"Run!" "Save yourselves!" "The fire is spreading! Get out! NOW!"
Chaos reigned. People scattered like terrified animals, their screams tearing through the smoke-thickened air. A massive inferno devoured everything—buildings melting like wax, their frames collapsing, their walls crumbling. Unlucky souls caught in the blaze became living torches, their dying wails joining the cacophony.
Above it all, atop a burning structure that should have collapsed, a lone hooded figure stood motionless. Only the eyes were visible—blazing golden-amber, radiating an awe that transcended fear. A presence that commanded the inferno rather than fled from it.
Then, like flower petals scattering in wind, the vision dissolved.
Huff. Huff.
Ashan's eyes shot open. Darkness. Familiar ceiling. His room.
That vision. Again. After three years. A hooded figure. Golden eyes. An inferno.
The visions always connect to me. Every time. So who was that? Another siddha?
"Oh. You're awake."
The calm voice shattered his thoughts. Ashan's awareness snapped to his surroundings. Back home. And...
I'm naked. He looked down. Confirmed. Completely naked. Sitting on cold ground. He tried to move. Nothing. His body refused. Not paralyzed—drained. Empty.
"Don't move, brat. I haven't finished applying oil to your marma points."
Wait. That voice. Nadrima. He craned his neck.
She sat behind him, her hands glistening with something—oil, tonic, medicine—working methodically across his back. Sniff. A familiar scent. He spotted a wooden bowl holding burning incense sticks nearby.
Calming. My mind. My chit sagar. Herbs. Medicine. Something potent.
"You should feel honored." Nadrima's voice carried lazy amusement. "An Ascender massaging you."
Her hands continued their work—firm, knowing, precise. "Marma points. Vital points." She spoke as she worked. "They connect to the nadis. Block them, and prana ceases to flow." A pause. Her fingers pressed a spot on his spine—deep, probing. "Basic knowledge. Remember it."
"Thank you, Ascender Nadrima."
Her touch... stimulating. The oil, the incense, the pressure—all of it. My body is responding. Reviving. Mind and body both. Whatever she's doing, it's working.
"Now. Lie on your chest."
"What—"
She flipped him before he could finish. Like he weighed nothing. His bare chest met cold ground. Jaw cracked against the floor. Ouch.
This crazy— Ouch. Ah. Ah. He grunted with each press of her feet.
"Don't twitch. Feeble body." She mounted him—bare feet pressing into his back with deliberate, crushing pressure. "This is Kalari massage. Kalari uzhichil." Her voice was clinical, detached, utterly professional despite the position. "My feet have been treated with special oil tonic. Heals marma points. Stimulates them to absorb ojas cleanly. Lets prana flow without resistance."
She applied considerable force. Ashan's fists clenched. Jaw locked. Muffled sounds escaped despite himself.
The night breeze carried incense smoke through the room—thick, fragrant, sacred. A naked boy on cold ground. A woman's feet working his flesh. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed in the darkness. Her feet traveled everywhere. Head. Neck. Back. Legs. Arms. Each marma point receiving attention.
The pain... subsiding. What bliss.
His eyes grew heavy. He glanced at the window—silver moonlight streaming through. I was out for hours. I can sleep a little—
"Don't sleep, brat." Nadrima's voice cut through the drowsiness. "Flow your prana. And atmic too."
He obeyed. Prana flowed—smoother than before, more fluid. Atmic followed—sliding like a blade through soft grass. Both currents converged at his root chakra. Sparks of energy still flickered there, waiting to be fanned into flame.
But now... now I'll get the correct method.
He sank into sadhana—in the most peculiar position of his life.
.....
Time passed. Silver moonlight receded. Orange-red dawn crept across the sky.
Nadrima shifted him again—manhandling his limp body into a seated position.
Does she think I'm a doll? A toy?
Her hands moved from his back to his chest. "I expected you to cry." Her whisper brushed his ear—hot breath raising goosebumps along his neck. "Shame. Embarrassment. Being naked like this." She paused. "But you show nothing. No flicker."
"What's there to be embarrassed about?" His voice was measured. Controlled. Empty. "Clothes are just clothes."
"Oh ho." A smirk colored her voice. Her hands traveled lower. "Marma points have three divisions." Her tone shifted back to instruction—almost. "Urdhav marma—upper body. Head, neck, arms." Her fingers traced each area as she named it. "Madhya marma—torso. Chest, abdomen." Her palms pressed flat against his chest. "Adho marma—lower body. Legs, feet." Her hands continued downward. "If you advance in [Svarp Vadivu]—any kiriya, really—you'll learn to target these points. Kill an opponent in one strike. Swift. Clean. Final."
Cough. Ashan coughed. "Ascender. I don't wish to sound rude. But your hands are approaching my pelvic region."
"Want me to cut it off?" Dark amusement. Chilling.
Ashan's body went cold. If I say I'm not afraid, I'd be lying. But this world—if she cuts it off, can I grow it back? Probably. Sharir marga sadhakas can regenerate.
No. Stop. What am I thinking? Being too pragmatic isn't always wise. I'm not risking my family jewel.
"Want to be mine?" Nadrima's full weight pressed against him—her body's texture unmistakable through the position. Hot breath against his ear. "I quite like you."
His blood froze. "I'm sorry." Modest tone. Careful words. "I belong to Kumar Taevor."
"So you like men?"
This woman. His face stiffened. If our power difference weren't so vast... if I'd established myself more in this world...
Love is at the bottom of my list. Far below survival. Far below immortality.
"So." Nadrima's hands slid down his waist to his thighs. "Do you like Kumar Taevor? Or do you have other preferences?"
"I like women." Firm. Absolute.
"Then accept my proposal."
Proposal. More like slavery. "Ascender." He chose his words like weapons. "We're not suitable. First—I'm weak. I can't help you. Can't support you." A pause. "Second—" his voice dropped, "—our age difference is too vast."
There. That should work. Most women are self-conscious about—
"Age?" Laughter in her voice. "What do you think my age is?" He waited. "I turned fifty two weeks ago."
FIFTY? Ashan's mind blanked. Do all higher-ranked sadhakas look young? Or just Sharir marga?
Interesting brat. Nadrima studied his still form—the absence of reaction, the controlled breathing, the way he had rejected her without offense, without fear, without emotion. Even with my body against his, my proposition made, he didn't waver. Sadhana first. Always. No wonder Kumar Taevor values him.
She withdrew. Stepped back. "Continue your sadhana. We meet Acarya Errick soon."
Ashan closed his eyes. The previous conversation did not touch him. Did not distract him. Sadhana consumed him.