Onish didn't know how they'd managed to jostle through the frenetic crowd, each step a perilous dance among panicked civilians and flapping wings. The city square was a battlefield of chaos. Feathers filled the air, bright with blood and the echoes of desperate cries. Scavengers of the sky—hawks, crows, ravens—had descended like a plague, their claws sharp as talons, their beady eyes glinting with malevolent intent. The streets, once bustling with traders and travelers, were now a warzone of broken glass and overturned carts, as people scrambled to take refuge wherever they could. Even the air seemed to churn, thick with the frenzy of wingbeats, a symphony of madness that rang in Onish's ears like the death knell of a world collapsing.
Amidst it all, Bhadra moved with a strange grace. His hands, faintly glowing like ethereal threads, wove an invisible net, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of protection. The shimmering net swelled, encasing them in a bubble of air that pushed back against the madness, a delicate barrier against the frenzied world outside. Yet even as the shield shimmered, it trembled under the weight of the assault.
"Lady," Bhadra's voice cut through the chaos, urgent but calm, "We can't make it to the castle. We need shelter, now."
Onish glanced at the sky, where the blackened wings of the birds loomed, larger and more threatening with each passing second. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, echoing the drumbeats of panic that reverberated through the crowd. His mother's grip tightened on his arm, pulling him back to the present.
"Where do we go?" Padma's voice cracked, bitter with frustration. "Oman, that fool, he's lost in his devotion to the king. We are alone in this mess. Alone." Her words bit with the sharpness of betrayal, and for a moment, Onish saw the deep, unspoken pain in her eyes. The king's men, those she had once believed were her allies, were no better than the birds now—overwhelmed, powerless against the chaos.
"There are houses," Bhadra suggested, kicking aside a basket of spilled fruit, his eyes scanning the streets for an escape. "We could break in. No one will turn you away, my lady. Not now."
"No," Padma spat, her voice filled with distaste. "Houses are no refuge. There are worse things than birds, and I know better than to trust this madness is just an accident. No, we must move, find higher ground."
Bhadra hesitated, his gaze shifting nervously as he repaired a crack in the shimmering shield. He could feel the air grow heavier with each missed strike. The birds, once mortal, were changing, becoming something more... something darker. Half-spirits, perhaps, bound to the will of some unseen force.
"What about Sir Roan's castle?" Bhadra's voice was tight with uncertainty, his shield flickering under a particularly vicious attack from a red-feathered hawk.
Padma paused, her breath hitching at the suggestion. The white castle... Avantika. It had been three years since she had set foot there, and longer since she'd last spoken to her closest friend. Would it be too late? Would she be welcome?
"I'll go," Padma said, her voice steady, though a storm of doubt roiled inside. "We must. For Onish's sake."
As they made their way toward the castle, the sounds of the frenzied birds and the frantic crowd faded, replaced by the eerie calm that enveloped the white stone walls. The castle stood in stark contrast to the chaos outside, its marble walls glistening in the dying light, untouched by the madness. Padma's heart fluttered in her chest. This was a sanctuary... but it was also a place full of ghosts, both living and dead.
When they arrived at the door, Padma knocked, her knuckles barely grazing the polished wood before a voice came from the other side, cold and distant.
"Mistress is not to be disturbed," said Meriva, the house-anima, her voice soft but firm.
Padma's heart sank. She knew Meriva's voice too well—the voice of a servant bound by duty, yet full of a subtle, unspoken warmth.
"Tell her," Padma's voice caught in her throat, "Tell her it's Padma. Please, let her know I've come."
A long pause. Then, the door creaked open, revealing not the cheerful face of an old friend, but a stark, somber one.
"Madam said you may wait in the guest room," Meriva said, her fiery hair flowing like a river of flame around her pale face. The house-anima's expression was hard to read, but there was a sorrow there that twisted in Padma's chest.
As they followed Meriva through the marble halls, the scent of incense thickened in the air, the atmosphere of the castle both strange and familiar. Padma's gaze swept the halls, lingering on empty spaces once filled with laughter, with the bustle of a family. Now, it seemed as though time had paused, its rhythm broken.
When they reached the chamber, Padma knocked softly on the door, her heart in her throat. No response. Only the faint sound of muffled sobs. Gently, she pushed open the door.
Inside, the room was dimly lit, a single candle flickering weakly on a side table. A woman sat by the bed, her arms wrapped protectively around a small boy, her form shaking with silent grief. Onish stepped forward, eyes immediately drawn to the boy on the bed.
Guha, the child who had once shown such promise, lay as still as death. His face, serene but pale, betrayed no sign of distress, yet there was something wrong. A dark red spot between his eyebrows—small but growing, its edges pulsing with a sinister warmth.
Onish's breath caught in his throat. This was no ordinary affliction. The boy's third eye chakra... it was awakening, but the process was far too soon. The breach between the body and the world consciousness had already begun. The boy's soul was stretching too far, too fast—like a candle burning at both ends.
Onish moved closer, his fingers brushing against the mark. It was warm, dangerously warm. He could feel the pulse of energy as though the boy's very life was tied to a thread that could snap at any moment.
The boy had breached the wall of the world consciousness... but it was too soon. Too dangerous. Onish had heard the stories—tales of yogis and sages who had lost themselves in that vast, unknowable realm. Once, a king had done so, his soul wandering lost in the endlessness, until his wife had been forced to follow, merging with his consciousness to guide him back.
But Onish... Onish was no king. He was no sage. His powers were not what they once were. Still, the law of Karma was clear. The boy had saved him once, and he would repay that debt.
He closed his eyes, sinking into meditation, his spirit reaching out, threading through the boy's consciousness. The world around him seemed to blur, until there was nothing but the vast, echoing emptiness of the universal mind.
And in that space, he found Guha, a flicker of awareness in the void. The boy's soul was stretched thin, trembling under the weight of the cosmos.
Onish hesitated. The task was monumental, the risk unimaginable. To merge with the boy's consciousness was to invite the very forces that had claimed countless others. But if he did nothing, the boy would be lost forever, his skull cracked open as the third eye awakened in a storm of consciousness.
He took a breath, his mind steadied by the unbreakable chain of karma.
He would save the boy. No matter the cost.