GAMES OF FATES (H.P/T.M.R)

vanishing act

Cassopiea jolted awake, her heart racing as the plane's wheels touched down on the tarmac. The voice of the air hostess crackled over the intercom, announcing their arrival in Kathmandu, Nepal. She rubbed her eyes, still groggy from her nap, and adjusted her seatbelt. As she looked out the window, the majestic peaks of the Himalayas greeted her, their snow-capped summits glowing in the early morning light. A sense of awe filled her; she was finally here, on the doorstep of Shambhala.

Instinctively, her hand drifted to her slightly swollen belly, a gesture of reassurance for both her and her unborn child. She let her fingers rest there for a moment, feeling the gentle life within her, a secret known only to her closest confidants. The thought of what lay ahead both excited and terrified her, but she was determined. This journey was as much for her child as it was for her—a chance to escape the turmoil of her past and find a sanctuary where they could both heal and grow.

Her attention shifted to the heavy tome resting in her lap, its pages filled with the legends and lore of Shambhala. She had been reading about this mystical place when sleep had claimed her, drawing her into dreams filled with swirling mists and hidden temples. Now, fully awake, she smiled as she resumed her reading. According to Hindu belief, Shambhala was the birthplace of the 10th avatar of Vishnu, the Protector, who would one day come to restore balance to the world. Cassopiea didn’t know much about that, but the idea of such a place offering sanctuary to the Girl-Who-Lived was a comforting one. She chuckled softly to herself at the thought, her lips curving into a smile as she closed the book.

Disembarking the plane, Cassopiea was immediately enveloped by the humid air of Kathmandu. The city was a vibrant cacophony of sounds, colors, and scents, so different from the dreary, mist-shrouded streets of London. She could hear the distant chime of temple bells, the honking of rickshaws weaving through the crowded streets, and the melodic chatter of Nepali vendors peddling their wares. The rich scent of spices, incense, and earth mingled in the air, intoxicating in its unfamiliarity. Cassopiea breathed it in deeply, feeling the weight of her worries begin to lift.

She hailed a taxi outside the airport, a battered old vehicle that looked like it had seen better days, but the driver greeted her with a warm smile that set her at ease. The drive through the city was a sensory feast. The streets were alive with activity—vendors selling fruits and vegetables from colorful carts, women in bright saris carrying baskets on their heads, and children playing in the dusty roads. The buildings, a mix of ancient temples and modern constructions, were adorned with intricate wood carvings and fluttering prayer flags. The flags, in vivid shades of red, blue, green, and yellow, danced in the breeze, carrying prayers to the heavens.

Cassopiea watched in silent wonder as they passed by the temples, their golden spires gleaming in the sunlight. The city was steeped in an ancient spirituality that felt almost tangible, as if the very air was alive with the whispers of gods and goddesses. She wondered if this was what magic felt like in this part of the world—woven into the fabric of everyday life, unseen yet deeply felt.

After what seemed both like a brief and an eternal journey, the taxi pulled up in front of her hotel, a modest establishment nestled in a quieter corner of the bustling city. The façade was simple, yet welcoming, with small potted plants lining the entrance and a prayer wheel mounted beside the door. Cassopiea paid the driver and stepped out, taking a moment to appreciate the serenity of the place before heading inside.

Her room was small but comfortable, with a large window offering a stunning view of the distant mountains. As she set her belongings down, her thoughts turned to the journey ahead. The trek to Shambhala would begin in the morning, and she felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness fluttering in her chest. Sirius had wanted to come with her, to protect her as he always did, but the ancient teachings of Shambhala were clear—each student had to make the journey alone, guided only by their own will and destiny. Those destined to find Shambhala, it was said, would automatically be drawn to its hidden path.