They left Dhoom Pashar at dawn.
The sky was bruised purple, the winds unusually still — like the world itself had paused in anticipation. Ravi wore a long black cloak now, stitched with silver glyphs granted by the monks. They offered no protection. Only a warning to those who could read them: Beware. He walks with the Tenth.
The three companions traveled eastward, toward Vaitalgarh, a city swallowed by myth.
Once a thriving trade hub, it had become a ghost town overnight — its people vanished, its streets cracked with roots, its sky permanently clouded in ash.
"Do we really have to go there?" Kiran muttered as they approached the outer gates, where rusted bells swung without wind.
"Yes," Ravi said. "That storm we saw… it started here."
Within Vaitalgarh
Inside the city, it was as if time had died. Statues wept blood. Doors opened without touch. Whispers came from alleyways where no one stood.
The curse was thick.
And then they saw it.
A temple at the center, newly rebuilt with black stone and bone-white domes — not part of the old city. It pulsed with energy that was wrong. Not evil. Not divine.
Just… forgotten.
Ravi stepped forward.
The temple doors opened on their own.
The Temple of Return
Inside stood a massive idol — not of any known god, but of a man with ten arms. Each arm held a different symbol: sword, scroll, fire, mirror, eye, root, blood, wind, crown… and the tenth, empty.
At the base of the statue sat a woman.
She was draped in crimson, her hair long and black as oil, eyes sharp as obsidian knives.
"You're late, Ravi Rawat," she said.
Ravi stiffened. "Do I know you?"
"No. But I knew your mother."
The room fell silent.
Meera stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The woman stood. "I am Rakta Vina, High Priestess of the Tenth Limb. I carry its voice. I remember what even the gods have tried to forget."
Ravi clenched his fists. "What are you doing here?"
Rakta smiled. "Calling you home."
The Truth in Blood
She led them deeper into the temple, where murals covered the walls — showing Ravi's bloodline across generations. His mother, wielding the Ash Limb. His grandfather, burning with the Fire Limb. All touched by the divine… and all haunted by it.
"You think this power just chose you?" Rakta whispered. "No, child. You are its final echo. The Tenth Limb has been breeding clarity into your family for centuries. You are the one meant to unlock it — fully. To bring about the Ashtrakaal."
Kiran cursed. "What's Ashtrakaal?"
Rakta's voice was like a hymn. "The Time of Endings. A world washed clean. Death not as punishment — but as release."
Ravi's voice shook. "That's not peace. That's annihilation."
She stepped closer. "And yet, the limb listens to you. Why? Because even it fears what comes next. You are not its master. You are its mercy."
The Offer
Rakta held out a scroll — old, sealed with bone and gold.
"Take this," she said. "The map to the remaining limbs. If you reach them first, perhaps the Ashtrakaal can be reshaped — not in death, but in choice."
Meera whispered, "Can we trust her?"
"No," Ravi replied."But we may not have another path."
He took the scroll.
And the temple shook.
Something deep beneath Vaitalgarh awoke — a growl that rattled the bones of the city.
Rakta's eyes widened. "You've touched it now. The Sleeper knows your scent."
Kiran unsheathed his swords. "What the hell is the Sleeper?"
Rakta only smiled.
And from the cracks in the temple's floor…a clawed hand rose.