(Book 4) Hayden Mackay and The Fest of Vrindahina

23.1 Ex-Prisoner's Payback

"It isn't about Tyrell, right?" asked a teary-eyed and quite shaken Leena.

"Let's not come to any conclusions yet," Pruthvi replied, desperately wanting to eliminate the hint of the threat he was receiving.

"But..."

Leena indirectly confirmed something that Pruthvi refrained to acknowledge, his tensed nerves forbidding him to. She kept saying that Shourya was still interested in his warning rather than lending them a helping hand to locate their friend.

Pruthvi read the label again and again. Gain the power, Gain the respect? He wasn't intending to confess the understanding of what it meant but it was rather unambiguous. Temple of Chandrika was constructed by the First Emerald User, the very emerald that he was chosen to be the master of?

Pruthvi felt a bile rising up in his throat. He was having one of his hands wrapped around Leena and the other ducked inside his pocket caressing the genuine, legitimate, powerful green stone. It was suddenly getting warm, like of those times of the day reminding him to get fully nourished and of course, that very time when he first had talked about his predecessor with his Constellia.

"Alright, stop! You win!" Pruthvi shouted, when the brief pain turned intense, his eyes bulging out, "Damn, you are tough!"

"Yes, my master!" Makara immediately pulled his hand back and sat straight in the chair as if tied with an invisible rope.

Pruthvi moaned dramatically, waving his wrist up and down to relax his constricted muscles in his arm. He slid back to lean against the wall behind his bed, pressing his palm and elbow to release the pain. He highly suspected a sprain or at least a torn muscle fibre in his right arm. It has been a while since anyone had defeated him in this game, especially since he was chosen to be the Samagraha. Things were changed now to drastic level. The one and only non-human being, physically stronger than him, actually existed. And it was the one right now accompanying him in this late hours of the night.

Arm wrestling with Makara- bad idea!

Pruthvi wasn't  feeling sleepy that night. His current condition surprised him as well. Everyone knew that Pruthvi can never, never be sleep deprived. But today it was otherwise, probably it was the result of being in a worried agitation towards the weird behaviour showcasing by his friend sleeping next door. And to just to keep his mind off the tension Tyrell Kissler was causing, he had called upon his recently discovered extension. Didn't Doctor say that they should try and get to know each other, make comfortable with each other's company? According to him, that was all he was trying to do.

"What in the world do you eat, dude?" He asked, "You must be the only person in the world capable of breaking a Nokia thirty-three ten with bare hands."

Makara said, showing a pinch of concern in his voice, "Are you okay, my master?"

"I am great," he said sarcastically, twisting his elbow, "Just worried about the little internal bleeding, thank you very much."

"You are welcome, my master," he replied, sincerely, "But you shouldn't feel the pain for a long time. My previous masters never did."

"Your previous masters must be immune to pain," Pruthvi commented rudely.

He suddenly felt a slight tinge of burning sensation. His skin beneath his pocket of his night pants itched. He scratched it away, getting irritated with the additional discomfort. He wasn't hungry, why in the world was his stone burning now?

"By the way," he said, trying to make a conversation till he fell asleep, "How were they?"

"Whom are you referring to, my master?" asked Makara, scratching his chin awkwardly.