Prayer Home
“What happened to your head?” Rudhra asked as Yodhika stepped into Site A, a strip of white cloth tied firmly around her temple. The floor had been restored to its original form, most of yesterday’s destruction cleared away by the maintenance staff.
“Nothing. Let’s start,” she said.
“No. You need to rest. We’ll fight tomorrow,” Rudhra replied.
“Just shut up… and start the fight.”
Before he could protest again, Yodhika lunged forward without warning. Rudhra twisted aside just in time as she closed the distance.
“If you’re okay, then fine,” he muttered, reaching for her wrist.
She jerked her arm out of reach and slammed a burst of raw energy into the ground. The floor cracked violently beneath them—but Rudhra was ready this time. He leaped upward, feeling the shockwave tear through the floor below him, shattering the tiles.
He landed lightly on broken pieces of concrete, pulling out his sword from his back.
He charged.
Yodhika instantly drew her weapon, pressing the button mid-motion. It unfolded into a trident with a metallic snap, blocking his strike with flawless timing. Sparks scattered between them.
Rudhra’s lips curved, a familiar thrill rising in his chest. Yodhika’s expression remained cold—focused.
She unleashed another massive wave of energy. Rudhra sensed it a heartbeat before it erupted; he flipped upward, spinning over the blast and landing behind her.
But even as he landed, Yodhika twisted her trident behind her, stabbing backward without looking.
Rudhra dropped to one knee, raised his hands, and circled his sword behind his head. Steel met metal with a ringing clang as he deflected her weapon upward—again without looking.
Both fighters sprung back, widening the distance.
“You came prepared today, huh?” Yodhika said.
“Yeah.” He said nothing more, his eyes locked on her every movement.
They moved again—strike after strike—until the surrounding buildings and structures shook, shattered, and exploded around them.
A moment later, Rudhra’s blood splattered across the fractured floor. Yodhika had pinned him down, her trident driven clean through his neck and deep into the ground to keep him still. She stood over him, breathing heavily. With a slow breath, she pulled out the trident and pressed the button; it folded neatly back into a rod.
She turned away.
Behind her, Rudhra’s body regenerated, restoring itself to its original state. He stood, wiping the last trace of blood from his neck.
“Wait,” he called.
She stopped and looked back.
“I’m Rudhra,” he said. “I just realized I never introduced myself properly… princess. Even though you’ve beaten me twice in two days.” He smiled.
She extended her hand. He took it.
The moment their hands met, Yodhika froze. Her stern expression softened into surprise. Her breath hitched, a sudden peace washing across her face.
It stopped. I don’t hear it anymore, she thought.
Rudhra frowned. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer. A tear slid down her cheek as she kept holding his hand, as if afraid to let go.
“Princess? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” he asked, gently trying to pull away.
But she held on.
“Princess Yodhika… m-may I have my hand back?” he said, awkward but concerned.
After a long moment, she finally released him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away as her expression returned to its calm, unreadable mask. She paused again, her body tense.
It’s coming back again, she thought.
She walked off.
“So how much time do you need to complete Wamon?” Devansh asked Dr. Chaithra. They stood beside a large steel platform at the heart of the underground lab, surrounded by humming generators and weapon prototypes wired into a glowing central core.
Chaithra adjusted her glasses, straightened her lab coat, and answered, “Three months to complete it. One more month for testing, Mr. Devansh.” Years of sleepless nights had aged her into looking fifty, even though she was only forty-two.
“Did you find a land for testing?”
“Yes. An abandoned island, four hundred nautical miles away. Around four thousand square kilometres in area,” she said, voice still nervous.
“Good. We need to test it without the world knowing. Do you have a plan?”
Chaithra flipped through her small notepad. “Mr. Ashura said there’s a secret nuclear test being conducted in the north. He’ll tip off the US so their attention stays there. We’ll run our test on the same day.”
“Won’t they notice the island disappearing? Or the seismic activity?”
“Yes, they will. But we’ll retrieve our weapon before that. All equipment and transport ships will carry USSR signatures. The suspicion will be redirected.”
Devansh nodded. “Make sure there are no slip-ups. Prepare a full timeline and bring it to me.”
“Of course, Mr. Devansh,” she said, fear flickering in her eyes.
Devansh exited the lab and entered the elevator. The -4 on the display blinked as the doors closed, carrying him back to the surface.
Upstairs, a man in his 60s sat in a room furnished with a king-size bed and draped poles. He wore long brown robes and an egg-shell omophorion, reading quietly. As Devansh entered, he removed his glasses.
“How are you, Devansh?” he asked.
“Good, Jeron. How is your wife?”
“They are all well.”
“When is your next wedding?” Devansh asked.
With a playful smile, Jeron replied, “Next Monday. I want to finish it before our move begins.”
Devansh walked past him into a large prayer hall. A statue of a child deity stood elevated on a wooden platform. Worshippers stood in lines—men in shirts, women in sarees—hands folded.
When they noticed Devansh entering, a few gasped, “King!”
Everyone bowed.
He raised a hand. “This is a prayer hall. Here, we are all equals. And you know well—I always place my citizens, whether its you, Amrithyas, or my own clan, the Pranvars, above myself.”, he said with a warm smile on his face.
“Long live the King!” a few shouted.
He smiled warmly. “Continue with your prayers.”
A woman in her thirties stepped forward, pulling along a petite young woman in her twenties.
“My lord, this is Kaira, my daughter. Elder Jeron will take her hand on Monday. She will serve our god well.”
Devansh smiled. “Congratulations, Kaira. Serve Jeron and our god faithfully.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, excitement trembling in her voice.
Devansh blessed them and walked toward the exit. The crowd bowed as he passed.
Outside, a Rolls-Royce Silver Spur waited. Devansh got in beside his son, Adhrivan.
“Where is Sabo?”
“She’s over there… talking to that kid,” Adhrivan said, pointing out the window.
Sabo stood protectively in front of a boy about four feet tall, dressed in knee-length shorts, a white half-sleeve shirt, and suspenders.
“Don’t come directly next time. Send me your commands like usual,” she whispered, tense.
“I just came to see my sister. Am I not allowed?” the boy said with a wicked smile.
“I… I understand. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Devansh tapped the car door again, harder.
The boy’s grin widened. Sabo quickly whispered, “I’ll do as you say. Bye.” Her face softened instantly as she turned to Devansh.
“What’s taking so long?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. He’s just a kid who came with an Amrithya woman who came to the Prayer Home. I was playing with him.”
“Don’t forget who you’re making wait—the King.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” She bowed and entered the front seat.
As the car pulled away, she glanced sideways—without turning—back toward the boy. He was still standing there. Smiling.
(To be continued)
Karun G Nath 
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