Chapter Text
The world was water. Varadha's eyes weren't made for this. All that feels real is the rage like the molten center of the earth, swimming inside him. He didn’t even know who to curse. It was murky in his memory. Faces erased. Stories like someone had run their fingers through them. A faceless wife, with lips of poison. And her lover laughing, covered in darkness, as he slid his knife into Varadha’s chest to finish him off.
All these years. All that duty. All that blood spent for his strength. All these things he’d done, and what had it all came to?
He was left with a life so fragile, all it took to break was a bit of kindness made filthy through deceit. A father like an asteroid, powerful and destructive. A brother whose face he couldn’t remember, even though he was like Varadha’s own child. Had he survived Varadha’s failures?
The city moves through him, clamors with shouting vendors, playing children, and screaming cars. Everything is dialed down one shade, but somehow, he is more invisible to them than they are to him. Like he was living at the bottom of an early spring lake. Trying to come alive again.
The sun comes up, fall down. Does he move? Does he stay still?
It could be years, and he wouldn’t be surprised. The world fades like the light can’t reach him anymore.
A cricket ball lands next to his feet. A tall man bends down to pick it up. His face is in perfect clarity. In his eyes, an echo of Varadha’s pain.
“Nice hit, ra!” He shouts at the boys he’s playing in. It’s like frost melting.
“Hurry up, Deva!” The boys shout at him when he stands still for a moment. Like he can feel... something.
Deva is like a technicolor movie. It hurts his eyes.
When they leave, Varadha moves, follows after Deva like he can’t stop, melting water plummeting down a mountain.