CHAPTER 12 - VEIL OF DECEPTION

The airship glides through the stormy night, its runes flickering like dying embers as it struggles against the unseen force clinging to them. The cursed canyon fades into the horizon, but the unease within Atharva lingers, growing stronger with every passing moment. The whispers coil around his thoughts, slithering through his mind like shadowy tendrils.

"You will open the gate."

The voice is neither loud nor overbearing, yet it reverberates through his very being, as if it has always been there—waiting. Atharva grips the ship's railing, his knuckles turning white. He forces himself to breathe, to ignore the voice, to focus on the cold night air against his skin. But it doesn't stop. It never stops.

Behind him, footsteps approach. He doesn't have to turn to know it's Luna.

"You're restless," she says, her voice quieter than usual. "Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Atharva hesitates before shaking his head. "Just… still shaken from what happened back there."

Luna studies him, unconvinced. "You're lying."

Atharva exhales sharply, glancing at her. The silver glow of the moon reflects off her hair, making her sharp gaze even more piercing. He considers telling her the truth—that the entity is still whispering to him, calling to him, waiting. But how could he? The last thing they need is more doubt, more fear.

Before he can answer, a low hum vibrates through the airship, sending a tremor through the floor.

Suhana's voice echoes from the cockpit. "What the—why are the stabilizers fluctuating? Vikram, what did you do?"

Vikram's indignant voice follows. "Why do you always assume it's me?! I haven't even touched anything this time!"

Another tremor rocks the ship, causing Atharva and Luna to stumble. The glow of the runes embedded into the hull flickers violently, their steady hum turning into a dissonant screech. The entire airship lurches to the left.

Azazel storms onto the deck, his golden eyes narrowed. "Something is interfering with the enchantments."

"Great. That's exactly what we need," Suhana mutters, appearing behind him. "Did we take damage back at the canyon?"

"No," Celestia says, stepping forward, her voice laced with concern. "This isn't mechanical failure. It feels… unnatural."

Atharva stiffens as the whispers inside his mind shift, a new phrase slipping through the veil:

"They will not let you go."

A sharp crack echoes above them, followed by the sound of metal twisting.

"The engine's overloading!" Vikram yells. "We need to—"

The ship drops.

For a terrifying second, everything tilts into freefall. The wind howls around them, loose objects flinging into the air as gravity shifts. Luna grabs onto Atharva's arm, her fingers digging into his sleeve. Azazel extends his wings instinctively, steadying himself midair.

Vikram's panicked voice cuts through the chaos. "I swear this isn't my fault!"

Miss Sophia, still at the helm, grits her teeth as she forces magic into the controls, stabilizing their descent just before they plummet too far. The ship jerks but stops spiraling.

"The runes are still flickering!" Celestia shouts, trying to recalibrate them.

Azazel moves to the edge, scanning the stormy skies. His expression darkens. "We're not alone."

A heavy silence falls over them.

Then, in the distance, something shifts.

A presence looms just beyond the misty clouds, watching. Waiting.

Atharva's blood runs cold as the whispers intensify. The entity, or something else tied to it, is still with them. And it refuses to let them leave unscathed.

The airship limps through the darkened skies, its magic still unstable after the chaotic interference. The mountains rise ahead, their jagged peaks slicing through the mist like ancient sentinels. Celestia, exhausted from trying to recalibrate the runes, presses a hand to the hull, her celestial energy weaving into the ship's core in an attempt to keep it from failing completely.

Azazel, still watching the skies, finally speaks. "We can't keep flying like this. If whatever's following us decides to strike, we won't be able to fight back."

Miss Sophia, gripping the controls, scans the horizon. "There." She points toward a hidden valley nestled between the peaks. In the dim moonlight, they spot the faint glimmer of an ancient monastery, perched on a narrow plateau. It looks untouched by time, its golden rooftops glowing softly beneath the stars.

Luna narrows her eyes. "A sanctuary this far from civilization?"

Atharva exhales, rubbing his temples. The whispers in his mind have momentarily quieted, as if the presence knows what lies ahead. "It's not a coincidence."

Miss Sophia makes the call. "We land there. Whether we trust them or not, we need shelter before the ship gives out completely."

