CHAPTER 7 — WHEN WORSHIP BECOMES A CAGE
Arjun woke to chanting.
Not loud.
Not frantic.
Soft. Devoted.
He lay on cold stone beneath a ceiling carved with forgotten gods. Candles surrounded him in a perfect circle, their flames bending inward—as if listening.
Rudra sat nearby, blade resting across his knees, blood dried on his sleeve.
"Don't move," he said quietly. "They'll feel it."
"They?" Arjun whispered.
The chanting grew clearer.
Protect us.
Save us.
Stay with us.
Arjun's mark itched.
He turned his head.
Beyond the pillars stood people.
Dozens of them.
Men. Women. Children.
Kneeling.
Eyes fixed on him.
Fear twisted in his chest. "Why are they looking at me like that?"
Rudra didn't answer immediately.
"Because," he said finally, "you survived."
The chanting stopped.
A woman stepped forward. Her face was calm, peaceful—too peaceful for someone standing before something she didn't understand.
"Please," she said softly. "Don't leave us."
Arjun sat up. "I don't even know you."
She smiled. "That's alright."
She pressed her forehead to the stone floor.
"So long as you stay."
The mark on Arjun's palm burned.
Suddenly, he felt it—
Threads.
Invisible. Thin. Stretching from their chests to his hand.
Prayer.
Worship.
Fear.
All binding themselves to him.
Arjun gasped. "Rudra—make it stop."
Rudra stood, blade half-drawn. "I can't."
The air thickened.
From the shadows behind the kneeling crowd, someone clapped.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
A man stepped forward.
He wore priestly robes stitched with gold sigils, but his shadow moved a moment after he did.
"Beautiful," the man said warmly. "Your first congregation."
Rudra's blade snapped fully free.
"Step back, Devak."
The man—Devak—laughed softly.
"Still clinging to weapons," he said. "I chose a better path."
Devak raised his hands.
The kneeling people stiffened.
Their heads lifted—eyes glowing faintly gold.
"My name," Devak said calmly, "is Saint Devak."
The air bent around him.
"I was like you once," he said to Arjun. "Marked. Afraid."
Arjun swallowed. "You're a God-Bearer."
Devak nodded. "I am what happens when one accepts worship."
Rudra snarled. "You let them chain you."
Devak smiled wider.
"No," he said. "I let them hold me together."
He stepped closer.
"You feel it, don't you?" Devak whispered. "Without worship, the mark eats you. With it… the pain stops."
Arjun's hand throbbed violently.
The threads tightened.
The chanting resumed—louder now.
Save us.
Stay with us.
Be our god.
Devak leaned in.
"Stay," he murmured.
"Or walk away… and feel how much it hurts to be alone."
Arjun screamed as the mark began to crack.
The ceiling above them fractured.
Something old and vast shifted in response.
Rudra shouted, "Arjun—decide!"
Devak extended his hand.
The people bowed deeper.
And for the first time—
The Throne pulled.