Chapter 4: The Divine Tongue and a Shattered Shield

I am suddenly stunned. Golden characters twist into yantras, pressing down on the grand elder. Ananya, noticing my confusion, leans in, her voice low but steady. Her bangles tinkle softly as she gestures to the floating yantras, eyes never leaving the fight. “This is the Law Follows the Word. The Sakura Isles accepted a foreign clan as their master, so they can use other languages in battle—even summoning ancient figures from their own history to join the fight.”

Her words sting. Our mantras, our language, aren’t enough anymore? Shame and fear squeeze my chest.

Saito Goro, noticing my bewilderment, smirks:

“What are you staring at? Can a menial sevak like you even understand?”

I shrink back, feeling sweat trickle down my temple. My fingers clench the hem of my kurta tighter. Ananya’s jaw tightens, her nostrils flaring with anger she tries to hide. “Too strong. Without hundreds of years of sadhana, there’s no way to resist. Who would have thought the Sakura Isles had such a genius.”

But Bharat’s geniuses don’t live for centuries anymore. It’s a fatal flaw. With resources so scarce, even the most talented are buried before they bloom. The grand elder’s face is grave as he utters, with great effort:

“d~h~v~a~n~i, s~u~r~a, j~a~g~r~a~n”

He struggles, voice shaking, but the words hum with a power as old as the earth. I can almost taste the dust of ancient temples on my tongue. “Dhvani Sura Jagran.”

In the void, a cluster of golden light condenses, forming a bell with swirling letters and faint, haunting chants echoing in the air. The great bell descends, shielding the grand elder.

For a second, the ground vibrates, as if the bell’s resonance is shaking the very bones of the world. The chant lingers—strange and beautiful.

BANG—

A thunderous crash. The golden bell shatters instantly. The grand elder spits blood, collapsing to the ground. I stand there, frozen, as the aftershocks of battle roll past me.

The metallic tang of blood fills the air. Some younger sadhaks cover their mouths, trying not to scream. The earth sways under my feet. My mind races—this can’t be real. Our elder, our hope, destroyed in a single blow.

Wait—did he just use Hindi? So all those years of tuition classes might actually save my life?

Ananya raises her hand to shield us from the shockwave. I manage to stammer, “Is that the ancient divine tongue?” My question hangs in the air, heavy as a monsoon cloud.

“That’s right.”

Ananya nods, glancing at me with a sad smile. “Those three words, ‘Dhvani Sura Jagran’, took me a long time to master as well.”

Her voice is soft, almost wistful, and for a moment, she’s not the fierce leader but a young woman who’s borne too much, too soon. The faint scent of sandalwood lingers between us.