Arc 1; Chapter 14 : Unanswered Place of Hope Part 2

Rohit instinctively reached for his blindfold, but no matter how much he willed himself to remove it, his hands wouldn’t move. A strange hesitation gripped him, as if something unseen held him back. Instead, his fingers tightened around Isha’s hand. In a quiet, almost broken voice, he muttered, "I don’t want to lose anyone again."

Isha heard his words, and for the first time, a nervous uncertainty flickered in her usually steady grip. Without a word, she squeezed his hand back, a silent reassurance that she felt the same.

Suddenly, the truck’s speed surged forward, the hum of the engine turning into a sharp, forceful roar. The velocity pressed them back slightly, their bodies swaying with the motion. And then, just as they adjusted to the rapid pace, an eerie sensation washed over them.

A chilling drop in temperature struck first, sharp and unnatural, like the dead of winter clawing at their skin. Five seconds—just five seconds—yet it felt longer, a void of cold that sent a shiver down their spines. Then, as abruptly as it had come, a wave of heat followed, burning like the height of summer.

But it didn’t stop. For the next ten minutes, the temperature fluctuated between extremes—icy cold to searing heat, over and over again. Rohit and Isha could do nothing but endure it, their fingers still clasped together. They could feel the tension in each other’s grip, silent confirmation that they weren’t imagining it.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shifting temperatures ceased. The truck’s speed returned to normal, the steady hum of the engine settling into a rhythmic pace.

Isha, still gripping Rohit’s hand, finally broke the silence. “Did you feel that?” Her voice was quiet but firm, as if needing reassurance that she wasn’t alone in experiencing it.

Rohit exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

As they tried to make sense of what had just happened, a new sensation enveloped them. A faint yet distinct aroma drifted through the air—the rich, calming scent of sandalwood. It was subtle at first, but soon, it grew stronger, wrapping around them like an invisible force. The fragrance was warm and familiar, yet its sudden presence in the enclosed truck sent a strange unease creeping up their spines.

Then came the sound—a deep, resonant chant of "Om," rising and falling in rhythmic waves. It wasn’t just a distant murmur; it surrounded them, seeping into their very bones. The soft chime of temple bells followed, ringing in perfect harmony, their echoes lingering in the heavy air. Though still blindfolded, Rohit and Isha could feel it—the presence of something vast, something sacred. For a brief moment, it was as if they were no longer in a moving truck but standing at the steps of an ancient temple, on the threshold of something unknown.

The vehicle came to a halt, and the bodyguard’s voice rang out with authority. “Remove your blindfolds.”

Rohit and Isha hesitated for a moment before slowly untying the cloth. As soon as they did, the warm sunlight poured onto their faces, momentarily blinding them. Their eyes adjusted, revealing a sight neither of them had expected.

Before them stood a grand temple, its architecture exuding an ancient yet powerful presence. Beside it, a massive castle-like structure loomed, its design resembling an academy rather than a fortress. The air was filled with a serene yet disciplined energy, as if this place held both spirituality and intense training.

Rohit’s gaze wandered across the vast grounds. A group of people was practicing martial arts with sharp, disciplined movements, while another group sat in perfect stillness, deep in meditation as they performed yoga. His attention shifted again—to a particular group standing apart from the rest.

Dressed in pristine white robes, they moved in unison, wielding swords engulfed in controlled flames. Their precise and elegant strikes made it clear that this was no ordinary swordsmanship. At the forefront of the group, an elderly master—his aura exuding wisdom—observed their movements with a watchful eye. But Rohit’s focus was drawn to one figure in particular.

Among them, a young man, seemingly around Rohit’s age, moved with unparalleled skill. His body, sculpted with perfect athleticism, executed each technique with flawless precision. The flame dancing along his sword illuminated his sharp features, his presence radiating both power and control.

For a moment, Rohit felt as if he was looking at something—or someone—he needed to understand.

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