The smoke from the blast still curled through the mansion corridor, drifting in ghostly swirls as Jaswant finally found his voice.
"Arkam… what are you?"
Arkam didn't answer immediately. His silver eyes flicked toward the front hall—where distant footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate. The enemies were already inside, moving like shadows across the mansion.
"We don't have time," Arkam said.
"That's not an answer." Jaswant stepped back, gripping the pendant tightly. "Why couldn't you hold it? You acted like it burned you."
Arkam exhaled—a long, controlled breath that bent the dust swirling around them.
"Because it did."
Jaswant froze.
Arkam lifted his hand slowly. A faint shimmer flickered across his fingers—like distorted air, not light. For a moment, his outline blurred… then split, as if a second, translucent shape overlapped the first.
Jaswant's heartbeat skipped.
"That isn't normal," he whispered.
"No," Arkam said softly. "It isn't."
The mansion lights flickered. A distant whisper echoed through the halls:
"Find the boy… the Breath-Bearer…"
Arkam's body tensed.
"They're getting closer. Stay behind me. Do not speak unless I tell you."
Fear crept up Jaswant's spine.
"What are you hiding?" he asked, voice barely steady.
Arkam stepped into the faint moonlight spilling through a cracked window. The soft glow revealed a truth Jaswant hadn't noticed before:
Arkam had no shadow.
Not faint. Not broken. None at all.
Jaswant stumbled back.
Arkam sighed, almost tired of pretending.
"My real form isn't meant to exist fully in your world," he said. "Touching the pendant would have revealed… more than you're ready to see."
"And if I ask to see it anyway?" Jaswant whispered.
Footsteps grew louder. The enemies were too close.
Arkam's silver eyes narrowed, glowing faintly.
"Then remember this: my hidden form… is not here to harm you.
But if I reveal it—everyone else in this mansion will come running for you."
A deep crackling rippled through the air—like space itself stretching.
Arkam stopped holding back. His outline began to distort—soft at first, then violently, like he was peeling away from his own skin. His voice layered, as if multiple versions of him spoke at once:
"Jaswant… don't be afraid.
I'm not your enemy."
A burst of shifting light pulsed from him—neither human nor spirit, something in-between. The air itself trembled.
Then, just as quickly, Arkam forced the form back down, swallowing the rest into suppression. Only a faint ripple remained—a warning of what he truly was.
His silver eyes snapped toward the hallway.
"They're here," he whispered. "Stay behind me. Do not speak unless I tell you."
Jaswant's chest tightened. He had no awakening. No Breath-Force. No abilities. Nothing.
Yet the footsteps of elite hunters—drawn by the faintest tremor of energy—approached, disciplined, deadly.
---
The hunters became visible—four figures, moving with sharp precision. Small shards of moonlight reflected off their armor, slicing through the lingering haze of Arkam's pulse.
Their leader—a tall man with a jagged scar across his left brow—stopped when he saw Jaswant.
His eyes widened.
"There." His voice was sharp, hungry.
"The false star awakens after all."
Jaswant's breath hitched.
False star? Awakened?
He opened his mouth to correct them—
Arkam's hand shot out, gripping Jaswant's wrist with iron force.
"Don't," he whispered. "Say nothing."
The hunters moved in a slow arc, surrounding them. Their weapons didn't shimmer with light or flame. They distorted the air around them—twisted threads of Breath itself.
"Boy," the leader said, low and deliberate. "Drop the act. We know the mansion shook. We know the surge wasn't normal."
Jaswant felt Arkam's grip tighten.
The hunter stepped closer, amusement in his tone.
"Show us the power you're hiding."
Jaswant's chest tightened. He had no power. Not even a spark.
Arkam stepped in front of him, calm yet commanding.
"He won't show you anything."
The scarred hunter tilted his head.
"You think we're speaking to you, shade-walker?"
Shade-walker?
Jaswant's eyes darted to Arkam. That word wasn't random. The hunters knew him—or what he was pretending not to be.
Arkam's voice deepened.
"He hasn't awakened."
Silence. Then laughter—cruel, sharp, echoing off the cracked walls.
"Don't insult us. We felt the pulse from two towns away. The boy's breath-core must be overflowing.
Unless you think we don't know the signature of a divine awakening."
Divine awakening?
Jaswant's stomach twisted. The hunters' words pressed like a weight he couldn't understand.
The hunter raised his palm. Dark mist spiraled above it.
"Last chance. Use your Breath-Force… or we carve it out of you."
Jaswant's stomach dropped.
Arkam moved instantly. Silver ripples burst from his feet, bending the air like liquid. His voice rang out—not a warning, but a command:
"He. Is. Not. Awakened.
Touch him, and I will tear your Breath apart."
The hunters froze—not from fear, but realization.
The leader's eyes narrowed.
"So it's true… You're protecting an unawakened vessel?"
Vessel.
The word cut through Jaswant like ice. It felt final, ominous, hinting at truths he wasn't ready to grasp.
