The orange flames coalesced into a single, sizzling sphere that shot through the air toward Ashan.
His grayish-white eyes swirled, the future unfolding before him in fragments—the trajectory, the speed, the precise point where the fire would pass. He sidestepped with the grace of a man who had already seen the blow coming, the flame ball tearing through the space he had occupied a heartbeat before.
Hmmm... not bad.
The man turned, his pale yellow eyes examining Ashan's unique gaze with something that might have been curiosity or might have been the first stirrings of respect.
No hostility. Ashan's hands flexed at his sides, ready to activate a kiriya if needed, but the man made no move to attack. Is this the one the Kumar arranged?
"Cautious... good." The man nodded slowly, approval coloring his voice. "Very good."
Then he turned his back and resumed scribbling on a piece of parched goatskin, as if nothing had happened, as if the fireball had been no more than a greeting.
Ashan stood in silence, the moment stretching out, the only sound the scratch of quill on parchment.
Is he for real? The thought surfaced, absurd and immediate. No introduction? No explanation?
"There is a mop and bucket in the corner." The man did not look up from his work. "Clean the room. Quickly."
Ashan took a deep, steadying breath. The air was thick with the smell of old blood and chemicals, the kind of smell that settled in the back of the throat and refused to leave.
For Amartva.
He found the mop in the corner—worn, frayed, its threads loose and pale from too many cleanings. The bucket was half-full of cold water, the surface filmed with something that might have been dust or might have been ash. He dipped the mop, wrung it out, and began the tedious work of scrubbing the stains from the floor.
The room was a ruin. The stains had set deep into the wood, and each pass of the mop lifted only the surface layer, leaving the darker marks untouched. He worked methodically, moving from one corner to the next, letting the physical labor quiet the questions that churned in his mind.
An hour later, he stopped, exhausted. His arms ached. His back burned. He shot a sharp look at the man, who was still writing, still hunched over his work, still utterly indifferent to the world around him.
The man finally set his quill down, the sound soft, final. He tucked the brownish goatskin into a pocket, smoothing the folds with a hand that did not tremble.
"So." He turned, and his pale yellow eyes fixed on Ashan with an intensity that belied his earlier indifference. "You are the new Siddha. The one with a netra-facet siddhi."
Netra-facet? Ashan's face betrayed nothing, but behind his eyes, the question formed. Is there a further classification?
"Yaren." The man spoke the name like a stone dropped into still water. "Or you may call me Shikshak Yaren of the Serpent Faction." A pause, heavy with meaning. "Kumar Taevor told me to accept you as a sisya, as my disciple. But I do not accept just any name as my sisya."
The Guru-Sisya relationship. Ashan let the knowledge surface, cold and clear. It is akin to parent and child. A profound bond.
He bowed lightly, the gesture measured, respectful, nothing more. "Arashen Ashan greets Shikshak Yaren. Praise the Lord of Greed."
"Praise the Lord of Greed." Yaren gave a single nod, sharp, decisive. "Take a seat on the ground."
He lowered himself onto the floor with the careful deliberation of age, crossing his legs, settling his hands on his knees. Ashan sat opposite him, matching his posture, waiting.
"The Kumar informed me of your situation." Yaren's voice was flat now, professional. "You possess an anumapah siddhi related to divination and revelation."
"Yes, Shikshak Yaren."
"And you have little experience as a sadhaka. Being an Adharmik Sadhaka has its own... disadvantages." His voice trailed off, his expression shifting into something that might have been sympathy or might have been calculation.
I know where this is going. Ashan kept his face still, his breathing even. My knowledge is fragmented. The Order's crash course gave me a foundation, but it is full of holes.
"Fortunately for you, I am one of the few in the House of Greed with deep knowledge of divination and revelation." Yaren leaned forward slightly, his pale eyes sharp. "Before we begin, our first lesson: have you ever received visions? Describe them. How do they appear?"
Full disclosure is not wise.
"I have had only one or two." Ashan chose his words carefully, letting them fall like stones placed in a river. "The visions show scenes of the future—someone dying, an event unfolding. Like moving pictures."
