Legacy of the fallen
Chapter 6:
"Hah! With the measly Tejas they possess, those fools will never sense my divine presence."
"Tch. Just shut up, you ghost bastard. I don't need some loud old geezer screaming inside my head," Aksh shot back, irritation clear in his voice.
"Yo… yo… you rude brat! You should be honored that I've chosen you!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Aksh replied mockingly,.
It hadn't always been like this. The voice wasn't always there. It started the day he transformed. When he lost consciousness, slipping into the abyss, a chilling voice had slithered into his mind from the darkness.
"Hahaha! Brat, you should feel grateful. I have chosen you—the perfect vessel to wield the power of the Great Demon God!"
Since that day, the voice had never truly left. But Aksh didn't care. He wanted nothing to do with this strange presence. Power, divinity, destiny—none of it mattered. All he wanted was to feed his family and protect them from his father.
It didn't bother Aksh that no one could sense any Tejas in him. But he knew—it hurt his mother. No matter how much Reena tried to hide her pain, masking it behind forced smiles and soft reassurances, Aksh could always see through her. He could feel the weight she carried, the silent sorrow she never spoke of.
Reaching out to her, his expression unreadable, he said in a firm voice, "Don't worry, Mother. I will always protect you."
Reena's breath hitched. She pulled him into a tight embrace, her body trembling as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. But she wasn't crying because of his words.
She cried because of the burden resting on the fragile shoulders of a child.
She cried because of the emotionless look on his face—the look of someone who had already forgotten what it meant to weep.
After a while, Aksh stepped out of the house for work, with Tejasvi—as always—following close behind.
But the moment he crossed the threshold, a strange unease settled in his chest.
A cold, unshakable feeling.
Something was wrong.
His instincts screamed at him to don't go, to turn back.
Don't leave.
Maybe… if he had listened.
Maybe… if he had stayed home that day.
The horrible thing that was about to happen— would have never come to pass.
The next day, a grim whisper spread through the slums like wildfire—
Rajit, drunk and deranged, had tried to burn down his own house… with his family still inside.
But Reena, battered yet unyielding, had shielded her children. She had fought through the flames, pushing them to safety—
And in the process, she was left teetering on the brink of death.
As for Rajit… he never made it out. Trapped in his own madness, too drunk to escape, he perished in the inferno he had unleashed.
Tejasvi slowly drifted back to consciousness, her mind hazy, her body weak. Distant murmurs reached her ears—low voices gossiping.
"I'm telling you, that kid is a monster."
"He dragged a wooden cart all the way from the slums to here—while carrying his sister in one arm! No normal child could do that."
Another voice, sharper and filled with disbelief, cut in.
"What?! From the slums? That's at least ten kilometers away! You might be right… just look at his eyes and hair. He might even be cursed. Why did you let him into the hospital anyway? He doesn't look like someone who can pay."
A pause. Then, a hesitant reply.
"I just… couldn't bring myself to turn him away. Not after seeing the state he was in. And… he said he'll pay whatever it takes for his mother's treatment."
Tejasvi's eyelids fluttered as she stirred, her vision blurred. A warmth cradled her head. As her sight cleared, she realized—she was resting on Aksh's lap.
But the place around her… it was nothing like home.
The walls—so white. The air—too clean. The people moving around them wore spotless white coats, their clothes unwrinkled, their hands free of dirt. It felt unreal—so different from the grime and dust of the slums.
A hospital.
Aksh noticed her stirring. Without a word, he placed a hand on her head, patting it gently. His face was unreadable, his voice steady.
"Don't worry. We're at the hospital."
Before Tejasvi could respond, a voice called from the hallway.
"Is Aksh here?"
Aksh slowly got up. "Yes, I'm here," he replied, his voice firm despite the exhaustion he was feeling. He followed the nurse inside a small room where a doctor waited.
The doctor had a serious expression and while holding a pen in his hand said
"Your mother's condition is very serious. She might not survive the night. And… the treatment will cost quite a lot of money."
Aksh remained expressionless and replied with a firm voice
"How much?"
The doctor hesitated. "Look, kid… the bill isn't something a child like you can pay. I'm telling you this now—if you have any savings, use them for yourself and your sister instead."
Aksh's eyes darkened. The exhaustion, the hunger, the pain—none of it mattered.
"I didn't ask for your suggestion. I asked how much."
The doctor sighed, rubbing his temple. "The full treatment will cost… 8,000 mudras."
Without a moment's hesitation, Aksh responded.
"I'll pay it. Just begin the treatment."
The doctor stared at him, waiting for doubt to creep in. But Aksh didn't waver. His gaze was unwavering, cold—almost unnatural for a child.
The doctor scoffed, shaking his head. "We'll begin the treatment as soon as you pay the bills. But keep in mind—your mother has only about twelve hours without treatment."
Aksh stood still for a moment, his fists clenching. Then, he turned to the doctor.
"Take care of my sister."
And then—he ran.
Through the hospital halls, past the shocked nurses, and out into the cold night.
His body screamed in exhaustion, but he didn't care. His legs moved faster than any normal child's should. The wind howled past his ears. His vision blurred, yet his eyes burned—a faint red glow flickering within them.
"You're not in any condition—neither mentally nor physically—to use my power."
The voice came with a little worry.
"If you don't want to die, stop now."
Aksh didn't answer. He just ran faster.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the slums, the world around him was a blur. Instead of stopping, he moved left—toward the dense forest behind the slums.
After running for a while he reached at front of a massive tree.
Without hesitation, he grabbed onto the rough bark of a massive tree and began to climb. Halfway up, he paused.
His fingers traced a specific patch of bark—one that felt different from the rest.
He pried it open.
Inside, a hollow space. Hidden within it—a small, dust-covered bag.
Aksh pulled it out, his hands steady despite the exhaustion eating at his limbs. He untied the string and peered inside.
Exactly 8,000 mudras.
This was the money he had spent the last five years saving—working tirelessly, enduring back-breaking labor—all for a dream. A dream to take his mother and sister out of the slums.
It was nowhere near enough to buy them freedom. But it was a start.
And now… he had no choice but to use it.
Without wasting another second, he turned and ran again.
But as soon as he reached the slum's outer edge—
"HALT RIGHT THERE!"
The sharp voice cut through the night.
Aksh skidded to a stop. Ahead of him stood three figures.
Two men in official guards' uniforms—and in front of them, a man in his mid-20s.
Short black hair. A casual white T-shirt and jeans. But what stood out the most—was the sword strapped to his belt.
The man smirked. "Where do you think you're going?"
Aksh's breath was ragged, but he forced himself to stand firm.
"I need to go."
The man clicked his tongue. "Tsk. You slum rats never learn, do you? The city ain't for your kind. But…" he dragged the word out, his smirk widening, "if you really wanna go… you gotta pay the toll."
Aksh's grip tightened around the bag. His voice was empty. Emotionless.
"How much?"
The man's smirk grew sharper.
"Eight thousand mudras."