The hunters spread out, circling them like predators sensing prey.
"Shade-walker," the leader hissed. "Step aside. The boy belongs to us."
Arkam's silver eyes darkened to storm-gray.
"He belongs to no one."
The floor trembled, dust swirling like spiraling mist, caught in the afterglow of Arkam's suppressed form.
The confrontation had begun.
Jaswant, powerless at its center, realized a terrifying truth:
This wasn't about awakening anymore.
It was about why he hadn't awakened at all—
and what he carried inside, unknowingly, that made him worth hunting.
--
The hunters froze, tension hanging thick in the air. Dust swirled around their feet as Arkam's silver eyes flickered—now not merely reflective, but glowing with faint inner light. His form rippled again, barely perceptible, like a reflection bending in water.
Jaswant swallowed hard, clutching his pendant. "Arkam… who are you really?"
Arkam's hand hovered near the pendant—not to take it, but as if gauging its presence. His eyes met Jaswant's, and for a brief moment, the room felt impossibly still.
"I will tell you," Arkam said, his voice low and layered, "because it matters that you understand who you're dealing with… and why the Heart-Root has chosen to awaken—or try to awaken—through you."
Jaswant's pulse quickened. "You said you're not normal. Not human. What… what are you?"
Arkam's form shimmered again. This time, it was more pronounced. His body seemed to vibrate with invisible currents. His shadow bent unnaturally across the walls, stretching, then fracturing into faint, translucent silhouettes—like echoes of himself.
"I am part of a lineage older than the Maheshwari bloodline, older than the first Breath-Bearers recorded in memory," he said. "I am not fully human. Not fully spirit. I exist between forms—between worlds. My existence is tied to Breath itself, but I am… a remnant of the First Awakening."
Jaswant's brow furrowed. "First Awakening?"
"Yes," Arkam continued. "Thousands of years ago, the first Breath-Bearer confronted the Heart-Root. He did not survive in a normal sense. His body became a vessel of pure Breath energy, and fragments of his essence spread across time and bloodlines. My lineage descended from those fragments—guardians, watchers, echoes of him. That is why I am not truly human."
Jaswant's mind raced. "So… the power I thought I had tonight? The golden aura, the shockwave… none of it was mine—but it was connected to this?"
Arkam nodded. "Partially. Your pendant is linked to the Heart-Root's essence. It reacts when someone of golden bloodline is near or threatened. That surge… it was a defensive echo. The wraith, the hunters… they sensed it and reacted. But you did not awaken. That is why it is dangerous. Those who believe you are awakened will come for you, thinking they can claim what isn't yours yet."
Jaswant's stomach tightened. "Then… why were you trying to take it earlier?"
Arkam's eyes darkened. "Because the pendant binds the Heart-Root's essence. My form cannot hold it fully—it would destabilize me. But if it falls into the wrong hands—false hands like these hunters—it could awaken chaos, or worse, the Heart-Root's will could corrupt you. I was trying to protect you, even if you didn't understand it."
Jaswant's fingers tightened around the chain. "So… you're not just guarding me. You're… guarding something inside me?"
Arkam's gaze softened, but his tone remained sharp. "I am guarding both of you. You may not have power yet, but the Heart-Root senses the golden bloodline in you. And when it calls… it does not call for help. It calls for a vessel. One strong enough to survive what lies beneath."
Jaswant swallowed. "And if I can't survive it?"
Arkam stepped closer, the air bending subtly around him. "Then I will. That is my purpose—protect, guide, and intervene when the bloodline falters. That is why I exist outside normal rules. That is why the hunters fear me… and why the pendant resisted me."
The hunters shifted uneasily, sensing something beyond mortal comprehension in Arkam's presence. They did not move closer. Not yet.
Arkam turned slightly, his silver eyes meeting Jaswant's fully. "Listen closely. You have been chosen. You carry golden blood. But tonight was a false awakening. You were tested—not by them, not by the Heart-Root—but by circumstances. You must understand this: power without control is a liability. Fear without knowledge is deadly. And I will not let anyone, mortal or otherwise, claim you until you are ready."
Jaswant nodded slowly, processing the truth. "So… all of this… the wraith, the hunters, the golden surge—it was just… preparation?"
"Yes," Arkam said. "A warning. A trial. And a reminder that the world around you moves faster than you realize. You are unawakened—but everyone believes otherwise. That imbalance will bring danger to your doorstep."
The ground trembled faintly beneath their feet.
"The hunters are here because they believe in false awakening," Arkam whispered. "But what they don't know… what they cannot know… is that I am here. And that is enough… for now."
A faint ripple of silver light spread around Arkam, almost like a protective field. His presence alone warped the shadows, bending them away from Jaswant as if the air itself had taken sides.
Jaswant swallowed. The weight of what he had just learned pressed down on him.
Arkam's hidden form shifted subtly again—an impossible flicker of overlapping shapes, barely perceptible to mortal eyes.
"Prepare yourself," he said softly. "The Heart-Root will not wait forever… and neither will the world."