NOVEL NEXT Chapter 69: Of Dread and of Hope
Svetavastra did something odd after the astral projection of the preceptor vanished. He began pacing, his steps uneven and restless—a stark contrast to his usual serene demeanour. The trees of the forest stood as silent witnesses to his uncharacteristic behaviour, their branches creaking softly in the evening breeze as if murmuring their concern. The air felt thick with an unspoken tension, each step of his marking the earth with a restless energy that seemed to reverberate through the ground.
Aryaman watched, his own heart heavy with the news they had just received—news that left even his unflappable mentor seemingly shaken. In the short time Aryaman had known Svetavastra, he had come to believe that nothing could faze his master. Svetavastra had subdued the famed General Pushya as if it were child’s play, handled rogue pretas without shedding so much as a single drop of sweat, and even sealed a portal to the underworld on his own. Aryaman had truly come to believe that his master was infallible and imperturbable. Yet here he was, moving back and forth like a caged beast, his brows knitted in deep thought, his hands clasped behind his back in a tight, nervous grip.
The silence between them was thick, almost tangible, as Aryaman struggled to process the terrifying reality of the demon lord Raktabija's march. His mind spun in dizzying circles, each thought more harrowing than the last. How could they possibly stand against such a force? Every thought spiralled into the next, a whirlpool of fear and confusion that threatened to pull him under. He felt paralyzed, his usually steady heart now hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird desperate to escape.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the usual sounds of life—birds, insects, the rustling of leaves—strangely absent, as if even nature itself had recoiled from the horror that was to come. The air grew colder, the wind whispering through the trees a sound almost like the mournful wails of the dead.
Aryaman's hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into fists, his knuckles turning white. He needed to break the silence, to ground himself in something, anything, that could offer clarity. His breath hitched in his throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a boulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught, lodged in the tightness of his chest. When his voice finally broke free, it was a fragile, wavering sound, like a leaf rustling in the wind, almost lost in the vastness of the forest around them.
“What is your assessment of the situation, Gurudeva?” Aryaman’s words emerged as a quiet plea, his eyes searching Svetavastra’s face for some semblance of hope.
Svetavastra halted mid-step as if jolted back to reality by Aryaman’s voice. For a moment, it seemed as though he had forgotten Aryaman was there, so absorbed was he in his thoughts. He turned to face Aryaman, the furrow in his brow easing slightly as he looked at his disciple with the blindfold.
“It is catastrophic,” Svetavastra said, his voice low and measured.
“Raktabija is a powerful demon lord, his very name a harbinger of destruction. His army is relentless, a tide of darkness that threatens to engulf Bhu-loka. They spread fear and chaos, devour life without consequence, raze everything in their path, and won’t stop until they’ve engulfed the entire Bhu-loka in darkness. If we don’t stop them soon, it might be too late. There may not be anything left to save.”
The cold grip of fear tightened around Aryaman’s chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs. His mind struggled to grasp the enormity of what they faced.
“How can we fight such a force, Gurudeva?” Aryaman’s voice trembled with the weight of the question.
“With a good strategy and by forming alliances, of course,” Svetavastra replied, his tone shifting to one of pragmatic resolve. “We must safeguard the places not yet touched by the darkness and take on Raktabija and his army. We must send them back to the underworld where they belong.”
Aryaman’s heart flickered with a spark of hope, a fragile light in the overwhelming darkness. “We can send them back? You mean to say, we stand a chance?” The excitement in his voice was palpable as if he only needed to hear the words that they stood a chance for his vortex of paralysing fear to dissipate instantly. He felt light as if an enormous burden had been lifted off his shoulders.
“Of course, we stand a chance,” Svetavastra said, his voice firm, brooking no doubt. “But only if we act with haste and prudence.”
Aryaman felt the heavy fog of doubt begin to lift as he heard Svetavastra’s words. His master’s voice filled him with strength and resolve, anchoring him amidst the storm of uncertainty. He straightened his back, the fear that had gripped him now a distant echo, replaced by a steely determination.
“Then, tell me what I should be doing, Gurudeva,” Aryaman said, his voice becoming steady and strong. “I am ready.”
A rare smile tugged at the corners of Svetavastra’s lips.
“I want you to…”