accounts—what price each sack fetched, what each guard demanded, which taxes were taken. Let truth walk with your promise."
Some people nodded.
"Yes," someone said. "That is fair."
"If you are honest, you will accept this," another added.
For a moment, the coils around Raghav's chest flickered in Aarav's sight.
Greed squeezed.
Falsehood whispered.
Raghav did not like the idea at all.
But he also felt the village's mood.
He spread his hands slowly.
"If that is what will reassure you," he said, with a hurt smile, "then so be it. I have nothing to hide."
The Shadow King of Greed's presence loosened its grip on the moment.
Raghav had avoided the worst kind of exposure—for now.
But a line had been drawn.
A small one.
In the dirt.
And everyone had seen who suggested it, and who agreed, and who had needed to be pushed.
The crowd began to thin.
Some people went home counting coins again.
Some went home counting new worries.
Aarav stood very still until the last argument broke into smaller conversations.
Then his knees finally gave out.
He dropped to the ground, breathing hard.
Vardaan knelt beside him.
"You overreached," the sage said gently.
"Did… it work?" Aarav managed.
"You slowed the tearing," Vardaan said. "You gave words a chance to work instead of fists. That is not small."
Aarav closed his eyes for a second.
His inner flame was tired.
But it still burned.
Gold not crushed.
Black not ruling.
Somewhere above, in the invisible layers, the Shadow King of Greed pulled its attention back slightly.
This village, it decided, was more troublesome than expected.
But trouble could be fun.
It was not finished.
And neither was Fear.
Now two great shadows watched a boy who had stepped between their fingers three times:
by the river,
at the crack in the rocks,
and now, at the cart.
Raghav adjusted his turban with a calm hand across the square, still smiling at the headman, still speaking of next journeys and better luck.
Inside, behind his eyes, something colder moved.
He had a new calculation to make:
how to continue feeding his coils…
without being interrupted by
Aarav Devanshi,
the boy with the two-coloured flame.
✦ END OF CHAPTER ✦