The two of them exploded into a sprint, charging up the stairs as if it were a race for their very lives. Ayaan, with his mountain-forged lungs and long, powerful legs, easily outpaced Ishani. He took the steps three at a time, his heavy boots echoing like drumbeats in the stairwell.
"Oi, Mountain Man! Wait for me! It's not a race!" Ishani wheezed, her face flushed as she struggled to keep up with his relentless pace.
"I hate this department!" Ayaan shouted back, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls. "It's on the tenth floor, and these stairs are a fucking maze!"
At the exact same moment, both of them blurted out a single word of shared frustration: "Architect!"
By the time they reached the tenth-floor landing, they were both huffing and puffing. They stopped in front of the classroom door. The large, transparent glass pane gave them a clear view of the lion's den. Inside stood a tall, slender woman, her hair pulled back into a professional bun so tight it looked painful. Her eyes were sharp behind her glasses, and her crisp suit screamed authority. She was a teacher, but to the students trapped inside, she looked like Death itself holding a chalk stick.
Ishani and Ayaan stood paralyzed. Without a word, they both slowly raised their hands and pointed their fingers at each other.
"Nope," Ishani whispered, her voice trembling. "You lose. You were the one who went missing. Now go, open the door."
"Oh God, save me today. Please, I beg you," Ayaan muttered.
"Oi, brat! Just go in so I can get back to sleep! Fucking coward," the voice in Ayaan's mind echoed, sounding thoroughly unimpressed by his academic terror.
Ayaan mustered every ounce of courage he had left. The closer he got to the door, the more clearly he could see Professor Durga's piercing gaze, and the faster his heart hammered against his ribs. Why the fuck do I feel like I'm about to propose to a crush? he thought. He gripped the handle, Ishani hovering behind him, ready to bolt if the Professor decided to use her "Lethal Glare."
He finally pushed the door open. Professor Durga's head snapped toward them instantly. It felt as if she were staring directly into their souls, weighing their worth.
"Huh. Who are you?" she asked, her voice like cracking ice. She shifted her gaze slightly. "And Ishani, if you think I cannot see you hiding behind that mountain of a man, you are mistaken. I am only thirty-five; I am not that old yet. Out! Explain why you are late."
Ishani finally emerged from behind Ayaan's broad shoulder, looking like a caught kitten. "G-good morning, Ma'am... there was traffic... a lot of traffic on the way, which is why I was late," she stammered.
"Go sit down. And don't let this happen again," Durga said, waving her toward a desk.
"Uh, Ma'am... should I sit as well?" Ayaan asked, feeling incredibly out of place.
"And who are you?" She looked at him more closely now, her eyes narrowing behind her lenses. "Oh... Ayaan. Well, before you sit for this exam, we need to have a talk. It seems my attendance register has officially declared you dead. I will expect a very thorough explanation after this exam. Now, go."
Thank God I'm able to give the ex—wait a minute. Ayaan froze as he realized he was in a lecture hall full of students frantically writing. Which paper is this exam even for? Fuck, I'm fucked twice now.
He slumped into the seat next to Ishani. The moment he sat down, the sounds of the exam hall crashed into his heightened senses—the frantic scratching of pens on paper, the ticking clock, and the nervous heartbeats of fifty students. He looked at the paper in front of him. To his mountain-trained brain, the questions looked like a dead, alien language.
He nudged Ishani with his elbow.
"Ow! That hurt! What do you want?" Ishani hissed in a low whisper.
"Teach me! I don't know shit on this paper," Ayaan whispered back, desperate. "This looks like a different language to me."
"Fine! Copy from me, but if the Professor catches us, I don't know you!"
Up at the front of the room, Professor Durga was watching them. She saw Ayaan blatantly leaning over to copy from Ishani's sheet, yet for some reason, she didn't call them out. Instead, a small, uncharacteristic smile played on her lips. She looked at Ayaan—really looked at him—and whispered a prayer to herself that only she could hear.
"I hope the cycle does not claim you again. I hope you can truly be the Aadi-purush."
The Kaushal Estate
On the other side of the city, Ritesh finally reached his home. He went straight to the bathroom, scrubbing himself clean to wash away the physical and mental filth of the morning before heading to his father's office.
When he stepped inside, he was greeted by a thick, suffocating cloud of smoke and the acrid smell of high-end tobacco. His father, Aakash Kaushal, was sitting in his leather chair. His ashtray, usually empty, was now overflowing with cigarette butts.
"Come. Take a seat, Ritesh," Aakash said, his voice dangerously calm. "Tell me... what happened today? What made the son of Aakash Kaushal piss himself like a fucking pussy?"
Ritesh looked at his father. The calmness in Aakash's voice was a mask; the mountain of cigarette butts told the true story of his rage. Ritesh began to recount the events—how Ayaan had broken the two guards and how the third had fled in terror.
"Oh... so he is not just a Sadhaka, but an experienced Sadhaka, huh?" Aakash mused, exhaling a plume of smoke. "No matter. How strong he is doesn't matter. In this world, there is nothing money cannot buy."
As he spoke, Ritesh suddenly clutched his chest. A sharp, burning pain erupted in his lungs. His hands began to feel as if they were being held over an open flame, while simultaneously, his feet grew colder and colder, as if the blood were turning to ice.
The University
The exam finally ended. Ayaan put down his pen, having successfully copied every single word from Ishani. As he breathed a sigh of relief, the deep voice in his head spoke again, sounding darker and more serious than before.
"The mark has done its job, kid. Ritesh's life is leaking out of him as we speak. But I don't want to make this final decision myself."
The voice echoed with an ancient, heavy finality.
"Tell me, Ayaan. Should he be killed?"