Zara's POV
The ride back to the village felt endless, as if time had suspended itself just to torment me. The road stretched out before me, and every bump, every jolt, seemed to mirror the gnawing ache in my chest. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, but I couldn't bring myself to let go. It was as though the very act of driving—of moving—was the only thing anchoring me to the world.
My mind raced with thoughts of the village chief, the man who had raised me after my mother had vanished. His condition was critical, and I had no idea how to save him. He was the only one left who could explain why my mother disappeared without a trace. I thought I had buried my questions over the years, tried to move on, but now that he was lying unconscious, I realized how desperately I needed those answers.
I remember the first time I had arrived in the village, no older than a child. The chief had taken me in like his own, offering me shelter, food, and a semblance of the family I had lost. He had never spoken about my mother, but I had always known he carried some secret. What was it? Why had she left? Where had she gone? These questions haunted me every day, and now, when I was finally in a position to demand answers, he was slipping away from me.
I parked the car outside the dilapidated clinic, the weight of the situation bearing down on me. The sun had set long ago, and a pale, sickly moon hung in the sky, casting its cold light over the scene. I couldn't even bring myself to feel the chill of the night; everything inside me felt cold enough.
I stepped out of the car and walked toward the small, whitewashed building that served as the clinic. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, sharp and sterile. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I made my way down the dimly lit hallway toward the room where he lay. I felt like a stranger in my own life. There was no room for hope here, no room for anything but fear and uncertainty.
The door to his room was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open quietly. The room was stark, devoid of anything that might offer comfort. The beeping of the machines was the only sound that filled the space, a harsh reminder that life was fleeting, delicate.
I stood by his bed, my eyes taking in every detail of the man who had been my father figure. His face was pale, drained of color, and his usually strong hands were limp at his sides. His chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths, but it was hardly enough to reassure me. I could feel my heart beat faster, a wave of panic creeping up my spine. I had to do something.
I closed my eyes and reached out, desperate to find the spark of magic I knew once flowed so freely through my veins. But it wasn't there. It was like an empty well. I tried again, focusing all my energy, willing something to happen, but my magic, my connection to the world, was gone.
My fingers trembled against his cold hand as I whispered, "Please. Please don't leave me." My voice cracked, but there was no response, no sign that my plea had reached him.
I tried again, with more urgency this time. I closed my eyes and let the world around me fade, focusing entirely on him. There had to be a way. I had saved people before, healed them with nothing more than a thought. But now, I was as powerless as the very walls around me. It was like the universe had turned its back on me, leaving me to flounder in this endless sea of helplessness.
But despite all my efforts, he remained unmoving. The machines continued their rhythmic beeping, but I could feel the fragile thread of his life slipping further and further from my grasp.
"No, please," I whispered again, my voice barely audible. "You can't leave me. I need you."
There was nothing left to say. I sat beside him, defeated, the weight of the situation crushing me. What was I supposed to do now? I had failed him, failed myself.
---
The next morning, after a sleepless night spent wrestling with my thoughts, I couldn't stay in the village any longer. The weight of it all was suffocating. I needed to find something—*anything*—that could give me peace, that could give me hope. And so, I left.
I drove through the misty morning, the car's tires cutting through the thin fog that had settled over the roads. The temple. I had to go to the temple. It was the only place that had ever offered me any solace, the only place that had ever felt like home when the rest of the world felt foreign.
The path to the temple was a winding one, surrounded by dense trees and wildflowers that seemed to whisper secrets on the wind. As I approached the temple, the familiar scent of incense filled my nostrils, grounding me in the way I had always known. The temple stood like an ancient sentinel at the edge of the forest, its stone steps worn by the footsteps of countless devotees over the centuries.
I parked the car and stepped out, my heart heavy with the burden of all that had happened. I could feel the temple's presence as I walked toward it—its ancient walls, the way the air seemed to shimmer with the weight of centuries of worship and prayer. I didn't know what I expected to find here, but I had to try.
I passed through the archway into the inner sanctum, where the faint glow of oil lamps illuminated the stone floors. The smell of incense was thick in the air, its sweet fragrance mingling with the dampness of the temple. The heavy silence enveloped me, and for a moment, it was like I had stepped into another world—one where the pain of the last few days didn't exist.
I walked through the temple, my footsteps echoing in the vast space, until I reached my favorite place—the small alcove at the back where the old shivling stood. The stone was cold under my fingers as I pressed my palm against it, feeling the age of the stone, the years of history embedded in its surface.
"Please," I whispered, my voice a desperate plea that seemed to get lost in the vastness of the temple. "What magic can't, faith in God can."
I closed my eyes, focusing on the familiar pulse of the temple, trying to let the faith I had once had flow through me. For a moment, I felt something—something faint, like a whisper in the back of my mind. But before I could understand what it was, I heard footsteps approaching.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I turned, but it was too late. Strong hands grabbed me from behind, and before I could react, something was shoved into my mouth, muffling my scream. I struggled, trying to break free, but the grip was too strong. A blindfold was tied around my eyes, and in that moment, my world went dark.
I felt my heart racing, panic surging through me like wildfire. The world had shifted on its axis, and I was no longer in control. I was no longer safe.
I was dragged through the temple, my feet stumbling against the ground, and then I was shoved into the back of a vehicle. The doors slammed shut with a finality that echoed in my chest. My hands were bound with metal cuffs, my body immobile. I couldn't see, couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Hours passed—or maybe it was minutes. Time had lost all meaning. The air inside the vehicle was stifling, and every breath I took felt like I was suffocating. I tried to speak, to demand answers, but the cloth in my mouth stifled any sound I made. I was completely helpless, trapped in this dark, oppressive space. Where were they taking me? What did they want from me?
The vehicle came to a screeching halt, and the sound of muffled voices echoed in the air. I was dragged out, my feet scraping against the rough ground. I felt disoriented, my mind spinning as I was led through an unfamiliar space.
The blindfold was ripped from my eyes, and I squinted against the harsh light. The room I found myself in was old, dilapidated, and smelled of rot. My hands were still bound with metal, the cold steel biting into my skin. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked around, trying to make sense of where I was.
An old man stood before me, his gaunt face and cold eyes making my stomach twist in fear.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, choked by the cloth still lodged in my mouth.
His lips curled into a cold smile. "I am Om Raisinghani," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "And you, my dear, will die so that I may live."
His words hit me like a physical blow, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. All I could feel was the crushing weight of his words, his cold, calculating eyes boring into me.
Before I could speak, before I could ask him what he meant, he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty room. The last thing I heard before he left was the cold finality of his voice.
"Accept it," he said. "Your death is inevitable."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone in the dark, cold room.
My mind raced. I had no idea who he was, what he wanted, or why he had taken me. All I knew was that I was utterly, hopelessly trapped. There was nothing left to do but wait... and pray.