Night returned to Jhansi like an unanswered question.
Bharav sat on the edge of his roof, knees drawn close, watching the lanterns below flicker one by one. The city slept—but uneasily. Doors were barred earlier than usual. Dogs did not bark. Even the wind seemed reluctant to move too freely.
His shoulder still burned where the creature's claws had grazed him.
He pressed two fingers against the skin, wincing. The wound was shallow, but it pulsed faintly, carrying a strange numbness beneath the pain. Not poison—not yet—but something that did not belong in a human body.
The Shash Chin lay dormant.
Too dormant.
Bharav exhaled slowly, following the breathing rhythm Vighnaraj Bhatt had taught him years ago—long before he had ever spoken of ancestors or bloodlines. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—a faint pressure.
Not warmth.
Not light.
Awareness.
Bharav opened his eyes.
The sensation was subtle, like standing near a sleeping animal—calm on the surface, but alert beneath. He shifted his focus outward, not forcing, not demanding.
The pressure steadied.
His tattoos did not glow, but he could feel them now—coiled, watchful.
"That's it," he whispered. "Stay there."
The city stretched out below him, layered in shadow and dim light. At first, everything looked normal.
Then he noticed what was missing.
Movement.
The alley behind the potter's house—empty.
The banyan tree near the well—silent, no birds roosting.
Even the rats that usually scurried along the gutters were gone.
The Shash Chin tightened.
Bharav rose to his feet.
Something was wrong.
He moved across the rooftops carefully, placing his weight slowly, deliberately. Every sense felt sharpened—not enhanced, but filtered. The city's noise faded into the background, leaving only what mattered.
Breathing.
Heat.
Intent.
He froze.
From somewhere ahead—beneath him, perhaps—came a sound.
Not a footstep.
A scrape.
Slow. Deliberate.
Bharav crouched, peering down into the narrow street below.
At first, he saw nothing.
Then the shadows shifted.
Two eyes opened in the darkness.
Yellow. Slitted.
They were not glowing. They did not need to.
They were watching.
Bharav's pulse spiked, and the Shash Chin responded instantly. Blue light surged across his forearms—too fast, too bright.
Pain flared behind his eyes.
"Damn it," he hissed, forcing himself to breathe.
The glow flickered, unstable.
The eyes in the dark tilted slightly, curious.
The thing stepped forward.
It was not fully transformed—not like the beasts from the old stories. Its body was human-shaped, but wrong in the details. Arms too long. Spine hunched unnaturally. Skin stretched thin, veins dark beneath it.
Its mouth opened slowly, revealing teeth sharpened not by nature, but by intent.
Bharav backed away.
The Shash Chin pulsed again, harder this time. Venom stirred in his blood, hot and insistent, urging action.
No, he thought fiercely. Not like this.
He dropped from the roof into the alley, landing hard and rolling to absorb the impact. The creature moved at the same time—far too fast.
It slammed into the wall where he had been standing a heartbeat earlier, stone cracking under the force.
Bharav sprinted.
He did not run blindly. He kept to open spaces, forcing the creature to reveal itself. The Shash Chin tracked it instinctively now, marking its presence even when his eyes lost it.
The thing leapt from wall to wall, skittering like an insect, herding him—not chasing.
Realization hit Bharav cold.
It's playing with me.
He skidded to a halt near the old granary, turning to face it.
The creature crouched atop a stack of crates, head tilted, eyes gleaming with interest rather than hunger.
"You sensed it," Bharav said, more to himself than to it. "The awakening."
The thing smiled wider.
It dropped down lightly, claws clicking against stone.
Bharav clenched his fists, drawing on the Shash Chin—carefully this time. The glow returned, dimmer but steadier. His muscles tightened, strength pooling without overwhelming him.
He stepped forward.
The creature lunged.
Bharav ducked, striking upward with his forearm. The blow connected—but instead of resistance, he felt something give unnaturally, like hitting wet clay. The creature twisted, absorbing the impact, then slammed an elbow into his ribs.
Pain exploded through his side.
Bharav staggered back, breath knocked from his lungs.
The Shash Chin flared instinctively—too much.
His vision swam.
The creature hissed, recoiling slightly from the sudden surge of light, but it did not retreat. Instead, it watched Bharav carefully, as if noting every reaction.
"You're not strong," it rasped, voice cracked and uneven. "Just… bright."
Bharav swallowed hard.
He tried to push forward again—and his legs buckled.
The venom backlash hit him like a hammer.
He collapsed to one knee, retching as heat tore through his veins. The glow vanished entirely, leaving him exposed and shaking.
The creature loomed over him.
Its shadow swallowed the lantern light.
For a heartbeat, Bharav thought this was where he died.
Then the creature leaned close, inhaling deeply.
"Not yet," it murmured. "You're unfinished."
It stepped back.
And vanished into the darkness as if it had never been there at all.
Bharav remained where he was, gasping, sweat cold against his skin. Every muscle trembled with exhaustion. His ribs screamed with every breath.
Alive, he thought weakly.
Barely.
Footsteps approached—human ones this time.
Lantern light spilled into the alley as guards arrived, weapons raised.
"What happened?" one demanded.
Bharav forced himself to stand, swaying slightly. "Nothing you could stop," he said quietly.
They searched the area, found nothing. No tracks. No blood.
Only silence.
Later, alone again, Bharav sat with his back against the wall, staring at his hands.
He had awakened something ancient.
And whatever stalked Jhansi now did not see him as a threat.
Only a future problem.
Bharav closed his eyes.
"I need to learn," he whispered.
Somewhere beneath the city, unseen eyes watched him in return.
Patiently.