The Last Rudra

Just like the whirlpool of memories had dragged him to Illium, Nyx's portal had thrown him back into Mazia. 

Ishit didn't open his eyes, nor did he move his body. He continued to lay awake like a dead person. Cling to the memories he had brought with him from Illium. The touch of the spirit, its whispers, and Hope, his blade. He kept telling himself he was still in Illium and still a wielder. He just had to think, and the spirit would rush towards him. 

He didn't want to awake and face his fate, mocking at him for trying to escape its iron grip. 

Moreover, he didn't want to see the disappointment in his father's eyes and pity in his mother's. 

He still wondered how he had survived the soul-crushing pain. Why hadn't the accident killed him? 

Now he had to live a crippled life, watching his friends soaring in the sky, feasting with Aslan in the sky castle, and wedding the beauties of their dreams. 

The gloom was filling his soul. It was then he heard his mother's voice, 

"Don't take away my son. Please don't take him from me..." the voice made him sit bolt upright. 

Bewildered, he looked about; his mother was sleeping, with her head placed on his bedpost. 

By the grimace on her face, she must have been watching a nightmare. A pang of guilt rose in him. How he could be so cruel! 

He had no idea how long he had been in Illium, maybe a year or two. His mother hadn't left his body alone. He could imagine her crying in the long nights, caressing his face, waiting for him to awake. 

He looked at the worried face before him. The beautiful eyes that once enchanted his lord father now had dark circles and seemed tired. The shining face that had never failed to make him smile was now making him sad.

He was really an unfilial son. Since the day he came into the world, he had brought nothing but sorrow and grief for her. They said his birth would have cost his mother her life had his lord father not decided to intervene and requested Nimoi to save her even if the newborn baby died. 

She didn't speak to lord father for one year when she found out about it. 

She had always been like this. It was her love that kept him smiling all these years. 

Two large drops of tears rolled down on his cheek as Ishit reached out to touch the face, the only thing he had missed in Illium. 

However, before his hand could touch the tear-stained face, Padma woke up. Her eyes widened as they realized it was not a dream. 

"When do you wake up?, my moon," She asked, wiping eyes, "How are you feeling now?"

However, Ishit was not listening to her anymore, for he was too shocked to pay her any heed. 

The touch he had thought he had left in Illium was tingling his pores. 

How was it possible? Hadn't Nyx said a dream-traveler couldn't bring anything but memories and his death to his world. Then, How the hell he could sense the spirit touch in his crippled body.

He folded his hand, and the spirit rushed towards him like a tamed beast. 

Ishit's heart leaped up. 

He laughed aloud as he jumped out of his bed.

"Mother, see. I can also wield the spirit." he leaped into the air; the spirit supported him as he rose to the ceiling. In his delight, Ishit forgot he was in a chamber; his head crashed into the stone ceiling. His head buzzed as he came crashing down on his butt. 

The loud thud attracted the passing maids' attention; they thought something had happened to their lady. So they rushed towards the chamber, altering the guards on their way. 

But the sight in the room left them dumbfounded. Their young lord, who had been so obedient since the day he awakened from his strange illness, was screaming and leaping in the air like a lunatic. 

"Stop, Ishit. You're ruining the chamber." Padma shouted, a smile tugging on her lips. 

But the boy didn't seem to listen to her. He flicked his hand, and a fireball appeared in his hand.

"Ah, it is not bright enough," Ishit said, shaking his hand, and he crushed the ball, sending the flakes of fire in the air. "I have to practice more." 

"Let's see If I can summon Hope." He mumbled, stroking his aching ass. He folded his hand, and a longsword materialized in his right hand out of thin air. 

Ishit looked at the simmering blue sword and again shook his head in disappointment. 

"It can't even break this stone table." Muttering, he rose the sword up and brought it down with force. 

The strike shattered the stone table into pieces, sending the flower bases and other things flying off. 

Padma shouted; her smile had vanished. The vase Ishit had sent flying was bought by her.

The young lord was in trouble, thought the dumbfounded maids. 

"Ishit!" thundered Lady Padma, "If you don't stop now, I'm calling your father."

But Ishit continued experimenting with all the skills he had learned in Illium from Nyx. 

Summoning different kinds of flames, forming different astras, leaping in the air, trying to control things with telekinesis. 

Soon everything in the chamber either was shattered into pieces or burnt to ashes. 

Seeing the boy had gone mad with excitement, Lady Padma was forced to call Lord Oman her ultimate weapon. 

Even Lord Oman's presence didn't stop the young lord from experimenting. His threatening voice didn't reach the young lord. 

After destroying everything, from his bed to his wardrobe, the boy was now planning to bring down the stone walls. 

Oman saw the boy whispering something in a strange tongue. The air in the room tensed up and shuddered. The otherworldly pressure came crushing on them. The giggling maids hushed up; their faces turned ashen-white.

Oman saw an ethereal face condensing above the boy. The moonstones dimmed as if they were frightened by the thing that was materializing in the chamber. The maids shivered. 

Oman frowned as he tried to recognize the face.

"Oman, what is he doing? Please stop him, or he will hurt himself again." Padma gripped his arm, her face fraught with worry. 

Oman didn't speak, nor did he do anything to stop Ishit; his sharp eyes were fixed on the ethereal being whose face was now almost complete. The beautiful face sent a chill through Oman's spine as recognition hit him.

As he had seen a ghost, his eyes widened, and his face turned white ashen.

In the next second, Oman hand's were blazing with golden fire. He attacked the boy who was muttering the spell. The powerful attack sent the boy flying, and he crashed into the stone wall before him. 

Padma screeched as she rushed towards Ishit, who came down on his hurting butt. His eyes were saucer, looking at the screaming crowd as if trying to conceive what had transpired in the wrecked room. 

Oman didn't look at Ishit, nor did he check if his attack injured him. With a sullen face, his eyes watched the dissolving face; he was sure it had smiled at him. 

How the boy came to know such evil magic, he wondered. He didn't recognize the charming face, but the aura and pressure he had experienced just now couldn't be fake. It was the same thing that he had faced ten years ago in the battle of Plassey. The near-death experience had left a deep imprint on his soul, and couldn't be deceived. 

He had to ask the boy. But first, he had to seal the news, or if Aslan came to know of this, he didn't dare to imagine the consequence.

He turned to the horrified crowd and whispered a spell in the spirit tongue. The ripple spread out in the air and entered into maids, servants' minds. Their eyes turned up for a moment and returned to normal. They looked at each other and then the mess in the room, puzzled about what had just occurred there. 

Oman took a deep breath as he saw none of them seemed to be aware of what they had just seen. 

Thanks to Spirit, guards had already left, or it wouldn't have gone so easily. 

He glanced at the boy. Padma was hugging him, stroking his head gently. 

"I need an explanation, Oman. I have asked you to stop him, not to kill him."

Oman's head throbbed as he saw a long whining coming. 

Did you have any clue about the calamity your beloved son had just summoned? 

Of course, he didn't say it aloud. 

"I'm sorry. Anyway, it was his fault for not stopping despite my warnings." Oman didn't explain himself. With all the maids and servants present there, it was not the right time. 

"How is he?" he asked as he walked over to her.

"What do you care? He may die." Padma grumbled