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The scroll smelled like dust and ink and something older like dried blood that had never quite faded. It felt pretty ancient. I thought to myself. Did it belong to my ancestor or here? Because it smelled so old
Miss Kaur tapped a section with her finger. "We're starting with energy control. If you can't feel what's moving through you, you can't contain it."
I squinted at the diagram. "This looks like a stomach with a tornado in it."
"That is what it feels like, actually," she muttered. "The demon feeds off your spiritual energy. You need to learn how to give it just enough so it doesn't eat through your soul."
"Comforting."
She stood up, her movements slow but determined. "Start with breathing exercises. Sit straight. Focus on your navel. That's where the curse first rooted."
I obeyed. Sat cross-legged. Closed my eyes. Breathed in.
At first, nothing happened. Just my breath. The usual thoughts. The usual itch to scratch my nose.
Then the cold came.
Not physical cold, something internal. A creeping sensation curling inside my belly, like someone dipped a string into icy ink and slowly dragged it across my insides. It was weird but i felt drawn to it and in the same time wanted to stop it.
"Don't pull away," Miss Kaur said. "Let it rise."
I wanted to run. But I didn't.
I let it come.
And when I exhaled, I saw something behind my eyelids.
A hand pressed against glass. Small. Slender fingers. Old scars across the knuckles. They seemed like they were…bloody? But the blood wasn't fresh.
I knew that hand.
It was hers.
My ancestor.
A voice murmured, like a breeze sliding across a grave:
> "It wasn't meant for you… but you were the only one who could bear it."
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My breath caught in my throat.
Miss Kaur's voice jolted me back. "Ojas! Stay grounded. Don't follow the vision."
I gasped and opened my eyes. My heartbeat was thudding in my ears like a war drum.
"You saw her," she said. Not a question.
I nodded. "She was behind glass. Watching me."
Miss Kaur looked grim. "She's started contacting you. It's a sign that the bond's waking up fully."
"She didn't feel… evil."
"She's not. But she's dead. And the dead always have their own agenda."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, the cold returned.
And eventually, she returned too.
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I was in a field. Tall grass swaying under a violet sky. A single tree twisted with pale bark stood ahead. She was sitting under it, combing her hair.
"You came," she said softly. "I didn't think you would."
"I didn't mean to."
She turned. Her face was blurry. Like the dream couldn't decide what she used to look like.
"You carry it now," she said, standing. "The seed. The shadow. The lock and the key."
"Is there a way to break it?" I asked.
She looked at me for a long time. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "No. But you can shift its weight."
She stepped closer and touched my forehead with two fingers.
> "Remember the circle of thorns," she whispered. "Start with salt. Always salt."
Then the dream broke apart, like shattered glass.
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The next morning, I jolted awake in the library, a book stuck to my face.
Miss Kaur was already at the dining table, sipping black tea like it didn't taste like despair. "You look like you wrestled with insomnia."
"I saw her again."
Miss Kaur raised an eyebrow.
"She said, 'Circle of thorns. Start with salt.' Does that mean anything to you?"
Her mug paused mid-air. "Yes. It's an old warding technique. Defensive. Rare. Most don't even know how to draw it right anymore."
"She said always salt."
"It's pure. Disrupts demonic channels." She stood. "We'll do it tonight. First, you need to learn to shield."
The next week passed in fragments.
Salt circles. Chalk drawings. Mirror avoidance.
Breathing drills. Channeling exercises. Releasing pain safely.
Miss Kaur pushed me hard, even when her wound still ached and her hands trembled from poison withdrawal.
Sometimes I found her passed out on the couch. Other times I found blood-soaked tissues in the trash and said nothing.
And still, she trained me.
Every night, my ancestor came back.
Sometimes we walked. Sometimes she screamed. Sometimes she just watched me silently, like she was trying to remember something important.
On the seventh night, I asked her: "What's your name?"
She looked up at the dark sky. Then she whispered, "Aranya."
It echoed.
A thousand whispers of the same name followed. Aranya. Aranya. Aranya.
Miss Kaur scribbled it in her notes the next morning. "Aranya was her? That means... your line carried her true soul. That changes things."
"Changes what?"
"She wasn't just a cursed vessel. She was the binder. The first seal. You're not just the host… you're the key."
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By the second week, I could sense Sallos even when I was awake.
Sometimes I caught his reflection blinking when I didn't.
Sometimes I heard his voice quiet, dry, resentful.
> "You shouldn't trust her."
> "You are not meant for pain this way."
> "They made you a weapon, and now they want you to smile while bleeding."
I told Miss Kaur once.
She just looked at me calmly. "He'll lie. And then he'll speak truth. That's how it works. Don't listen. Don't believe. Don't feel for him."
But late at night, when the dreams got too quiet… sometimes I felt sorry for him.
That was dangerous.
But I was only human.
Right?
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