The team braces as the ship descends toward the monastery's stone courtyard. The landing is rough, but they manage to touch down without further disaster. As the engines power down, an eerie silence settles over them.

Then, from the shadows of the temple, figures emerge.

They are clad in flowing robes, their movements silent and measured. Their eyes, glowing faintly under the moonlight, hold a wisdom far beyond mortal years.

One of them steps forward, an elderly monk with a staff carved from what looks like obsidian. His gaze sweeps over them before settling on Atharva.

"We have been expecting you."

Suhana stiffens. "Okay, that's not creepy at all."

Vikram crosses his arms. "Yeah, how exactly did you know we were coming? We didn't even know we were coming."

The elder monk offers a small, knowing smile. "Fate has a way of guiding lost souls to where they are needed."

Azazel watches them carefully, his body tense, but Miss Sophia steps forward, ever the diplomat. "Our ship is in dire condition. We mean no harm—we only seek rest and knowledge."

The elder nods. "Then you are welcome here."

The monks lead them inside. The monastery's halls are adorned with murals of celestial battles and forgotten histories, the air thick with the scent of aged parchment and incense. The architecture feels ancient yet preserved, as if untouched by time itself.

Suhana glances at Vikram. "I still don't trust this."

Vikram shrugs. "Maybe you should take a break from being paranoid for once."

Suhana scowls. "And maybe you should try being paranoid. Just a little."

Atharva, however, is barely listening. His gaze is locked onto the murals along the walls—because he has seen them before.

In the underground temple.

The same celestial warriors. The same darkness rising. And at the very end—

A figure opening the gate.

His own reflection stares back at him from the painted surface, standing where the ancient figure is depicted.

Atharva takes a step back, his breath caught in his throat.

Luna, who had been studying the murals beside him, notices his reaction. "Atharva? What is it?"

Before he can answer, the elder monk places a hand on his shoulder, his gaze filled with quiet understanding.

"The past and the future are not as separate as you think," the elder murmurs. "You were always meant to be here."

Atharva's pulse pounds in his ears. The whispers return, softer this time, but more insistent.

"You will open the gate."

The monastery hums with an eerie stillness as the team settles in for the night. Atharva, unable to shake the unease creeping through his bones, wanders the dimly lit halls. The murals seem to shift in the flickering torchlight, their celestial warriors frozen mid-battle, their painted eyes following his every step.

A strange pull tugs at his mind.

The whispers have stopped—but in their place, a warmth spreads through him, luring him deeper into the labyrinthine corridors.

Then, without warning, the world changes.

The cold stone beneath his feet turns to soft grass. The scent of aged parchment and incense is replaced by fresh earth and blooming flowers. The dim torches are gone, replaced by the golden glow of an endless sunrise.

Atharva blinks, his heart pounding. He stands in a vast, open meadow, surrounded by the sound of laughter.

Ahead, his team is gathered beneath a massive tree, their faces filled with joy.

Suhana playfully shoves Vikram, who laughs without irritation for once. Miss Sophia leans against the tree, watching them with amusement. Luna sits with Celestia, a rare, carefree smile on her face. Even Azazel looks… at peace, the usual weight in his gaze absent.

The air is light, free of danger. There is no looming war, no celestial shards, no whispers in his mind.

They are safe.

They are free.

A deep part of him wants to believe it.

He takes a step forward—

—and notices something strange.

The tree's leaves do not move, despite the wind brushing against his skin.

The laughter repeats itself, a perfect echo of before, like a broken record.

Atharva's breath catches in his throat. He turns back to his friends—

Only to find them staring at him, their smiles frozen.

Wrong.

Everything is wrong.

He stumbles backward. The warmth in his chest now burns, twisting into something sharp and suffocating.

The illusion flickers.

The meadow darkens, the sky melting into shadows. The figures of his friends begin to distort, their faces stretching into eerie, hollow grins.

Atharva clenches his fists, grounding himself in reality. He reaches deep into his own magic, forcing it outward.

A surge of energy pulses from his core—

—and the illusion shatters.

The meadow vanishes.

He is back in the monastery, standing before an ancient mirror.

Except now, the mirror's surface is cracked, leaking an inky darkness that writhes like a living thing.

And in its depths—

A pair of glowing red eyes stare back at him.

Meanwhile, in another part of the monastery, Azazel stiffens.

