CHAPTER 17 — THE PRAYER THAT NEVER LEFT
The prayer never ended. It was from very beginning when he got that mark.
That was the first thing Arjun realized when he woke up.
It wasn't a voice.
It wasn't sound.
It was pressure. It didn't let him sleep properly. He kept moving from one side to other side. And when he slept he woke not because of sunlight or other noises of surrounding environment that usually comes every morning but it was that prayer.
Like the world itself was still waiting for an answer that would never come.
Arjun lay on the thin mattress in his rented room, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned unevenly, wobbling with every rotation. The electricity flickered—not enough to cut out, just enough to feel hesitant.
Authority hesitation.
He didn't need the mark to know anymore.
He sat up slowly.
His phone lay beside him, screen dark. No notifications. No missed calls. No messages. Yet he felt watched—not by something present, but by something absent.
Gods used to answer prayers.
Now they didn't.
And the silence was getting louder.
NORMAL LIFE
Arjun washed his face at the sink. The water ran cold, then warm, then cold again, as if the pipes couldn't decide what reality they belonged to.
Outside, the city functioned.
Vendors shouted.
Buses honked.
People argued over change.
Normal.
That was the most unsettling part.
At the tea stall downstairs, the old owner poured chai with shaking hands.
"You didn't hear?" the man asked suddenly.
"Hear what?" Arjun replied.
The man frowned. "The temple bell didn't ring this morning."
"So?"
"It rings itself," the man said. "Has for twenty years. Today… nothing."
Arjun said nothing and paid.
He didn't need to look at his palm to know the mark was warm.
THE DEAD ARE RESTLESS
As Arjun walked toward the bus stop, he felt it again—the faint dragging sensation behind his thoughts.
Echoes.
Not screaming.
Not begging.
Repeating.
Why didn't He answer?
We prayed correctly.
We followed the rules.
The dead were confused.
And confusion was dangerous.
A woman brushed past him, muttering to herself. Her lips moved in rhythm, repeating the same sentence under her breath like a broken record.
Arjun caught it.
"He always answered before."
She didn't realize she was praying.
That was worse.
THE MARK REACTS
The eye in his palm opened without permission.
Arjun hissed and closed his fist, but the sensation didn't fade.
Instead, information bled into him.
Not visions.
Not prophecy.
Status.
LOCAL AUTHORITY RESPONSE: FAILED
PRAYER ROUTE: UNRESOLVED
DEBT OF BELIEF: ACCUMULATING
His breath caught.
This wasn't a god dying.
This was a god ignoring.
Ignoring was not neutral.
Ignoring created backlog.
RUDRA RETURNS
Rudra was waiting at the bus stop, leaning against a pole like he had always been there.
"You look terrible," Rudra said.
"You look unemployed," Arjun replied.
Rudra smiled thinly. "I am. Gods don't like middlemen when they stop answering."
Arjun's jaw tightened. "So it's happening everywhere?"
Rudra nodded. "Not everywhere. Just… spreading."
"How many?"
Rudra hesitated.
"That bad?" Arjun asked.
"There are cities where prayers are bouncing back," Rudra said quietly. "People feel heard—but nothing happens."
Arjun swallowed.
That meant echo loops.
That meant rot.
A NAME FROM THE PAST
Rudra leaned closer. "The Judges noticed."
Arjun's steps slowed. "Which one?"
Rudra's voice dropped. "Mira."
The name hit harder than it should have.
"She's dead," Arjun said.
"Not dead," Rudra corrected. "Delayed."
Arjun stopped walking.
"What does that mean?"
Rudra looked at him carefully. "It means she left something unfinished. And unfinished things don't stay quiet."
THE FIRST SIGN OF COLLAPSE
They reached the crossing.
The traffic light stayed red.
Too long.
Cars idled. Drivers shouted. No one moved.
Then—without changing color—the signal fell dark.
No green.
No yellow.
Just off.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then everyone moved at once.
Chaos—but restrained, careful, hesitant.
People didn't trust the rules anymore.
Arjun felt the mark burn.
AUTHORITY FALLBACK MODE ENGAGED
Rudra exhaled. "That's not good."
Arjun stared at the dead traffic light.
"Rudra," he said slowly, "what happens when prayers stop… and no one replaces them?"
Rudra didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"Something answers instead."
That night, Arjun dreamed of a god kneeling.
Not dead.
Not broken.
Just… refusing to look up.
And behind it, something vast shifted—
not a Throne…
…but an empty seat. "What happened here?!"