The prayer did not fade after it was made.
It lingered.
Not in the air, not in sound—but within him.
Rudra felt it settle deep inside his chest, like something that refused to leave. It wasn't forceful, nor was it overwhelming, yet it carried a weight that his mind could not easily ignore. For the first time since his return, his thoughts slowed—not out of confusion, but because something unfamiliar had taken hold.
She was not praying for herself.
That realization came quietly, almost reluctantly, as if his mind resisted accepting it at first. He followed the intent behind her prayer, dissecting it the way he would analyze any situation.
There was no desperation to survive.
No plea to escape suffering.
No fear of death.
Instead, there was only one desire.
It was for him.
A faint tremor passed through his consciousness.
Is that selfish...?
The question came uninvited.
To want to live... just to see your child?
To hear his voice.
To hold him, even if only once.
To exist... just long enough to give him life.
Rudra had no answer.
But something inside him... shifted.
Let me live... just long enough to give birth to him.
Rudra stilled.
A strange heaviness spread through him.
She wasn't asking for life.
She was asking for time.
Time to see him once.
Time to hear him cry.
Time to hold him—if only for a moment.
A thought surfaced, uninvited.
Is that selfish?
The question lingered.
Was it selfish... to want to live long enough to see your child? To hold him once before everything ended? To hear his first cry and know that he existed?
Rudra did not answer.
Because something else rose before he could.
Memories.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
They came without warning, tearing through the silence he had just found. Voices echoed within his mind—harsh, cold, and filled with something far worse than anger.
The memories came.
Uninvited.
Unforgiving.
Buried deep within him, suppressed beneath layers of time and death, they surged forward with brutal clarity.
Voices.
Harsh.
Cold.
Unrelenting.
"His mother died because of him."
"He's cursed."
"A bad omen."
"A mother-eater."
"He should have died instead."
Each word struck like a blade.
Blame.
The words struck one after another, relentless in their cruelty. Rudra saw it again—the faces that had looked at him not with pity, but with rejection. The way they distanced themselves, as if his existence alone was a stain they could not tolerate.
Even when he was too young to speak—
He had understood.
And worse—
He had agreed.
Yes...
The thought echoed faintly, like a shadow from his past.
I shouldn't have been born.
For a brief moment, everything went still.
Then—
It shattered.
A surge of something dark rose within him, crushing that thought completely.
"No."
It was not spoken, yet it resonated with absolute authority.
That was before.
His awareness sharpened, becoming cold and precise.
This is now.
The warmth around him remained unchanged, still gentle, still protective. But Rudra was no longer drifting within it. He had anchored himself, grounding his thoughts with clarity.
I won't let it happen again.
This time, there was no hesitation.
No doubt.
No room for failure.
But resolve alone was not enough.
Rudra understood that better than anyone.
Emotion could not protect her.
Only power could.
His focus turned inward once more, searching for the familiar thread of Karmashakti. But as he reached for it, he felt the limitation immediately. His current state—his incomplete body—could not handle its full flow.
The connection was weak.
Restricted.
Unusable.
For a brief moment, silence followed.
Then—
The Wheel stirred.
Not faintly, not subtly—but with intent.
Its presence surged within him, and before Rudra could fully analyze it, the Wheel began to rotate. The connection between them strengthened instantly, pulsing with a force that demanded attention.
Rudra's awareness sharpened.
What are you planning...?
The answer came not in words—but in action.
Outside his mother's body, the world itself responded.
Energy began to shift—not from a single source, but from everywhere. The very foundation of existence trembled as the five elements—the Panch-Tatva—were drawn into motion.
Earth.
Water.
Fire.
Air.
Ether.
These were not merely physical elements. In Hindu philosophy, they form the essence of all creation. Every body, every structure, every living being is built upon their balance.
And now—
They were being stripped of their energy.
The Wheel did not request their power.
It claimed it.
The ground beneath, the air around, the warmth within—all responded unwillingly, their subtle essence extracted and redirected.
Toward him.
Rudra felt it immediately.
This energy was different from Karmashakti.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Fundamental.
It carried no memory, no morality—only pure existence.
Understanding dawned instantly.
So this is your answer...
His thoughts aligned with precision.