A wrongness slithers through the air, setting his senses on edge. He had been meditating, attempting to clear his mind, but the moment Atharva shattered the illusion, he feels it.

Something is not right.

His gaze sharpens as he scans the walls, the flickering torches casting strange shadows. The monastery had seemed too perfect from the beginning—untouched by time, isolated yet well-supplied, its monks unnaturally serene.

Now, with his focus fully attuned, he finally sees it.

The monks move with impossible silence, their robes barely shifting as they walk. Their eyes never blink, glowing faintly even in the dim candlelight.

They are watching them.

Azazel rises slowly, muscles coiled. He presses a hand against the cold stone wall, reaching for the darkness within himself.

The air hums with magic.

Not protective magic.

But something else.

Something meant to keep them here.

Azazel's jaw tightens.

The monks are not who they claim to be.

Atharva stumbles back from the cracked mirror, his breath ragged. The glowing red eyes within its depths flicker and vanish, but the chill in his bones lingers.

He clenches his fists, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. He has to warn the others.

Spinning on his heels, he races down the dim corridors, his feet pounding against the stone. The flickering torches cast twisting shadows along the walls, making the already eerie monastery feel like a maze of shifting darkness.

As he turns a corner, he nearly collides with Azazel.

"You feel it, don't you?" Azazel says, his voice sharp. His usually composed demeanor is taut with urgency.

Atharva nods. "It's all a lie."

Before Azazel can respond, a low chanting rises around them.

The monks appear at the ends of the corridor, their forms shrouded in flickering candlelight. Their once-kind expressions are now void of emotion, their eyes glowing with an unnatural hue.

Azazel's hand tightens around the hilt of his weapon. "I knew this place was too perfect."

Atharva steps forward, his magic crackling at his fingertips. "We need to find the others. Now."

Suhana and Vikram are in the monastery's central hall, locked in yet another argument.

"I'm telling you, this whole place feels off," Suhana hisses, crossing her arms.

Vikram scoffs. "Or maybe, just maybe, you don't trust anything that doesn't involve you arguing with it."

Before Suhana can retort, the air shifts.

The temperature drops, and a strange pressure settles over them.

The monks standing near the pillars suddenly stop moving.

Then, their faces twist unnaturally, stretching into grotesque smiles.

Vikram swallows. "Okay… you might have a point."

The monks' robes ripple, their forms distorting like melting wax. Their human features fade, revealing something inhuman beneath. Their bodies stretch, turning into shadowy figures, their limbs elongating into clawed hands.

One lunges.

Suhana dodges just in time, flipping backward as razor-sharp claws tear through the air where she stood. Vikram yanks out his arcane compass, muttering a hurried incantation. A shimmering shield flares to life around them, blocking another attack.

"What the hell are these things?!" he shouts.

Suhana draws her daggers, eyes narrowing. "Something we shouldn't have trusted."

The shadowy figures whisper, their voices overlapping in an eerie chorus.

"Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay forever."

Before they can strike again, a wave of energy blasts through the hall, throwing the creatures backward.

Atharva and Azazel charge in, their weapons drawn.

"Move!" Atharva yells, his magic crackling with celestial light.

Suhana and Vikram don't hesitate. They dive toward their teammates as Azazel swings his blade, a crescent of dark energy tearing through the nearest shadow-creature.

The thing screeches, but its body knits itself back together.

Azazel's eyes narrow. "They regenerate."

Suhana wipes a trickle of blood from her lip. "Great. So we're stuck in a monastery full of monsters that don't die?"

"Not unless we find what's controlling them," Atharva says, already scanning the room.

Before they can strategize, more of the creatures slither from the walls, their bodies shifting and reforming as they move.

A deep, guttural laugh rumbles through the monastery.

The air warps, and the flickering torches turn an unnatural shade of blue.

The sanctuary begins to change—the walls bend, the ceiling stretches higher, and the once-sacred space twists into something nightmarish.

And then, from the darkness beyond the towering pillars, a familiar figure emerges.

Raktavarna.

He stands at the edge of the chaos, watching with amusement, his blood-red eyes glinting.

"You really are predictable," he muses. "Always walking into traps, always clinging to hope. It's almost endearing."

Atharva grits his teeth. "You knew about this."

