CHAPTER 4- BLOOMING IN PAIN

Unaware of the night's whispers, nestled beyond the book-lined walls, a sturdy oak table stood sentinel. Nearby, a handful of chairs rested, one cradling a man lost in the pages of a book, his world illuminated by the soft dance of a dwindling candle's flame. In the candle's glow, his eyes shimmered with a captivating radiance, piercing through the darkness with their golden hue. The silence enveloped the room so completely that even the soft whisper of turning pages echoed clearly in the air. It gave rise to a tranquil atmosphere, perfect for immersing oneself in contemplation—a haven cherished by any reader seeking refuge from the cacophony of the outside world.

But amidst the obscure shelves, cloaked in darkness, two invisible eyes bore into him, their gaze unrelenting, lingering in the silence with an eerie intensity. The person reading the book slowly raised his eyelids, a smile gracing his face as if he had unearthed something delightful within the depths of the black ink that adorned the pages before him.

"In the solitude of a quiet room, a smile can often seem like an invitation for sadness to seep in." Emerging from the darkness, a voice echoed—a chilling resonance colder than any human utterance.

"Seemed like forever before those words found their way to me," His gaze remained transfixed upon the pages, yet the allure of the words had waned, as if the secrets nestled within the intricate dance of letters no longer held sway over his golden eyes.

"This voice is free, not a slave to anyone who considers every message as a command and subordinates himself to it." A chilling cruelty now tinged that voice.

"Your pride, it's like a mirror reflecting every mistake you've ever made because of it." He sighed as he uttered these words, closing the book and pivoting away from his chair. Before him lay only the feeble silhouette of the candle, its light struggling against the encroaching darkness, casting an air of helplessness over the room.

"It's all about perspective, isn't it? Your lovely, foolish eyes can't seem to grasp the glory of the slaughter I orchestrated." As the flickering candlelight danced, a dark shadow gradually materialized, unveiling a youthful countenance. His face was unremarkable, akin to the weathered pages of an ancient tome, graced by a sparse beard and delicate mustache. Yet, it was his eyes that commanded attention—piercing blue orbs devoid of emotion, as though death had claimed them as its own. And amidst it all, a proud smile adorned his lips, casting an enigmatic aura upon his visage. He was wearing a dark black kurta with rolled-up sleeves and white formal pants, with bare legs as he moved towards him.

"It's odd, this new face looks too much like yours." Golden eyes fixated upon the face, their gaze laden with a weight of unspoken tales and hidden truths.

"Today, I have donned the mantle of the one who bore the weight of our bloodline's final breath. Their presence, though gone, lingers within me, a poignant reminder of all that we were and all that remains," As he spoke, his smile dimmed slightly, and his blue eyes drifted downward, fixating on the gray floor. There was a shift in his gaze, as if something hidden began to emerge in those silent depths, something he was hesitant to unveil.

Those warm, golden eyes looked at him with understanding, though the lips remained still, conveying silent empathy more profoundly than words ever could.

"It's remarkable, isn't it? People love to hurl names like 'beast,' 'monster,' and 'devil' at creatures like me. Yet, they're the ones who effortlessly surpass every boundary of depravity, making them far more deserving of such titles.They extinguished his life for daring to think beyond the confines of their narrow perceptions." Now, his voice, once as frigid as the depths of winter, dripped with venomous loathing, "Is it a sin so grave that it warrants death as a gift? He wasn't meant to depart now; he had only just begun to taste the sweetness of true life. Ah, my heartfelt gratitude to your illustrious Saptarishis, whose curse bestowed upon me this exquisite fortune—to witness the final breath of my family's last member, writhing in utter helplessness." His voice, once frigid, now simmered with a menacing growl, resonating with an unsettling aura. A grotesque smile contorted his features, casting a sinister shadow over the moment.

"I didn't anticipate that my invitation would lead to such a heart-wrenching moment for you. I'm truly sorry you..... "

"Mind your tongue, Vedpurus! Choose your words wisely," In the blink of an eye, he materialized before him like a chilling specter, his presence as swift and unsettling as a sudden gust of icy wind, "Cross me again, and you'll meet your end. I'll never stoop to accept even a whisper of sympathy from the likes of you." In a booming voice that echoed through the darkness, he declared his words, filling the void with his commanding presence. Unfazed by the peril lurking within his actions, he extended his hand with a calculated elegance toward the other man's. As their fingertips met, a frigid sensation swept through him, as though he had brushed against a shard of ice, sending a cascade of shivers down his spine. He veiled his golden eyes behind curtains of eyelids, standing motionless as though sensing the chill of that cold hand. Those blue eyes, filled with fury, bore into him without a single blink.

He gently withdrew his hand from the chilling grasp and, "He has departed to the realm beyond. Under the divine shelter, you need no longer fret over his well-being." While saying this, there was a pleasant glow in those golden eyes.

"Truly?" That cold and cruel voice now carried a subtle undertone.

"You are among the rare few before whom I refrain from weaving a tapestry of falsehoods. Now, if your quiver of words has been emptied, it may be time for respite. There's a room above where you can rest." He said, running his fingers through his hair.

"There's no such luxury as rest for the half-dead, my dear Vedpurus," He quipped with biting sarcasm in his voice.

"Uh... Raghav. This time I've picked this name, so it'd be good if you remember to use it." Saying this he turned back towards the table and picked up the book he was reading.

"The whispers of the winds here are louder than the voice of your mind. Speak your truths before I rend your body asunder, for I crave the crimson essence that flows within your veins." There was now an undertone of irritation in his cold voice, to which Raghav offered no response. Instead, he remained motionless, his gaze locked onto the cover of the book he held, depicting a white skull adorned with a dark red crown.

"In this place, there's a potent force that blooms in fear. I won't sugarcoat it: you're genuinely at risk this time. And I must confess, it brings me immense satisfaction to utter these words." Despite the smile gracing his face, his cold words carried ominous warnings within them.

Raghav smiled softly and said, "Might I expect a splendid gift akin to death this time?"

"Maybe even worse than that."