It had no feet, yet it walked.
No mouth, yet it spoke.
Its body was made of fragments—shattered mirrors, cracked prayers, torn letters never sent. And from its chest, a dull pulse: like a heartbeat… trying to stop itself.
The people of Shraddhalok fled before it.
Not because it attacked.
But because when they looked at it, they saw the worst version of themselves.
And it whispered.
"You were never chosen.""You'll never be enough.""They don't believe in you.""Neither do you."
Aarav stood his ground.
The air around him warped. His muscles trembled—not from fear, but from recognition.
This wasn't some divine monster.
This was doubt incarnate.
Every breath he'd ever held back.
Every time he thought he wasn't worthy.
Every whisper that told him to give up.
"I know you," Aarav said softly.
The thing stopped.
Turned its head—an orbit of broken reflections.
"You are me. You are mine."
"No," Aarav said. "You are part of me."
"But not all."
He stepped forward.
No stance.
No technique.
Just breath.
Presence.
Acceptance.
And the thing screamed—not in sound, but in thought. A scream only the honest could survive.
Glass shards flew from its body. Shadows peeled off. And in the end, standing in the dust—
Was a boy.
Small. Afraid. Familiar.
Aarav knelt. Held him.
And the boy vanished into light.
Behind him, the city didn't cheer.
They simply sat down.
And breathed.