Raktavarna shrugs, his smirk widening. "Knew? I helped orchestrate it."

The revelation sends a fresh wave of rage through Atharva. "What do you want?"

Raktavarna tilts his head. "Nothing… yet." His eyes gleam. "But he wants you."

The shadows pulse, and a terrible presence stirs beneath their feet.

The monastery shakes, cracks splintering across the stone floor.

Luna stumbles into the hall, her face pale. "The seal—" she gasps. "It's breaking."

The realization dawns like a crashing wave. This was never about trapping them.

It was about keeping them here long enough for something else to wake up.

A low, inhuman growl rumbles from below, and the sanctuary plunges into chaos.

The monastery is collapsing.

The stone beneath their feet cracks, and deep fissures spread across the floor, swallowing the once-sacred halls. Statues crumble, and the air shudders with an unnatural force as the shadowy creatures continue their relentless assault.

Atharva clenches his fists, his pulse hammering. The whispers from the entity are growing louder, like a chorus of voices pressing against his skull.

"Come to me, child of light."

Azazel slashes through another creature, but the thing reforms instantly, its formless body twisting and shifting like liquid shadow.

"We need to move! Now!" he shouts.

Miss Sophia's magic flares as she conjures a protective barrier around the team, giving them a brief moment to regroup. The sanctuary warps further, the walls stretching unnaturally, the very space around them shifting as if reality itself is unraveling.

Luna grabs Atharva's wrist. "Atharva, snap out of it! We have to go!"

He barely hears her. His mind is spinning, trapped in a storm of whispers.

And then—time stops.

The chaos freezes. The flames in the torches pause mid-flicker, the debris in the air hangs motionless, and his friends—they aren't moving.

Atharva blinks.

A deep, resonant chuckle echoes around him.

"You cannot run from this forever."

The voice is not Raktavarna's. It is something older. Something colossal.

The air turns suffocating as the darkness ahead parts like a curtain. And there, standing in the void beyond, is a figure draped in shifting shadows.

It has no true form—only the suggestion of one. It is everything and nothing all at once. Its eyes, if it has any, are hidden beneath the swirling abyss of its being. But Atharva can feel them on him.

Watching.

Waiting.

The whispers that had been clawing at his mind coalesce into a single voice, deep and inescapable.

"You are meant for greater things, child. You do not need to struggle. Accept your destiny, and I will grant you true power."

Atharva's breathing is shallow. His hands shake, his body is frozen.

The presence looms closer.

"You have seen the visions. You know the truth. This world will burn, with or without your aid. But if you stand with me, you may yet survive it."

Atharva's heart pounds against his ribs. Visions of ruin. Of betrayal. Of the world crumbling.

A terrifying thought crosses his mind—what if it's true?

What if everything they're doing, all their struggles, are pointless?

What if resisting is the real mistake?

The entity's voice turns almost gentle.

"You need only take my hand, and I will show you the way."

And for a moment—just a moment—Atharva feels himself considering it.

Then, somewhere beyond the void, he hears a voice.

Faint, desperate.

"Atharva!"

Luna.

The spell breaks.

With a gasp, Atharva wrenches himself free of the void's hold. His head snaps up, and his gaze hardens.

His hands clench into fists.

"No."

The entity tilts its formless head.

Atharva glares at it, his voice steady now. "I'm not yours to command."

A slow, deep chuckle ripples through the air.

"Not yet."

The world snaps back into motion.

The monastery is collapsing again, the destruction resuming as if nothing happened.

Atharva stumbles backward, drenched in cold sweat, as Luna grabs his arm again.

"We have to go!"

No more hesitation.

He nods, and together they sprint toward the exit, dodging falling debris and shadowy monstrosities. Azazel and Miss Sophia clear a path, Suhana and Vikram cover their flanks, and Luna pulls out a glyph stone, activating a desperate teleportation spell.

A blinding light engulfs them.

And then—they are gone.

The airship drifts silently through the night sky, gliding between the clouds. The sanctuary is no longer in sight—only distant ruins remain, swallowed by the abyss of the land below.

No one speaks.

The battle is over.

But they all know it wasn't a victory.

Atharva stands at the ship's railing, staring at his trembling hands. The voice still lingers in his mind.

"The choice will come again."

And somehow, deep down—he knows it's true.