Ritual of Broken Eyes
---24 April 2021 — 2:00 AM
Ruined Shrine, Jungle Outskirts, Ujjain
The shrine never slept. It breathed — roots creaking overhead, stones shifting in the dirt like a ribcage waiting to break open.
Aadiv sat cross-legged in the mud, breath steaming in the cold hush before dawn. The ember under his ribs pulsed like a blister that refused to close.
---
His palms were caked with dried blood from old runes. New lines carved over old scars. The ritual ring around him was crude — uneven, cracked through at the edges — but the symbols glowed faint gold under the film of rainwater pooling in the dirt.
---Tonight was different. The Voice had told him: "Not every chain is rusted iron. Some chains watch you, waiting for you to break."
He hadn't understood — until now.
---It started as a whisper — like wet leaves dragged across stone. The jungle around him thickened, shadows folding in on themselves.
Then he saw them: eyes. Dozens. Hundreds.
Some wide and human — his father's eyes, his sister's, his mother's. Some wild, bestial — predator eyes, unblinking and slick with hunger.
They drifted above the shrine walls, between the banyan roots, under the shrine's cracked roof.
They didn't blink. They didn't look away.
They watched him breathe.
---
> Aadiv (voice low, not begging — challenging):
"Go on then. Stare. I'm done flinching."
---
One pair of eyes — pale and bloodshot — floated closer, hovering inches from his face. They trembled, as if about to cry, but the tears never came.
Aadiv's hands shook. The ember flared in his gut — warmth fighting the chill that crawled under his skin.
---
> Inner Voice (deep, soft, like thunder rolling under stone):
"Burn them. Or they will feed on you."
---Aadiv dipped his thumb into a cracked bowl of old ash. He smeared a line across his brow, a circle over his chest, a dot on his tongue.
The taste was bitter — bone, rust, and something older than rot.
His lips cracked as he spoke:
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> Aadiv (ritual chant, voice scraping his throat):
"Eyes that watch, eyes that bind — I name you chain."
"Flame that feeds, flame that blinds — I name you knife."
"Rift that sleeps under my skin — I name you mouth."
"Burn. All. Chains."
---
The eyes hissed — every pupil widened, filling with faint silver light.
A low, wet sound crawled around the shrine — like flesh peeling from bone.
---Aadiv slammed his palm into the mud — the ember in his chest exploded, shooting golden veins across the ritual ring. The ground trembled. Roots rattled above his head.
One by one, the eyes burst — not with blood, but with shards of shadow that sizzled to ash in the flame's glow.
---But not all illusions die so easily.
A single eye — his sister's — hovered inches from his forehead, unburnt, dripping black tears.
It looked so real he almost reached for it. Almost.
---
> Inner Voice (soft, fatherly, almost kind):
"Chains that beg to be mended are the ones that bind deepest."
---Aadiv's hand hovered over the flickering eye. His thumb brushed the air — heat from the flame licking at his skin.
A tear slid down his cheek. He whispered:
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> Aadiv (voice shaking, eyes brimming gold):
"I love you. But you're not real."
---He exhaled — the ember roared up his throat, spilling through his palm.
The eye cracked like a mirror dropped onto stone. A small gasp echoed through the shrine as it dissolved — his sister's voice saying "Thank you" in a memory that never happened.
---When it was done, the runes around him pulsed once — then faded to faint embers buried in the mud.
Aadiv slumped forward, hands digging into wet earth. The ember under his ribs hummed steady — not just his power now, but his promise.
---
> Aadiv (breathless, voice raw but strong):
"No more eyes. No more chains. Next, the door."
Outside, the wind stirred — carrying the smell of burnt illusions through the trees.
Deep below, the Eclipse Chamber pulsed — waiting for the boy to come knock for real.
---In the dark, the Voice laughed — not cruel, not gentle, just patient:
"Break enough chains… and the flame will walk free."
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