In the prison of his own making

It was the third day of imprisonment and the traitor of triloka empire waited for his chronicler.

His prison cell stood deep in the underground, away from brushstrokes of ever burning gold. Sat in a dimly lit corner was him, strongly constrained, with his hands and legs shackled by divyaloha chains. The arcanist engravings on those chains prevented him from using his mana.

In the prison cell, the unbearable heat made him desire a shapeless kiss that could wipe away his perspiration that sparkled like pearls under waning light of a lone lamp.

The doors to his prison creaked and groaned as the two guards, swathed in dark flexible armors and bull masks, opened them. A young woman walked in, swathed in cotton saree with minimal patterns and motifs, that added elegance without being gaudy.

She walked in with a gait that had a predatory grace and peculiarly the elegance of a lady.

“You asked for me and here I am,” the woman said.

The rebel lifted his head and gave a smile that was both frail and smug.

“I half expected to be killed on sight by the wise men.” He said, dragging his index finger horizontally across his throat.

“Good evening, Indra, leader of traitorous Asuras. My name is Arisha, first sword of the empire, shadow of the emperor, silver of divinity that watches over the three realms”

The first sword of the empire said, bringing her palms together and gently pressing them. She did not let her head bow, refusing to show reverence to her lesser. That brought mirth to the rebel’s face. Nothing amused him more than ucchavarnas and their meticulous way to greet a lesser.

Two servants brought a chair, and the first sword settled on it. Her hazel eyes stood out on a face painted in hues of sun-kissed earth.

She peered at him with eyes like a candle in silence. And the rebel stared back with an amused grin playing on his lips.

Few seconds later, four servants walked in with a table, cotton papers, bamboo pens and carbon-based ink bottle. They eased the table between the traitor and the first sword and skillfully arranged the stationery on the table before hurrying out. The first sword moved her finger in the air. Inky blue mana leaked from invisible pores of her finger. She traced a curve and uttered, “Stha,” the curve stayed as her finger traced another curve and, after completing it, repeated the same word. She repeated the same process for curves and dots until it formed a glyph that resembled an owl.

“ekikuru” she uttered Imperatively, and the glyph blazed splendidly. It morphed into tendrils of light and merged with contours of arisha’s eyes. There was no shift in hue of her eyes, but the rebel knew of the effects.

“Ah, the owl glyph. I recall using it once to meet an ancient and peculiar individual. It is indeed a useful glyph for clandestine endeavors. However, in this situation, couldn’t you have simply asked the servants for a candle instead of expending a significant amount of mana?” The rebel said with a wilful sigh and then his eyebrows raise in a playful, exaggerated manner, accompanied by a sly grin.

“You want to discern lies from truth? You sneaky child. Good for you! Good for you indeed!” He said, nodding approvingly.

“I am not a child and this is no time for prattling. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Tell me why you surrendered so suddenly? Why did you disappear for two years? How did you become one of us and tainted the sacred halls of Vishvavidyalaya? And how did you become indra the man-”

Her lips pressed tightly together as if trying to hold back from uttering that word.

“mantravid.” He completed it for her and smiled rather proudly.

"I know you abhor it, but really face the truth. I am one of the greatest matravids in centuries. My tale spread wide across the continent.”

“You are a deceiver, nothing more.”

The rebel chuckled and asked her a question.

“You didn’t ask me the most important one. You need to ask why I picked you.”

“Very well,” she responded after a sigh. “Enlighten me then. Why did you pick me? What is it about me that compelled you to surrender and share your secrets?”

The rebel’s smug grin widened, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He leaned forward, relishing the opportunity to reveal his motives.

“You play a huge part in it this than you realise and you can get to learn it at the very end. I promise you that with proper context, your involvement would make perfect sense.”

Arisha’s mind raced, her thoughts entangled with questions and possibilities about her involvement. But she did not let them bother her.

“Enough with the veiled words and promises,” she said, her voice firm. “I need transparency, not ambiguous hints and half-truths. If my involvement holds such significance, then lay it all bare before me. I refuse to be kept in the dark.”

“Not really a patient person, are you?” The rebel sighed. “You have much to learn, child, and my story might help you with that.”

