Ashan walked through the quiet streets, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the particular salt of a place that had been given something and was holding it. Three roasted fish purchased from a street vendor, eaten in silence, the flesh flaking between his fingers, the bones discarded in the gutter where they would be forgotten by morning.
When did I last eat? Three weeks? More?
Sadhana sustains. But the body remembers hunger.
He entered the house. Settled on the cold ground that had been cold since the first night he had slept here, that would be cold long after he was gone. His fingers found the black pendant—Yaren's gift, restored to its place against his chest, its weight familiar, its presence a thing that had been given and was being used.
What to divine?
He held it in his right hand. Let it dangle. "Will I survive this voyage?" The words were soft and careful. "Will I survive this voyage?" Another whisper, another question. "Will I survive this voyage?"
Eyes swirled—grey-white whirlpools spinning to life.
[Viksana: Scrying].
The Karmajala-Loka flickered. Luminous threads stretching through past, present, future—infinite, overwhelming, present. The pendant swung. Slow. Heavy. Like moving against a current. Clockwise. But barely.
He tucked it back beneath his shirt. Possibility of survival, then. Not certainty. Not denial. Just... possibility.
Then I increase the chances.
He settled into sadhana, the posture automatic, the breath finding its rhythm, the mind finding its still point. Both vidyas active. Serpent and Rat. Synergy perfect.
He felt the sin energy—dark gold, volatile, alive. It moved like a serpent coiled, but with something else beneath. Cunning. Patience. Rat.
I don't have the ascension method. Training more mantras won't help—not now. Foundation first. The Union pills help. But I need something more.
Something to survive Arohan-ranked beings. A chance. Just a chance.
His mind churned. Eyes swirled—[Analyse] working through his entire library of knowledge, every text, every scroll, every scrap of information accumulated across three years.
Time dissolved. Silver moonlight came and went. Dawn rays crept across the floor. Ashan's lips curled. A crazed expression.
One idea. After all that analysis—one idea.
Crazy. Blasphemous. Possible.
Both fractions of my House stem from the same source. Serpent. Rat. Same root.
If that holds for Greed... it must hold for others. All Houses. All fractions. All stemming from... something.
The Lords and Ladies—Asuras, Devas—are they siblings? Born from the same source? Descended from something older?
Trying to understand divine existence is beyond mortals. But I can try. What harm?
Rokan's corrupted face flashed. His own corruption form followed. Yeah. The corruption. But I can hold it. Resolute.
Which sin? What effect? He cycled through them.
Wrath: Too aggressive. Would consume rather than enhance.
Pride: Too robust. Would make him rigid, unable to adapt.
Gluttony: Indulgence. Would scatter focus.
Sloth: Stagnation. Death.
Envy: Doesn't sit with Greed. Wrong frequency.
Lust.
He paused. Kama. Desire. In a sense, desire begets everything—sins, emotions, virtues. The root of all motion. Lust is the shadow of desire. The craving for union, for completion, for the other. But still—near the root.
He relaxed slightly. Lust, then. Fox and Goat. Like Serpent and Rat. The Fox: control of lust. The Goat: indulgence in lust. I've already combined their Bodnir-ranked vidyas. Given them to Damara.
Let's see what they hold for me.
He chuckled at his own thought. "By seeking death, one seeks immortality." The amount of self-motivation I need...
He cleared his mind. Breath measured. The synchronisation began—the same three-second rhythm, but different now. Different breathing pattern. Different mantra. Different intent. Prana flowed. Atmic followed. They moved in a foreign pattern—not wrong, but other. Unfamiliar channels. Uncharted territory.
At the root chakra, they met resistance. Dark golden energy—Lobha Urja—blocked the way. Coiled protectively. Refusing passage.
So. You won't let it in. He smirked. A person has an innate sin. A core. A root. But just as a person is a cluster of hues, so too are sins. And virtues.
His eyes swirled—full motion, maximum output. This time, he circulated Greed's energy first. Let it flow through its accustomed channels. Established its rhythm. Then he shifted—slowly, carefully—toward Lust's pattern.
Deep in his being, something stirred. A flicker. A spark. A possibility. The dark golden energy erupted—frenzied, protective, territorial.
It won't be easy, then.
Ashan's eyes continued swirling. Analysing. Calculating. Learning. The war within had just begun.