"No..." whispered Rudra.
Netra's betrayal cut through the twins like a jagged blade. Time seemed to halt in the flickering light of the temple courtyard. Raghav's fists clenched so tightly the skin on his knuckles paled. For one fleeting, furious second, he felt like killing Netra where she stood. But he didn't move. He just stared at her, willing himself to suppress the fire roaring inside.
Rudra's lips trembled. "Why... Netra?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes met theirs—stoic, detached.
The vines slithered around the Whisperers and the soldiers, tightening like nooses. The entire scene held its breath. Silence pressed down like fog. Every soul there awaited an explanation.
A single pair of footsteps broke the stillness. Sarthak stepped forward, his voice dripping with smug amusement.
"Well," he began, sweeping his arm in a small theatrical gesture, "you all must be thinking—what is going on here? Let me help you understand. These men—" he gestured to the stern figures standing behind him in layered green and ochre robes—"are temple guards. Loyal remnants of the old order. They once served the late king of the Jangal Mandala. And clearly, they've still got their faith. Admirable, really."
He gave a nod of mock respect to the guards, then turned to the twins.
"As for Netra," he said, his voice dropping a pitch, "she works for me. Sorry, boys."
Netra didn't flinch as his words sank in. She stood motionless, unmoved by the dozens of stares pinned to her.
Raghav stared at her with disbelief, his voice low and hollow. "We trusted you."
She held his gaze, unblinking.
Sarthak chuckled, amused by the drama. "You know how it is—Rankriti placed me here to keep me away from Aghorvan. Said this city was off limits. Off limits! To me!" He laughed, but his eyes remained cold.
"Now," he continued, his voice more measured, "you can't tell a man not to go somewhere and expect him to stay away forever. I couldn't enter the city openly, so... I used you. You entered it for me. Opened the gates. Cleared the path."
He tilted his head, eyes scanning the temple.
"Now that the door is open, I no longer have to knock. Once I'm done, I'll return to my city and let Rankriti clean up the mess."
He clapped his hands together lightly, grinning. "Now that pleasantries are out of the way... shall we get to business?"
He raised a hand. Netra responded instantly, pulling the guards and soldiers aside, parting the way like a curtain for Sarthak and his men. The vines wrapped tighter around the captives who remained. A low groan came from one of the Whisperers as the creepers coiled around his chest.
The twins didn't move. They stepped forward, placing themselves between Sarthak and the temple steps.
"We don't want to fight you, Sarthak," Rudra said, his voice calm but iron-edged. "We only came here so Rankriti would release our friend. Let these people go. We'll leave. But don't harm anyone."
Sarthak didn't stop. He walked a few steps closer, stopping only when his boots scraped the bottom of the stairs.
"Whether you stay or leave doesn't concern me," he said flatly. "I'm here to see what this temple holds. That's all. Step aside."
"If the people don't want you to enter the temple," Raghav said, "don't enter it."
A raspy voice called out behind them. The old priest, half-covered in dust and blood, struggled to stand.
"It's fine," the priest said, coughing. "Let him enter. There's nothing left anyway."
Sarthak smirked. "See? Listen to your elders."
He walked past the twins without another glance, boots thudding against the ancient stone as he ascended the four stairs. The temple door stood open. Cold air seemed to flow out of the shadowed interior.
Inside the temple, the light dimmed to a cold grey. Moss and age-blackened stone covered the walls. At the far end of the hall stood a dark figure—a deity carved from obsidian stone, eyes downcast, a spear in one hand, shield in the other.
But the center of the room wasn't claimed by the statue. There stood a podium of carved stone. It was low, wide, and smooth—so finely polished it glowed slightly in the dark.
Sarthak approached it slowly, like a predator circling its prey. As he stepped closer, a shiver passed through the air, like a low hum vibrating beneath the floor.
From behind him, the priest's voice rose in warning. "Whatever you do, do not touch that dais. It will only harm you."
Sarthak paused.
"Really?"
He took one more step and reached out. The moment his fingertips brushed the surface, a pulse of white-blue light shot up his arm. He yelped and pulled back. Smoke rose from his fingers, blistered and red.
He blew on them, eyes wide, then laughed. "Interesting."
"I told you," said the priest, his voice shaking, "don't touch it. Stay away. I'm telling you for your own good."
Sarthak's expression sharpened. He looked from the priest to the dais, then to the deity behind it.
"So this is what Rankriti's protecting," he murmured. "But what is it?"
He drew a dagger from his belt and tapped the dais. The same surge of energy flashed and knocked the blade from his hand, sending it skittering across the stone floor.
"You are not the one who should be touching this place," the priest said, more firmly now. "You are not worthy—or responsible enough—to stand before it."
Sarthak turned to him. "And someone else is? Who then, old man? Who is worthy? And more importantly, what is it?"
The priest looked past him, towards the towering deity. "It belonged to our Lord. Only he may return. Only he may take what is his. But someone has already taken it away."
Sarthak squinted at the statue. Then, with a soft chuckle, he turned back toward the courtyard.
"Right. I think I need to have a word with Rankriti after all. This is getting... fascinating."
He stepped outside.
"Don't kill any of them," he said coolly. "We'll need them. But if they resist... kill them."
He gave Netra a nod. Her hands moved subtly, and the vines surged again. The Whisperers cried out as the creepers twisted tighter. But before the plants could fully bind them, twin blades flashed.
Raghav and Rudra cut through the vines with practiced precision. Soldiers followed, tearing at the entanglements. A call rang out—sharp, clear.
Charak, crouched on the roof above, gave a signal. An arrow sliced through the air, smashing into the side of Sarthak's chariot and blowing the door off its hinges in a burst of flame and wood.
Sarthak didn't flinch. He stood with his back to the temple, smoke curling around him. Slowly, he lowered his head.
Then he looked up.
A cruel smile played on his face. One that didn't reach his eyes.
The courtyard held its breath again.