“What can a sullied like you teach me?” She scoffed.

“Do not dismiss us sullied, child. You can learn much from a sullied than those preening leeches you force yourself to converse.” The rebel’s voice bore no frustration and the arshia’s eyebrows raise slightly.

“I broke through your system, didn’t I? You will get your truth, but you must be patient. Five days is all I need. You will get everything and I get to do what I want.”

“And what is it you want?” She asked, leaning forward.

“Redemption. I want to redeem myself and face consequences for my actions.”

“I find it hard to believe that a man like you could ever feel guilt.”

The rebel chuckled wryly.

“I see you painted a monster out of me,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion. “And perhaps, in some ways, I have become one. But, lady first sword, aren’t you curious about the path that led me down this perilous road? This could be a cautionary tale, a glimpse into the depths of the human mind and the consequences of a cruel world, and listening to this may help you prevent something like that from happening again.”

“Is that so?,” she said. “Then tell me your story, and I will judge you with a fair mind. Enlighten me of what shaped your journey, the choices that propelled you towards the path of defiance and rebellion.”

“Well, then.” He said, clearing his mouth. “My earliest memories were when I was seve-”

‘No,’ the first sword interrupted. ‘Start from that incident. Where you became an asura.’

“If you want to know about the truth, you need to write my entire story. That is why I asked for you to be my chronicler. If not, you can bring the wise men and their dogs to torture me. They won’t get nothing out of me. They know it, which is why they gave into my demands.”

“Fine. Have it your way. I will act as the biographer and you, the pious, misunderstood noble revolutionary.”

“You are getting a hang of this,” He said, grinning like a mischievous child.

Arisha took dipped the pen in the ink, ready to pen his tale on cotton paper. She let her eyes linger on him as he contemplated.

“Begin,” she said, impatiently. “Tell me the truth as it is, for I can see through your lies and I am not very patient with liars.”

“My most vivid memories began when I was six and it is an appropriate place as any to start,” he began.

“It was a time when the asuras were but tiny buds unnoticed by their ruler’s gaze and away from my ears. My family, we were a family of four, barely scraped by, but our days did not lack any mirth. It was better, and I was a better human being too.”

“Were you pious back then, traitor?” Arisha asked.

“Oh, we were pious. My father was more so than my mother, but she understood our place and bent her head low like all the others. The only thing she complained about was patriarchal aspects of our society.” He said, smiling weakly.

“I like the cleaver way they instilled these regressive beliefs into lessors to keep us from evolving.”

“Maybe it is you people that could not evolve and as civilized people, we did and tolerate you beastly nature for we are merciful,” the first sword countered.

“Go to a temple in the sullied districts, child. You will understand what I am talking about.” The rebel shook his head and let out a weary sigh.

“Let us not argue anymore. Now, where was I?” He paused and then continued. “I had two younger sisters, he sired from a sullied prostitute. She dropped him on the doorsteps, much to the dismay of my mother. Ladies of vesyavarna would have gladly claimed the accidents, but sullied can never go to their brothels, you see. So some of us that can’t get work sold our bodies to scrape by and can’t afford to raise a child.”

“You were a whore?” She asked, her lips curling into a mock amusement.

"I did what I had to do to survive. They are not what I call fond memories.” He said, and then let out a bitter chuckle.

“Oh, there are only a handful of memories that I would call fond. My life is nothing more than perpetual disaster, sometimes of my making, most times the world throwing the worst on me out of spite.” He said, and Arisha scribed it with casualness.

“I would give anything to bring back the days of innocence when my father taught me the family creed, and my mother sang songs to put me and my sisters to sleep after feeding us more than she ate. It was not a good life, but at least it was peaceful, and we were whole.”

“What happened to your family?” She asked.

“What happens to those that defied their masters?” He asked and then answered his own question. “execution.”

“That is one of the darkest parts of my life, but before delving into it, you need to understand the core of my character. Before I aspired to become an arcane and an asura, I yearned to be a singer—a foolish aspiration for someone like me, as sullied individuals were not allowed such pursuits. Nonetheless, I possessed a voice, and even if I could never earn a living from it, I wanted to pursue my passion. So, let us start with the incident that made me realize my initial dream.”