Yami

Chapter 33, In the Shadow of Wards

The silk sheets whispered beneath me, cool against my skin. Beside me, Vikram lay rigid, a statue sculpted from duty and vigilance. He wouldn't cross the invisible line, wouldn't invade the space I carved out for myself, his respect a tangible presence in the dimly lit room. His gesture was kind, but the questions gnawing at my insides were far from chivalrous. Could I trust him anymore? Could I trust anyone?Sleep, a fickle mistress, danced just beyond my grasp. My mind, a hurricane of doubts and speculations, refused to surrender to its lullaby. I turned, catching Vikram's eyes, the moonlight painting constellations in their depths. A silent communication passed between us, a shared understanding of the perilous dance we were dancing, the razor's edge we teetered on.Vikram's voice, a low rumble in the quiet, promised safety. "Sleep peacefully, Yami," he murmured, his hand finding mine. "No harm shall come to you while I draw breath."I offered him a faint smile, the weight of unspoken doubts clinging to it like cobwebs. Sleep seemed a distant thought, my mind a frantic squirrel in a cage of worry. Rising from the bed, I gravitated towards the window, drawn by the allure of the night.The room felt cavernous, dwarfed by the towering windows that stretched towards the inky sky. Their white casings gleamed in the moonlight, hinting at a past elegance, an aesthetic untouched by the grim present. The previous occupants, whoever they were, might not have had gold in their pockets, but they carried a certain sense of grace in their bones.Below, the street pulsed with a frenetic energy. Figures scurried past, their shadows dancing in the dim lamplight. My breath hitched as I recognized a few faces – men from the villa, Ruhaan's pawns, now shadows dancing to Adam's tune. Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my stomach. Instinctively, I retreated into the shadows, the moonlit room suddenly feeling like a fragile bubble of protection."Don't worry," his voice, a low rumble against the silence, reached me. "This house has wards. They can't truly see us."Wards? My curiosity, piqued like a stray cat, demanded answers. He explained, his voice weaving magic of its own, about symbols and chants, invocations to nature's protective embrace. They cloaked us, veiled us from harm's hungry eyes. And what did those eyes see in our place? Illusions, phantoms born of moonlight and whispers?"What do they see instead of us?" I pressed, my voice catching in the dry air."I don't know what they see," he admitted, his brow furrowed. "It's Mother's wish, whatever she wants them to see."The answer, cryptic and unsettling, hung heavy in the air. Anartha, shrouded in her cloak of secrets, pulling the strings of this puppet play from afar. But why? I longed to understand, to tear away the veils and glimpse the truth hidden beneath.Suddenly, a jolt of adrenaline thrummed through me. I peeked through the window, a crack in our sheltered world. Below, the street writhed with shadows. Men, Ruhaan's men, with grim faces and predatory eyes, hurried past. Panic prickled my skin. Two of them, I recognized them from the villa, from Ruhaan's side, from Adam's side.Instinct, primal and raw, urged me back, deeper into the shadows. Adam was close, too close. His touch, still a fresh burn on my skin, sent shivers down my spine. But the ward, Vikram's whispered shield, held firm. His voice, a soothing balm, washed over my panic."Don't worry, Yami," he said, his hand finding mine. "We're safe here."Safe? With men hunting us, with Adam breathing down my neck, with secrets twisting my insides like barbed wire? The word tasted like ash on my tongue.Adam's words shattered the night's fragile peace. "They're here," he hissed, his voice dripping with venomous glee. "I can feel it!" His words were a signal, a twisted command. Men, puppets in his macabre play, flooded the street, their faces contorted into masks of grim purpose.My breath hitched, a shard of terror lodged in my throat. I recognized some of them – shadows from the villa, now twisted into Adam's instruments of violence. They swarmed the houses, dragging people out like ants from a disturbed nest. Families separated, screams torn from throats, the street echoing with a symphony of despair.As quickly as they appeared, they herded their terrified captives into a grotesque circle – a bloodstained altar for Adam's insatiable cruelty. One of his men, face pale and eyes downcast, approached him. "Nothing, Master Adam," he mumbled, confirming the futility of their search.Adam's reaction was swift and brutal. He flicked his wrist, two fingers raised like a macabre benediction. His men, without hesitation, raised their weapons, transforming the night into a nightmare. Gunshots erupted, a sickening symphony drowning out the whimpers and pleas of the innocent.The world blurred around me, screams turning into a buzzing in my ears. My vision tunneled, focusing on Vikram, his strong arms the only anchor in the swirling storm of horror. Tears, hot and silent, rolled down my cheeks. "Why?" I choked out, the question a shard of shattered glass in my voice. "Why so much senseless death?"Vikram, ever the enigma, could only offer a grim shake of his head. "I can't say, Yami," he whispered, his voice barely a thread. "I wasn't there that day."His words, instead of a balm, felt like another layer of deception, another twist in the labyrinth of lies. The people I once loved, now stained with blood and cruelty, were they beyond redemption? My journey to Anartha, once a flicker of hope, felt like a desperate flight from the monsters my past had birthed.Half an hour crawled by, each tick of the clock echoing the massacre outside. Adam reappeared, a macabre conqueror wading through the crimson pool his men had painted. My stomach churned, but I held Vikram's gaze, seeking solace in his calm amidst the storm.He'd gone to check the cameras, leaving me clinging to the thin thread of his protection. Suddenly, Adam was beneath the house, grinning like a wolf eyeing its prey. He sauntered in, and my heart hammered against my ribs. We didn't know what he saw, but fear clawed at my throat.Vikram, quick as a shadow, whipped me close, a chanted whisper slicing the air. Adam burst in, but Vikram's ward held like a steel shield. My voice died in my throat as Vikram placed a finger on my lips, eyes urging silence. Adam, blind to our presence, rampaged like a caged beast, fists slamming against walls, eyes searching for his quarry.Then, something shifted. His gaze snagged on the bed, the food, the laptop – everything but us. He shattered the laptop in a fury, his shouts echoing in the wrecked room. "They're close," he snarled, "I can still smell them." With a flourish, he exited, leaving behind a trail of chaos.Vikram, swift and efficient, salvaged what he could – his phone, a map, essentials for our escape. As we raced through the night, my satin nighty, the only option in the ransacked wardrobe, fluttered with the speed. Vikram's eyes, though, held only mine, a steady anchor in the whirlwind.He knew my questions before I voiced them. "Adam," he explained, his voice a soothing balm, "is a descendant of Medea, a powerful witch from BC. Her lineage carries the ability to smell magic, which is why he found us. He broke the wards, but I shielded us with a scentless one.""And?" I asked, the unspoken doubts lingering.Vikram, with a weary smile, continued, "Smellless wards drain immense power, Yami. I couldn't cover the whole house."I understood. We were safe for now, but the road ahead remained treacherous. Yet, nestled in Vikram's arms, a kernel of hope flickered. He might not be perfect, but in this maelstrom of doubt, he was a beacon of sanity, a promise of answers within the mysteries of Anartha.And so, we waited, the night our canopy, the car our fragile haven. Sleep, elusive but welcome, finally claimed me, and I dreamt of a future where the ghosts of the past wouldn't haunt every step, a future where truth and redemption awaited in the embrace of Anartha.