If Karmashakti is restricted... then I use what isn't.
A faint clarity settled within him.
Panch-Tatva Shakti.
The energy derived from the five elements—not as matter, but as their core essence. It was the force that shaped existence itself, the hidden current beneath all life.
Rudra adapted without hesitation.
He began to control the flow, separating the elements instinctively. Earth brought stability, water adaptability, fire transformation, air movement, and ether connection.
Panch-Tatva Shakti.
The power derived from the five elements—not as physical matter, but as their foundational essence.
In Hindu philosophy, the universe is formed from these five elements. Every body, every structure, every existence is a combination of them.
But beneath that—
There is energy.
Subtle.
Hidden.
Rarely accessed.
Rudra reached for it.
Not blindly.
Not forcefully.
But intelligently.
He separated the flow.
Observed its nature.
Earth—stable, dense, grounding.
Water—fluid, adaptable, sustaining.
Fire—volatile, destructive, transformative.
Air—light, swift, ever-moving.
Ether—silent, vast, binding all.
Each carried a different quality.
Each had its role.
Each had its nature.
And Rudra—
Used them all.
Time passed.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
His soul began to change.
At first, it was subtle—a faint shift in its presence. But gradually, a soft yellow hue emerged, spreading across his essence like the first light of dawn.
Not overwhelming.
Not unstable.
Controlled.
He had found a path.
When Rudra expanded his awareness again, his thoughts turned back to the past.
Something was always wrong.
The certainty grew stronger with each passing moment.
The people around him had not been uncertain. They had not questioned. They had blamed him instantly, without hesitation.
Something was always wrong.
The thought returned.
Not emotional.
Not reactive.
But logical.
They were too sure.
Too certain.
Too quick to blame.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
It wasn't grief.
It wasn't confusion.
It was... conviction.
As if the narrative had already been decided.
No one investigated.
His mind connected the dots.
No one questioned.
A pause.
They wanted it to be me.
His gaze hardened.
Which means...
It was too perfect.
Too aligned.
Someone wanted that outcome.
His consciousness hardened.
Without delay, he began to expand it outward. It was difficult in his current state, but he persisted—carefully, patiently, pushing his awareness beyond his own existence.
Days passed.
Then finally—
He reached it.
His mother's body.
Fully.
Completely.
And just beyond.
And that's when he felt it.
A presence.
Dark.
Heavy.
Wrong.
It lingered near her soul like a stain, a purplish-black mass pulsating faintly with an unnatural rhythm. It did not belong.
Rudra stilled.
Then anger rose.
Not wild.
Not chaotic.
But controlled.
Sharp.
Deadly.
"I thought so..."
He began scanning further, analyzing everything with precision.
And then he saw it.
That same dark essence flowed through her veins like poison, corroding everything it touched. Her organs were weakening, her life slowly being eaten away from within.
She should have died long ago.
And yet—
She endured.
Not for herself.
But for him.
A memory surfaced.
Blurry.
Fragmented.
But painfully clear in emotion.
She had not been able to see him.
Not truly.
Not clearly.
Her vision had already faded.
She had not been able to hold him.
Her strength had already left her.
She had not even been able to hear his cry.
Her senses had already begun to shut down.
And yet—
At the very end—
She had smiled.
A soft, peaceful smile.
Not of regret.
Not of sorrow.
But of satisfaction.
She had succeeded.
She had given birth.
And somewhere, in that final moment, she knew—
He was alive.
He was safe.
That was enough.
Rudra's presence changed.
Whatever softness remained within him... disappeared.
His thoughts turned cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
"So..."
His voice within his mind was calm.
Too calm.
"Someone poisoned her."
A pause.
"And placed a curse."
The conclusion was absolute.
His consciousness tightened, focusing like a blade.
"Good."
The word carried no emotion.
"Now I know."
Silence followed.
Then—
A promise.
"I'll find you."
Another pause.
"And when I do..."
His presence darkened further.
"I won't kill you."
Silence.
"You'll suffer."
A breath.
"Every ounce of pain she felt..."
Another.
"I'll return it to you."
And then—
The final thought.
Cold.
Endless.
"Again... and again... and again."
The warmth around him remained.
But Rudra—
Was no longer the same.
To be continued...