Bharav woke to pain.
Not sharp pain—
the deep, dragging kind that sat inside his bones and refused to move.
For a long moment, he did not open his eyes. His body felt heavy, as if the ground itself had claimed him during the night and was reluctant to let go. His throat burned. His tongue felt dry and swollen, every breath scraping like sandpaper.
I'm alive, he realized slowly.
That alone surprised him.
When he finally opened his eyes, dawn light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls. Pale. Quiet. Ordinary.
Too ordinary.
Bharav pushed himself up on one elbow—and immediately regretted it.
A wave of dizziness slammed into him. His vision blurred, the room tilting sharply before he collapsed back onto the floor with a low grunt. His heart hammered wildly, far too fast for someone who had just woken up.
"Slow," he muttered hoarsely, forcing his breathing to steady.
Memories of the night rushed back in fragments.
The bottle.
The poison.
The fire in his veins.
The blue light.
His chest tightened.
Bharav sat up more carefully this time, bracing himself against the wall. He looked down at his arms.
The Shash Chin was there—unchanged in shape, faint as ever. The serpent-like markings lay dormant beneath his skin, no glow, no warmth. If not for the lingering ache in his muscles and the exhaustion weighing him down, he might have believed it all a fever dream.
He reached out, touching the markings lightly.
Nothing.
No response. No pulse.
"…So you sleep too," he murmured.
Standing took effort. His legs trembled, protesting every movement as he crossed the room toward the water jar. He drank deeply, then again, not stopping until his stomach protested. Even then, hunger clawed at him—sharp and demanding.
By the time the sun climbed higher, Bharav felt marginally human again. But something had changed.
Not the world.
Him.
Every sound felt clearer. Not louder—clearer. He could distinguish footsteps outside, the rustle of cloth, the distant call of a hawker down the road. Scents lingered longer too: smoke, damp earth, old wood.
He closed his eyes and focused.
Glow, he thought.
Nothing happened.
His brow furrowed. He tried again, pushing—not physically, but inward, toward where he remembered the warmth gathering the night before.
The Shash Chin remained silent.
Bharav exhaled sharply.
"So it's not that easy," he said.
He tried anger next, recalling the fear he'd felt when the howling echoed outside his house. His heartbeat picked up—but instead of power, nausea surged. His stomach twisted, and he staggered, grabbing the wall.
A warning, clear as instinct:
Too much. Too fast.
He leaned there until the feeling passed.
Limits.
The word settled heavily in his mind.
The power had not vanished—but it was not his to command freely either. It responded to something deeper. Emotion. Control. Balance.
Outside, Jhansi was waking up.
Bharav stepped into the street, pulling his shawl tighter around himself. The usual morning bustle felt… restrained. Conversations were quieter. Faces more drawn.
A group of villagers stood near the edge of the road, murmuring urgently. Bharav caught fragments as he passed.
"…found near the fields…"
"…animals torn open…"
"…not wolves…"
He slowed.
A farmer he recognized—Hari—stood pale and shaking, his hands clenched tightly around his staff.
"What happened?" Bharav asked.
Hari looked at him, eyes wide. "Cattle," he said. "Three of them. Found just before dawn."
"Predators?"
Hari swallowed. "No blood. Not properly. And the marks…" He hesitated. "Like something bit them, but not to eat."
Something stirred beneath Bharav's skin.
Not warmth.
Awareness.
His gaze drifted toward the forested outskirts of Jhansi. The Shash Chin did not glow—but he felt a faint pressure, like a finger tapping insistently from inside his chest.
A direction.
"I'll take a look," Bharav said quietly.
"You?" Hari blurted. "Alone?"
Bharav forced a small smile. "I won't touch anything. Just… see."
He left before objections could rise.
The path toward the fields was familiar, yet today it felt altered. The ground smelled wrong—metallic, faintly bitter. Bharav crouched near the trampled earth where the cattle had fallen.
The marks were unmistakable.
Not claws.
Fangs.
Too large for snakes. Too deliberate.
As Bharav studied them, the pressure beneath his skin intensified. The Shash Chin stirred faintly, not enough to glow, but enough to warn.
You are not alone.
The air shifted.
Bharav straightened slowly.
From the shadows near the trees, something moved.
At first glance, it looked human—tall, hunched, wrapped in torn cloth. Then it lifted its head.
Its eyes were wrong.
Yellow. Slitted. Hungry.
Bharav's pulse thundered.
The thing inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring. Its gaze snapped to him, lips peeling back in something between a grin and a snarl.
The Shash Chin flared—briefly.
Blue light pulsed across Bharav's arms, then flickered dangerously.
The creature hissed.
Not afraid.
Interested.
Bharav's instincts screamed at him to move.
He did.
The creature lunged.
Bharav barely twisted aside, its claws slicing air where his chest had been. He stumbled, rolling across the dirt as pain flared along his shoulder.
He pushed back to his feet, heart racing. The Shash Chin glowed faintly now, responding to fear—but the dizziness returned instantly, heavier than before.
Too much, his body warned.
The creature circled him, movements jerky, unnatural. It moved faster than it should have, its joints bending at odd angles.
Bharav clenched his fists.
"I don't want to fight you," he said, not sure why he said it at all.
The thing laughed—a wet, broken sound—and leapt again.
Bharav turned and ran.
Branches whipped past him as he sprinted toward the village, lungs burning. Behind him, the creature gave chase—but it did not pursue for long.
The pressure vanished abruptly.
Bharav collapsed near the outskirts, gasping for air, his vision swimming. The Shash Chin dimmed completely, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
When he finally dared to look back, the forest stood silent once more.
Nothing followed.
Bharav lay there for a long time, staring at the sky.
Whatever that thing was—it hadn't attacked randomly.
It had sensed the awakening.
And it had measured him.
"I'm not ready," Bharav whispered.
But readiness, he suspected, was no longer a choice.
Deep beneath Jhansi, something ancient shifted—
and this time, it was not alone.