The banyan tree had changed.
It used to be just a place for shade, silence, and students pretending to study. Now, the air around it felt warmer, heavier. And those who sat nearby often stayed longer than they meant to—drawn in by something they couldn't name.
They didn't know it yet, but they were already breathing belief.
Lazara walked across the courtyard with slow grace. She wore a soft jade green dupatta draped loosely across a translucent cream tunic. Her navel showed through the fabric. Her hips moved without effort. Her eyes met no one directly—but every head turned toward her.
They didn't know why.
They just couldn't look away.
Her first follower, Professor Kamal Sarkar, now stood quietly behind her at times. He no longer walked with pride or position. He spoke only when spoken to, answered to no name but 'He Who Watches'. His students whispered that he seemed lighter now. Less bitter. More at peace. No one knew why.
And now Lazara had set her sights on more.
Not men this time.
Women.
Because women, when converted, did not kneel alone. They brought others. They carried fire behind their eyes and conviction in their silence. They spread belief like perfume—slowly, invisibly, and everywhere.
She had already chosen her next three.
---
1. Ananya – The Lonely Flame
Ananya was a postgraduate philosophy student—intelligent, soft-spoken, and completely closed off emotionally. She walked like she feared taking up space. Her eyes hid every thought. But Lazara saw the way she glanced at couples. The way she paused when her fingers touched fabric. The way she avoided mirrors.
She invited Ananya one afternoon to her room.
Not with a command.
With a single sentence:
> "Would you let someone teach you how to feel beautiful again?"
Ananya followed.
That night, she sat cross-legged on Lazara's floor, unsure why her heart beat so fast. Lazara kneeled behind her, brushing her hair, undoing her buttons with the slowness of prayer. She whispered compliments—not for seduction, but for truth.
When Ananya finally cried quietly, letting her shirt fall open, Lazara kissed her shoulder.
> "This is your skin. It's holy now."
Ananya trembled. And believed.
---
2. Mallika – The Hunter Turned Hunted
Mallika was confident. Proud. A third-year dancer known for crushing men with a look and women with her ambition. No one dared flirt with her. No one believed she could be tempted.
Until she met Lazara's eyes during an open rehearsal.
Lazara didn't smile. She just walked to the edge of the stage and held her gaze.
> "When's the last time you were desired for more than the power you pretend to own?"
Mallika didn't respond.
But the next day, she knocked on Lazara's door.
She arrived in control.
She left whispering confessions, bare skin against warm silk, her thighs trembling, and Lazara's fingers still laced through her hair.
Mallika became a silent recruiter—drawing in women who feared being touched and showing them how it could feel sacred.
---
3. Reeva – The Faithful Fallen
Reeva had once been deeply religious—raised in tradition, promised to a future she hadn't chosen. But something in her had always ached. Not for rebellion—but for meaning. Real meaning. Not rules. Not guilt.
She came to Lazara out of curiosity.
She stayed because Lazara never asked her to abandon faith.
> "Worship is holy," Lazara whispered. "But who you worship must be worthy."
That night, Reeva undid her own sari.
She chose to kneel.
Not for punishment.
For belonging.
When her lips touched Lazara's inner thigh, she whispered—not to Lazara, but to the invisible god behind her.
> "Whoever you are, I give you this."
---
System Update – Zix Core
> [Worshippers: 4 ➝ 7]
[Female Network: Initialized]
[Faith Points: +18,400]
[Secondary Trait Unlocked: 'Sisterhood Binding']
Female followers can now spiritually bond with one another—enhancing emotional belief gain exponentially.
> [Hidden Religion Tier I: Active]
A silent sisterhood is forming. No temples. No scripture. Only breath, surrender, and the name of a god none of them know they serve.
---
That night, Lazara stood before Rudra in his room.
She wore only her belief.
He didn't ask for details.
She knelt before him, not as a lover, but as a vessel.
> "Seven," she whispered.
Rudra placed his hand atop her head, silent.
The Core pulsed. The world remained unaware.
But from behind closed doors, in whispered moans and slow confessions, a new religion was spreading across the city.
And it began with touch.