Vrishaketu stood before the mural, his fingers hovering just above the surface, as if afraid to touch the past it depicted. The battle scene—bright, chaotic—seemed to pulse with life under his gaze. Shadows played across his face, carved deeper by the dim torchlight flickering against the ancient stone walls. A chill lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of long burnt-out incense. Aparajita stood a few paces behind, the weight of the silence pressing against his chest. He shifted, his feet whispering against the cold stone, eyes fixed on his master’s profile.
"Many centuries ago," Vrishaketu finally said, his voice low, "during the time of The Great Drought, the Serpent Dragon stole the waters of the world and Bhu-loka descended into chaos."
His fingers lightly traced the edge of a painted monk’s robe, his touch lingering.
"The Cardinal Generals who were supposed to preserve the four directions fought among themselves. And in that chaos, Raktabija, the demon lord, unleashed his campaign to conquer the Bhu-loka. He did not conquer; he devoured—village after village, city after city, kingdom after kingdom, leaving nothing but ashes in his wake until even this monastery sheltered far away from the affairs of the world trembled at his approach."
His voice wavered, and for a moment, the silence returned, heavier than before.
"The monks," Vrishaketu continued, his voice firmer now, pushing against the oppressive quiet, "held their ground. They poured their spiritual energies into the Cardinal Relic of the East in the form of the Divine Sword that rose to fill the gap left by the Cardinal General of the East. This bought us just enough time for the gods to arrive and intervene. They defeated Raktabija and he was banished to the underworld. After that, the heavenly emperor used the Vajra and vanquished the serpent dragon ending The Great Drought. Since then, the Cardinal Relic of the East had been hidden in his monastery.”
Aparajita’s eyes gleamed with a flicker of hope.
"Then... we have a chance, Venerable One? With the relic, we can—" His words faltered, catching the look in Vrishaketu’s eyes.
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Vrishaketu’s shoulders drooped, his hand falling away from the mural as if the weight of the past had suddenly become too much to bear. The silence grew, a thick, suffocating thing that seemed to steal the very breath from the room. Aparajita’s heart began to race.
“The visitors," Aparajita whispered, his voice barely breaking the quiet recalling the two visitors who had come a few days earlier. They looked unassuming, a man and a woman. Aparajita had thought they were one of those couples who visited the monastery ever so often to get blessed to have children. Vrishaketu had been caught off guard when he saw the woman. He quickly ushered them into some secret chamber even Aparajita had not been aware of. He had not seen them again. Though strange, he had not pondered on that matter for long. But now it made sense.
“The ones who came earlier... they were after the relic, weren’t they?" He swallowed, his throat dry.
Vrishaketu’s silence was a cold hand squeezing Aparajita’s heart. He could feel the pulse of his fear, like the tremor before an earthquake, building, growing.
"Is Raktabija... is he here for it too?" asked Aparajita, his fear increasing manifold.
"This Raktabija," Vrishaketu said at last, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness, "is bolder than before. The darkness spreads at our threshold, it is not merely an agent of the demon lord, it is an agent of itself, it is relentless and unending. I could not even penetrate the darkness with the level of spiritual power I possess. If Raktabija gets a hold of the relic when he is aided by such an overwhelming force…I can’t imagine what may unfold…”
Aparajita’s eyes darted back and forth trying to absorb the implications of this matter. He stepped back, his vision narrowing as if the walls were closing in around him. The air felt thin and hard to breathe. Aparajita had not thought of death until then. Suddenly it gripped his heart and mind with a force.
"But the relic is here," he stammered, desperation creeping into his voice. "We can use it, right? We can protect the monastery, all the monks, we can use our spiritual energies—“
Vrishaketu turned away, his face hidden in shadow. Aparajita felt the bottom drop out of his world as if he were falling into a void. The room, the mural, and even the stone beneath his feet seemed to dissolve, leaving only the echo of his master’s silence.
"Why, Venerable One?" Aparajita's voice cracked, a raw edge of pain cutting through his words as he sank to his knees. The image of Vrishaketu’s shadowed eyes was etched into his mind, a darkness that would not leave.
"Why did you give the relic away?"