Shikshak Yaren's eyes narrowed, the pale yellow deepening to something closer to gold. "Are the scenes clear? Or is there interference? Brighter colors, symbols, any abstractions?"
"No." Ashan shook his head slowly. "The scenes are not perfectly clear, but they are coherent enough to form a picture of a future event."
"Hmmm." Yaren fell silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some point in the middle distance, his thoughts moving behind his eyes like fish in deep water.
What is this? Ashan waited, letting the silence stretch. Is this concerning? Am I unique?
"So." Yaren's voice was soft, almost thoughtful. "Your source is different."
He nodded slowly, as if confirming something he had already suspected.
"Then the first thing I must teach you is the nature of divination, and its sources."
Ashan's ears pricked up. His face settled into a mask of serious attention, the mask of a student who had learned that knowledge was the only weapon that could not be taken from him.
"Our world is influenced by six lokas." Yaren's voice took on the cadence of a lecturer, the words falling into patterns worn smooth by repetition. "What some call six dimensions. Bhutika-Loka, the Elemental Dimension. Manomaya-Loka, the Astral Dimension. Kalanadi-Loka, the Temporal Dimension. Karmajala-Loka, the Fate Dimension. And Atmalaya-Loka, the Afterlife Dimension. These six lokas are the foundation upon which our reality is built."
He paused, letting the names settle.
"Today, we will discuss Manomaya-Loka and Karmajala-Loka in detail."
He says 'our world.' Ashan's mind caught on the phrase, turned it over, examined it from every angle. Meaning this one. Then what of my old world? Is the multiverse theory true? It must be. This world's knowledge simply hasn't reached that level.
"Manomaya-Loka." Yaren's voice pulled him back. "This dimension is woven from the dreams, spirits, and collective consciousness of all living beings. The scriptures describe it as the plane of imagination and thought."
"Karmajala-Loka." His voice dropped, became something deeper, more resonant. "This dimension hosts the web of consequence. It is the endless weave of threads that records the infinite connections of cause and effect—the fabric of destiny, fate, and karma."
So the cosmology is also handed down by the higher beings. Ashan filed the information away, let it join the accumulation of knowledge that was already pressing against the walls of his mind.
"The reason I tell you of these two is that they are the primary sources for divination and revelation." Yaren's hands moved as he spoke, tracing patterns in the air that might have been maps or might have been prayers. "Manomaya-Loka is one source. Sadhakas who draw from it receive divinations as symbols, cryptic messages, or abstract impressions. The Astral Dimension—what the common folk might call the Dream Dimension—is a bizarre realm where spirits travel freely. These sadhakas glimpse information fed to them by these spirits."
"On the other hand, Karmajala-Loka..." He paused, letting the weight of the words settle. "Those who draw from it receive divinations in a more direct, literal sense. They glimpse the threads of the web of consequences itself."
"Does that mean divinations from Karmajala-Loka are more accurate than those from Manomaya-Loka?" Ashan asked, the question rising before he could stop it.
Shikshak Yaren's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "You have grasped the core distinction. But remember, both show only possible outcomes. One simply offers a clearer, more direct picture."
So I am the better kind. Ashan let the realization settle in his chest, cold and heavy. His earlier silence confirms it—sadhakas who use the Fate Dimension as their source must be rare.
"Another difference," Yaren added, his voice flat, "is that using Karmajala-Loka as a source is far more difficult than using Manomaya-Loka. Your siddhi simply makes it easier for you."
"And if you don't mind my asking—"
"My divinations operate with the aid of spirits." Yaren's answer came before the question was fully formed, cutting it off, closing the door. "I know of only one or two sadhakas in the entire House of Gluttony who use Karmajala-Loka as their source."
Then I want a refund. Ashan kept his face still, his breathing even, his thoughts moving behind his eyes like shadows in deep water. I should have applied to the House of Gluttony.
But alas, it could not happen.
Such was the grim reality of a world where one did not choose one's sin—one's sin chose them. And in the silence that followed, Ashan let the weight of that truth settle into his bones, where it would wait, and harden, and become something that could not be broken.