Devavrata didn't summon Arav.
He waited.
That, more than anything else, told Arav this wasn't procedural.
They met in a room without windows.
No insignia.
No screens.
Just a table, two chairs, and a quiet that felt deliberate.
Devavrata gestured for Arav to sit.
"You chose not to intervene," he said.
Not a question.
Arav nodded.
Devavrata studied him for a long moment.
"Good," he said. "Now you're ready to hear this."
He folded his hands.
"Ajna awakenings don't fail the way others do," Devavrata said.
"They don't destabilize structures. They destabilize agreement."
Arav felt the words settle coldly.
"When a Mooladhara awakening collapses," Devavrata continued,
"you get fractures. Damage. Bodies. Things that can be measured."
"And Ajna?" Arav asked.
Devavrata's eyes hardened.
"You get versions."
He leaned back.
"An Ajna-awakened individual doesn't impose force," he said.
"They impose coherence."
Devavrata tapped the table once.
"Whatever they believe hard enough becomes easier for others to believe."
Arav's jaw tightened.
"That's not mind control."
"No," Devavrata agreed. "It's worse."
He stood and walked slowly.
"We used to try containment," Devavrata said.
"Observation. Limitation. Negotiation."
"And?" Arav asked quietly.
"And the world kept slipping," Devavrata replied.
Devavrata stopped behind Arav's chair.
"There was a woman," he said.
"Ten years ago. Ajna-aligned. Brilliant. Gentle."
Arav didn't turn.
"She never altered a memory," Devavrata continued.
"She never forced calm. She never rewrote anyone."
"So what happened?" Arav asked.
"She told people the truth," Devavrata said.
Devavrata returned to his seat.
"Not a truth," he clarified.
"The truth. Singular. Clean. Certain."
Arav felt his chest tighten.
"People stopped arguing," Devavrata said.
"Stopped doubting. Stopped choosing."
"And when she was gone?" Arav asked.
"The world couldn't remember how to disagree," Devavrata replied.
Silence stretched.
"So you erased her," Arav said.
Devavrata didn't deny it.
"We erased the effect," he said.
"The person was collateral."
Arav stood abruptly.
"That's murder."
Devavrata met his gaze calmly.
"No," he said.
"It was triage."
He leaned forward.
"You think restraint is ethical," Devavrata said.
"You think refusal preserves agency."
He shook his head once.
"Ajna doesn't need permission. It spreads through example."
Devavrata's voice dropped.
"That's why we don't let them grow."
Arav's hands clenched.
"And Rhea?" he asked.
Devavrata paused.
"Rhea," he said slowly,
"was never supposed to survive long enough to be patient."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
"She's not reckless," Arav said.
"No," Devavrata agreed.
"She's careful."
That frightened him more.
Devavrata stood.
"You will be asked to choose," he said.
"Soon."
Arav didn't respond.
"Not between right and wrong," Devavrata continued.
"But between collapse and quiet domination."
He opened the door.
"And when that moment comes," Devavrata added,
"you will understand why erasure felt merciful."
Arav stepped out into the corridor.
The pressure behind his eyes pulsed faintly.
Not urging.
Not warning.
Waiting.
Somewhere else, Rhea smiled without humor.
"They always think it's kindness," she murmured.
"Until they realize it's convenience."
Arav walked on.
For the first time, he didn't wonder whether Ajna should exist.
He wondered whether anyone should be allowed to decide that question at all.