Chapter 2: First Encounter with Suspicions
Tara's footsteps fell soft against the cold stone of the temple, swallowed by the shadows that clung to the ancient walls. She didn't belong here—everything about her presence screamed foreign—but she was a master of one thing: survival. Blending in wasn't just a skill; it was a necessity.
Her fingers brushed her bare wrist instinctively. Where her terminal should've been—a comforting tether to her world—there was nothing but an emptiness that mirrored her isolation. No signal. No connection. Just the suffocating silence of being utterly alone.
The hum of the villagers' chants reached her ears, rising like waves from the prayer hall. It wasn't their voices that worried her. It was the silence that lingered in the gaps between—a silence thickened by the unspoken presence of those she couldn't see. The guards. The unseen patrols that moved with the precision of hunters.
Tara slipped through the temple's entrance, her movements calculated, her posture a careful mimicry of the worshippers she observed. Beyond the temple walls, the world opened up with a cacophony of life. The marketplace was a blur of vibrant colors and chaotic energy—women in flowing saris moved with effortless grace, their laughter ringing like bells, while men haggled over baskets of fruit, their voices sharp and deliberate.
The sights and smells overwhelmed her senses: the sharp tang of spices, the earthy warmth of baked bread, and the faint musk of cattle. She paused, trying to steady her breathing, but her rigid stance betrayed her. Every turn of her head felt like an accusation, every lingering glance a warning.
Her clothes—too stiff, too strange—marked her as an outsider. The modern fabric clung to her in a way that felt wrong here, like a dissonant note in a perfect melody.
She moved carefully, mirroring the fluid gestures of the villagers, but each step felt like walking a tightrope. A group of women near a stall exchanged stories, their saris draped with effortless elegance. Tara's lips tightened as she adjusted the stiff edge of her own makeshift garment.
Blend in. Disappear. She repeated the mantra in her head, but the weight of their glances pressed heavier with every passing moment.
Her heart quickened, each beat echoing louder in her chest. Were they noticing her awkwardness? Her unease? Or was it just her paranoia feeding on her isolation?
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Samudra's Viewpoint
Samudra stood on the hill overlooking the village, his sharp gaze following the stranger below. Her movements were deliberate yet clumsy, her attempts to blend in as transparent as glass under the sun.
"She doesn't belong," he murmured, the words more observation than accusation.
His subordinate shifted uneasily beside him. "Do you think she's a spy, my lord?"
Samudra's lips curled into a slow smile, a flicker of amusement darkening his expression. "A spy?" His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword in a rhythmic beat, a habit that betrayed his intrigue. "If she is, she's the worst I've ever seen."
His eyes narrowed as he watched her navigate the marketplace. The villagers' movements were fluid, like water weaving through the chaos, but she was rigid, her tension rippling outward like a stone dropped into a still pond.
"She's hiding something," he said softly, the playful lilt in his tone fading into something colder. "But what?"
He motioned for his subordinate to move. "Follow her. See where she goes. Don't engage unless absolutely necessary."
The subordinate bowed, slipping into the crowd with practiced ease. Samudra remained on the hill, his gaze pinned to the woman below. She wasn't dangerous—not yet. But she was… different. And in his experience, differences had a way of unsettling the natural order.
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Tara's Perspective
Tara's chest tightened as she pushed through the bustling market, her senses on high alert. Every glance felt like an accusation, every passing stranger a potential threat.
The crowd thinned as she moved farther from the temple, and her shoulders sagged slightly. The air smelled of damp earth and hay as she neared the edge of the village. Her eyes caught sight of a barn tucked behind a cluster of trees—a sanctuary, at least for a moment.
She slipped inside, the cool dimness a welcome relief from the glaring stares outside. The scent of hay and earth enveloped her, grounding her in its simplicity.
In the corner of the barn, a length of fabric hung loosely over a wooden beam. Its texture was soft, worn from use, and it reminded her of the villagers' saris. Tara approached it hesitantly, her fingers brushing over the cloth. If she was going to survive here, she needed to adapt.
She draped it over her shoulders, mimicking the fluid motions she'd seen in the marketplace, but the fabric slipped through her fingers. Frustration built with each failed attempt.
"Why is this so damn hard?" she muttered under her breath, her voice a sharp whisper in the quiet barn.
A soft chuckle echoed from the shadows, freezing her in place.
Tara's heart slammed against her ribs as she spun around, her eyes darting to every corner of the barn. The dim light revealed nothing—no movement, no sign of another presence. But the chuckle had been real, low and mocking, like the whisper of a phantom.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as her gaze swept the space again. The hay lay undisturbed, the shadows still. Yet the air felt heavier now, charged with an unseen energy that pressed against her skin.
Forcing herself to focus, she adjusted the sari one last time, tying it securely around her waist. Her hands shook as she worked, but she didn't dare pause. Whoever—or whatever—had been there wasn't showing themselves, and she wasn't about to wait for them to change their mind.
She slipped out of the barn, her steps quick but measured, her mind still racing. The village seemed quieter now, the marketplace a distant hum.
But the feeling of being watched hadn't left her. If anything, it had grown stronger.
As she reached the stream at the edge of the village, Tara knelt by the water, her reflection rippling in the surface. Her green eyes stared back at her, wide with fear and determination.
She wasn't invisible. She wasn't safe.
Someone was watching her. Someone who knew she didn't belong.
And Tara had a sinking feeling that whoever—or whatever—it was, they wouldn't stop until they found out why.