: The Veena's Secret
The failure in the Music Garden hung over the secret alliance like a shroud. The shattered practice veena was not just broken wood; it was the shattered illusion that the old Devansh was merely hiding, waiting for the right key to unlock him. The crimson fury they had witnessed was a raw, unmediated glimpse of the enemy, and it had been far more powerful than they had dared to imagine.
Retreating to the abandoned temple felt like returning to a war council after a devastating defeat. The air was thicker, the silence heavier.
"He didn't just get angry," Aaditya said, his voice hollow as he stared at the cold temple floor. "It was like... a system defending itself. A immune system attacking a pathogen. And we were the pathogen."
Mrinal nodded grimly. "Vani reacted before he did. The red energy came from the veena first. It's the source."
"It's the anchor," a new voice said from the temple entrance.
Alok stood there, his face grave. In his hands, he held the heavy, leather-bound tome from the archives. He had received Mrinal's urgent summons. "The Ahoratra Rakshas," he said, stepping into the circle of moonlight. "It requires an anchor. An object of great personal power, intimately connected to the host's soul." He laid the book open before them, pointing to the relevant passage.
The ancient words confirmed their worst fears. This was a spiritual parasite, and Vani was its conduit.
"But why Vani?" Virendra asked, his practical mind grappling with the esoteric. "It's been a part of him since he was a boy. It's always been a force for good."
"Perhaps that is precisely why," Alok said quietly. "The text says it seeks vessels of great spiritual purity. What is purer than a divine instrument that channels the very music of creation? It didn't attack his weakness. It targeted his greatest strength."
Aaditya, who had been listening in brooding silence, suddenly went very still. A memory, long buried under more recent trauma, surfaced with the clarity of a lightning strike.
The scent of sandalwood and old paper. The gentle, rasping voice of his Guru Ma, the woman who had given Devansh the veena. He was a boy, hiding behind a pillar, listening.
"This veena, my child, is not merely an instrument. She is Vani, the goddess of speech. She has known many masters across the turning of the ages. She is a storehouse of celestial energy, a bridge between the mortal and the divine."
The old woman's voice grew solemn. "But remember this, always. A bridge can be crossed from both directions. She can be a conduit for divine blessings... or for other, hungrier things. She is your saheli, your closest friend. But if your will ever wavers, if darkness ever finds a crack in your spirit, she can become your shatru, your most formidable enemy. The light she holds can be twisted. The power she stores can be poisoned."
Aaditya's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "His Guru," he breathed, the words tumbling out. "Years ago... I overheard her. She told him... 'Vani is your saheli and your shatru. A bridge can be crossed from both directions. The light she holds can be twisted.'"
The revelation landed in the center of their group with the force of a physical blow.
"It was never just an instrument," Mrinal whispered, horror dawning on her face. "It's a... a battery. A reservoir of pure, celestial power."
"And the Rakshas didn't just infect Devansh," Virendra concluded, the strategic implications unfolding before him. "It infected the power source. It's not using Devansh to play music. It's using the veena's stored energy to fuel the corruption, to amplify its hold on him! He's not just the victim; he's the gatekeeper to the very power that's enslaving him."
The pieces of the nightmare finally clicked into a complete, terrifying picture. This was why the corruption was so potent, so absolute. It wasn't fighting against Devansh's energy; it had co-opted it. It was using his own divine connection, the very core of his identity, as a weapon against him and everyone he loved.
"The veena has to be the primary target," Aaditya said, his voice gaining a new, steely certainty. "Not him. We separate him from it, we cut off the Rakshas's power supply."
"But the text says he will protect it with violent desperation," Alok reminded them, tapping the page. "What we saw in the garden was a mere warning shot. If we directly try to take it... the reaction could be catastrophic. It could consume him entirely in its defense."
"Then we don't give it a target," Mrinal said, her mind racing. "We don't make it about taking it from him. We make it about him... leaving it behind."
A new, dangerous plan began to form in the tense silence, built on the ashes of their first failure. They couldn't appeal to the man. They had to outmaneuver the parasite. They had to create a scenario so compelling, so critical, that the corrupted part of Devansh's mind would be forced to prioritize something—anything—over protecting the veena, even for a few minutes.
The secret was no longer just what was happening to Devansh. The secret was the true nature of the weapon being used against him. And knowing that changed everything. The battle was no longer for his mind, but for the celestial key that had locked it shut.