Aryaman woke up with a start, gasping as pain shot through his body, making it hard to catch his breath. The world around him was spinning, with colors and shapes blurring together, and shadows twisting in strange, unnatural ways. He blinked, trying to focus, but everything kept fading in and out.

"Where... am I?" he murmured, his voice shaky. "This isn’t the forest. How did I end up here...?"

His thoughts were all over the place, scattered and confusing. Panic started creeping in.

This isn’t right, he thought, pushing through the fog in his mind. The air felt thin, like there wasn’t enough of it, making him feel weightless, as if something was pulling him through an invisible tunnel. His arms and legs were shaking as he tried to push himself up, fighting the exhaustion that made him feel like his body was made of lead. Every movement felt like it took all his energy.

Aryaman realized where he was, and a cold fear hit him. He was inside the metaphysical plane of the ley line intersection—a place where energy swirled around like invisible currents. Strange lights flickered around him, glowing faintly, while the air hummed with a low, spooky whisper. The lights changed colors—green to blue to violet—casting weird shadows that seemed to move on their own.

Aryaman groaned as he forced himself to stand up. His legs felt shaky, and he almost fell, but somehow he stayed on his feet.

"I’ve faced worse. Focus Arya,” he told himself. “If there’s a way in, then there’s a way out—I just need to find it."

Aryaman's head spun, his sense of reality slipping away. He felt like he was caught in a whirlwind, where everything moved too fast and too slow at the same time, leaving him completely disoriented. Flashes of memories—his childhood, his training, visions of the future—all mixed together, making him feel dizzy. He saw the faces of people he loved, but their smiles twisted into frowns.

Stay grounded Arya, he thought, but it was like trying to hold onto smoke. He could hear echoes of laughter and cries, blending together in a way that was overwhelming.

"Illusions. That’s all these are, they are just illusions,” he told himself. "They can’t touch me.”

The world around him lurched, and the energy shifted violently, forming whirlpools of light and shadow, pulling at him like quicksand. The ground under his feet felt unstable, like it was alive and moving, making it hard to keep his balance.

Aryaman stepped back, his heart pounding.

“I can’t lose myself here." His voice echoed strangely, coming back at him from all directions, but twisted and mocking. The more he resisted, the harder the plane pushed against him, testing him. Voices overlapped, getting louder, taunting him, whispering in languages he barely recognized, yet somehow understood.

"You’re weak. You can’t do this," one voice hissed, sharp and cutting into his thoughts. Aryaman felt his chest tighten, his stomach twisting as doubt flooded his mind. The words echoed his deepest fears, making him feel small and powerless. It sounded like his own voice, full of doubt, bringing up every fear he had ever had.

Maybe they’re right... he muttered, his voice breaking. His knees buckled, and he thought he might fall. But then he clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes.

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"No. I’ve fought harder battles. I’m stronger than this," he said, standing tall, his determination growing.

Dark shapes began creeping from the shadows—rogue pretas. Their eyes glowed red, and their voices were low, growling sounds. They moved toward him, their forms mixing with the shadows around them.

"Stay back," Aryaman warned, raising his sword.

The blade flickered, dim and weak, as if it was struggling against the darkness. The pretas hesitated, but then they lunged at him, claws outstretched, growling in the emptiness. Aryaman slashed at one of them, cutting it down. It shrieked and pulled away, but another took its place. For every preta he defeated, two more appeared.

It’s not working... he thought, fear mixing with his frustration. Why isn’t it working? What am I missing?

A rogue preta lunged at him, wrapping its shadowy tendrils around his arm, trying to pull him down. Aryaman swung wildly, cutting it loose, but another one grabbed his leg, pulling him toward the ground.

"Get off!" he shouted, struggling, desperate. His voice broke, and he could feel fear creeping in.

Then faces appeared in the chaos—Sanjaya, with wide, scared eyes, and Svetavastra, calm but distant. Their voices called out to him, begging, filled with pain and fear.

"Sanjaya...?" Aryaman’s heart twisted.

It’s a trick, he thought. They’re not real.

But they looked so real, their eyes pleading, their hands reaching for him. The pain in their voices felt like a knife in his chest.

The cries grew louder, more desperate. Help us. Save us. The words echoed over and over, each one more painful than the last. Aryaman clenched his jaw, fighting back tears.

He forced himself to turn away, every step feeling like it was tearing him apart.

"I can’t... I won’t fall for it," he said, his voice strained but determined. The decision hurt, but it also made him stronger, gave him the strength to keep going, even as the voices kept calling out to him.

In the middle of the chaos, a thought cut through everything, stop resisting.

He couldn’t beat the energy by force. He had to move with it, not against it. Aryaman closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He focused on the incoming breath and the outgoing breath. Slowly, his breathing became steady and so did his focus. The chaos quieted a bit. The ground under him stopped shifting as much.

He felt the bond with the celestial weapon, its presence like a steady light in the darkness. He reached for his celestial sword. It wasn’t just a weapon anymore; it was a tool, a way to connect with the energy around him. He could feel the energy moving through it, matching the beat of his heart.

"This isn’t about power. It’s about anchoring," he murmured to himseld, driving the sword into the ground. The blade started to glow, its light growing brighter, resonating with the ley lines. The pressure around him lessened, the chaos settling, the swirling energy calming down.

The ground trembled, energy crackling, but it felt different now. It didn’t feel like it was fighting him anymore. Aryaman steadied himself, the light from the sword growing stronger. The pull of the ley lines weakened, as if the energy was finally letting go of him. He could feel the currents shifting, matching his intentions.

"Almost there... just a little more," he urged himself, pushing against the last bit of strain, his voice tense but steady. The light from the sword spread out, pushing the darkness back, the rogue pretas dissolving into wisps of shadow that disappeared.

The transition hit hard. Aryaman’s body was pulled and squeezed, every muscle straining. Light and darkness flashed around him. The noise grew louder. Louder. It felt like it would split his head open. Every muscle in his body ached, every nerve felt like it was on fire.

Stay focused Arya. Breathe... just breathe, he told himself, clinging to the rhythm. He pictured the forest, the solid ground, the familiar smell of the earth and leaves. And then—silence.

The forest came back into view. Aryaman stumbled, his legs shaky, breathing hard. The trees stood still, their shadows long and dark. He could still feel the ley lines humming under his skin, a reminder of what he had just gone through. The rogue pretas were gone, their presence fading like a bad dream.

“Your Highness!” Sanjaya relieved voice reached his ears before he turned to see him.

He let out a breath, feeling a small bit of relief. But as he turned, he noticed a wisp of darkness twirling around his arm, cool and fleeting, before it disappeared into the air. His heart skipped a beat, and a chill went down his spine.

What was that? Aryaman thought, his brows furrowing.