Aarav barely slept that night.
Every time he closed his eyes, the image of the Ashvattha Tree loomed over him—its upside-down roots stretching across the void, whispering something just beyond his understanding. He woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding like he had just escaped something ancient.
He spent the morning shadowboxing in a hidden courtyard behind a rundown temple, trying to shake the feeling. But no matter how many strikes he threw, how many push-ups he forced himself through, the cold weight in his chest refused to leave.
"Something already has you."
Virendra's words echoed in his mind like a curse.
Aarav pulled off his hoodie, stretching his arms. His body was covered in old scars, memories of countless street fights. But as he wiped the sweat from his skin, his gaze locked onto something new—something wrong.
A symbol.
Right over his heart, etched into his skin like a brand.
A jagged mark, like ancient script twisting in on itself, pulsing faintly with a deep crimson glow before fading into his skin.
His breath caught.
This wasn't a tattoo. It wasn't a wound.
It was something else.
And worse—he had never seen it before.
His fingers brushed against it, and for a moment—just a flicker—his vision shifted.
The world around him fractured.
The temple walls bled away, replaced by an endless black void. And standing in the distance, barely visible, was a figure. Tall, wrapped in shifting shadows, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural, golden fire.
It saw him.
Aarav stumbled back, his vision snapping back to reality. He gasped for air, his hands shaking.
Whatever had just happened—it wasn't his imagination.
Something was inside him.
Watching.
Waiting.
----------
Aarav didn't have time to process it.
Because the moment he stepped out onto the main road, they were waiting.
Three men stood at the end of the alleyway, dressed in crimson robes embroidered with golden patterns of twisting roots. Their faces were obscured by veils, but Aarav could feel their eyes burning into him.
One of them stepped forward, raising a scroll wrapped in deep red silk.
"Aarav Sen," the man spoke, his voice echoing unnaturally. "The Keepers welcome you. Your place in the Ashvattha Tournament has been confirmed."
Aarav's pulse pounded. He hadn't signed anything. Hadn't agreed to anything.
And yet—his presence in the tournament had already been decided.
His fingers curled into fists. He didn't trust this. He didn't trust any of this.
But he only had one question.
"My sister," he said, his voice sharp. "Where is she?"
The man remained still. "Enter the tournament. Survive. And all your questions will be answered."
Aarav's jaw clenched. He wanted to refuse. Every instinct screamed at him to walk away.
But then he remembered the symbol on his chest. The thing he had seen.
Something inside him was changing. And if he didn't find answers soon—
—he might lose himself before he even knew what he had become.
He stepped forward, snatching the scroll from the man's hand.
"I'm in."
---
The moment Aarav took the scroll, the three robed men stepped back in perfect unison. It was unsettling—too precise, too controlled.
Without another word, they turned and disappeared into the crowd, their crimson robes vanishing into the sea of people.
Aarav looked down at the scroll in his hands. It was heavier than it should have been, wrapped in silk that felt almost alive, pulsing faintly against his skin.
He hesitated.
Then, with a deep breath, he unrolled it.
The parchment inside wasn't ordinary—it shimmered, shifting between deep gold and blood-red under the sunlight. And in the center, written in an ancient script that burned itself into his mind, was a single sentence:
"Your door opens at midnight."
Aarav frowned. Door? What the hell did that mean?
Before he could process it, the words on the parchment twisted, the ink bleeding into new shapes. His eyes widened as the letters rearranged themselves into something else.
"And you are not alone."
A chill ran down his spine.
Before he could react, the scroll ignited in his hands.
Aarav cursed, dropping it, but instead of turning to ash, the flames swirled in the air—twisting, shaping—until they formed a glowing mark right in front of him. A symbol he had never seen before, but somehow recognized.
His mark. The one on his chest.
Then—
A whisper.
Faint. Ancient. Crawling into his bones.
"We have been waiting."
Aarav's vision blurred. His knees buckled. The world around him flickered—
And for the second time in his life, he felt something awaken inside him.
Something not human.
--------
Aarav collapsed to one knee, clutching his chest. His pulse pounded like a war drum, his skin burning where the mark had appeared.
The whisper echoed through his mind, ancient and unrelenting.
"We have been waiting."
Waiting for what?
The air around him rippled, like heat rising from scorched earth. His surroundings—people, streets, the sky—warped for the briefest moment, as if he was seeing the world through something else's eyes
The world blurred.
For a heartbeat, Aarav wasn't there.
The market, the sounds of chattering voices, the distant calls of merchants—it all faded into nothingness. Instead, he saw something else.
A battlefield.
The air was thick with smoke and blood. The ground trembled under the weight of unseen titans. Across the horizon, massive figures loomed—some with burning halos, others wreathed in shadows. The sky was cracked, as if the heavens themselves had shattered, and from those fissures, golden roots slithered down, writhing like serpents.
In the center of it all stood a man.
No—not a man.
Something more.
He was dressed in tattered royal garb, his face obscured by a mask resembling a half-broken sun. His body pulsed with a golden glow, veins of light crawling beneath his skin like molten fire.
And when he turned—his gaze piercing through the battlefield—he was looking directly at Aarav.
Aarav felt his breath hitch.
This wasn't just a vision.
He was there.
The masked figure raised his hand, fingers curling into a fist. The world around him convulsed, the air cracking like glass. The battlefield collapsed, pulled inward by an unseen force—
Aarav tried to move. He tried to scream.
But the world shattered—
And he was back.
Gasping, kneeling on the dirt road, hands trembling.
The market was still there. People were still moving. The world hadn't ended.
But something inside him had changed.
The whisper returned, softer now, curling around his mind like a serpent.
"You will remember soon."
Aarav clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
What the hell was that?
A vision? A memory? A warning?
He didn't know.
But what he did know was this—
Something ancient was waking up inside him.
And whatever it was, it had just begun.
Aarav forced himself to his feet. His body still trembled from the vision, but he refused to let the fear take hold.
Whatever he had just seen—whatever that battlefield was—it wasn't just a hallucination. It had felt real, more real than anything he had ever experienced. And that figure in the mask…
It had looked at him.
Not past him. Not through him.
At him.
As if it knew him.
He exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts away. He needed answers. And standing around, drowning in confusion, wasn't going to get him any.
His grip tightened around the scroll still clutched in his fingers. The tournament.
Virendra had said this was his path. That this was where he would find the truth.
If that was the case, then he had no other choice.
He looked down at the parchment again, reading the words for a second time.
"Your door opens at midnight."
What the hell did that mean?
He glanced at the sky. The sun was already beginning to set, the last rays of daylight bleeding into the horizon. Midnight wasn't far away.
Aarav turned, his mind made up. He would go home, gather his things, and prepare.
No more hesitation.
No more waiting.
Tonight, his world was going to change forever.
And he was ready.
---