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

the destination

After the fleeting contact with Marvolo through the astral plane, Cassopiea Victoria Potter felt more isolated than ever. The trek she had embarked upon after leaving Pokhara, with her destination being the elusive Shambhala Vidyashrama, seemed increasingly perilous and lonely. Initially, she had set off with a group of Muggles, but as the days passed and the terrain grew more rugged, she found herself alone, their paths having diverged. Nearly a week into her journey, she arrived at a riverside, which she believed to be a tributary of the sacred Ganga. The water was crystal clear, and as she bent to drink, she felt a strange tug on her magic—a sensation both alien and familiar, urging her to follow it.

Instinctively, Pia obeyed the pull, but what she found disturbed her. Bones—ancient, yellowed with time—lay scattered across her path. The further she ventured, the more bones she encountered, creating a macabre trail leading to an old, abandoned structure. It had the air of a dormitory, a place where people once lived, learned, or perhaps worshiped, but now it was nothing more than a graveyard. Pia couldn’t shake the feeling that this place had witnessed something horrific—a massacre, perhaps, to conceal a great secret or protect a hidden truth. Her mind buzzed with theories as she cautiously explored the remnants of the forgotten sanctuary.

On the other side of what she had dubbed the Ashram of Bones, Pia found a narrow pathway leading deeper into the dense forest. The path looked unpromising, almost foreboding, but there was no other direction to go. She continued forward, her backpack secured on her back, her trunk levitating quietly behind her. With her arms curled protectively around her growing belly, she walked for hours until she reached what seemed to be a dead end—a waterfall cascading down into a small pool below. Exhausted, she decided to rest near the waterfall, pulling out some parathas and sabji from her supplies. The simple Indian flatbread and the spicy vegetable curry had been preserved with magic to last the journey, providing her with a comforting taste of home.

As Pia ate, she noticed movement from the corner of her eye. A crocodile, a baru  darrowi —an extinct species from miocene, North of Australia, she realized with shock—emerged from the water and slowly approached her. Instinctively, she prepared to defend herself, wand at the ready, but the creature simply tugged at the paratha in her hand, its large eyes reflecting a strange intelligence.

“Dantih nahi!” Pia heard a command sharply, the voice steady despite her surprise. The crocodile paused, almost pouting in response at the reprimand.

Before she could react, an old man appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He was ancient, older than Dumbledore, possibly older than time itself, his presence radiating an aura of profound wisdom. He spoke in a language Pia did not recognize, but she quickly cast a translation charm upon herself and understood his words.

“Forgive me, daughter,” the old man said, his voice kind yet firm. “This boy has been growing more mischievous by the day.”

Pia blinked, her wand still at the ready. “Do you live with him?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I live with all the creatures of this forest, my child,” the man replied serenely. “I am one with the forest. But you do not seem to belong here. Tell me, what do you seek, O traveler?”

“Shambhala,” Cassopiea answered with a smile, though her heart was pounding.

At the mention of Shambhala, the old man’s eyes took on a distant, almost ethereal look. “Follow the Himalayan winds that blow, to the land of snows where the wisdom grows. Seek the valley of the rising sun’s rays, and find Shambhala on the path of enlightened ways.”

Pia tilted her head, trying to decipher the riddle hidden in his words. “Who are you, and why are you here?” she asked, suspicion lacing her voice.

The old man smiled, a mysterious twinkle in his eye. “I am here for my duty, which is one—wait until the songs of the Savior are sung. A teacher I was to the bravest of the Aryas. From Dwapar to Kali, they call me Kripacharya.”

And with that, both the man and the crocodile vanished, leaving Pia alone by the waterfall, her mind racing with questions and her heart heavy with the weight of destiny.

Cassopiea’s breath caught in her throat as she noticed something she hadn’t seen before—an opening behind the waterfall. Heart pounding, she rushed forward, her instincts driving her into the hidden crevice. The air was thick with moisture, and as she stepped inside, a sense of dread washed over her. The small chamber bore signs of a horrific past—chains hanging from the walls, deep scratches etched into the stone, and remnants of old bloodstains. It looked as though someone had been tortured here, a thought that made her stomach churn.

"Gods!" she thought, her mind racing with the possibilities of what had occurred in this forsaken place. But she couldn’t linger. Pushing herself to move forward, she emerged from the other side of the waterfall, greeted by a sight that took her breath away—the majestic peaks of the Himalayas, towering and ancient, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Despite the terror that the hidden chamber had instilled in her, this view filled her with a renewed sense of purpose. She was nearing her destination; she could feel it in the depths of her soul.

With a determined resolve, Cassopiea continued her journey. The terrain was unforgiving, her feet aching with every step. After hours of walking, she reached a tranquil lakeside, the water so clear that she could see every pebble at the bottom. She hesitated for only a moment before crossing, the cold water sending shivers up her spine. But when she emerged on the other side, the world seemed to shift around her.

The air was scorching hot, a sharp contrast to the cool waters she had just waded through. The searing heat was almost unbearable, but Pia pressed on, her mind flashing back to the many burns and scalds she had endured as a child at the hands of her aunt. This pain was familiar, almost comforting in its intensity, and it did nothing to slow her pace.

However, as she climbed further, exhaustion began to take its toll. Her limbs felt heavy, her vision blurred, and the oppressive heat seemed to sap the last of her strength. Finally, she reached what seemed to be another dead end—a solid wall of rock standing in her path. Despair gripped her heart as she realized there was no way forward.

She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she touched the cold, unyielding stone. " why had she come all this way?" she wondered. "Was Sambhala truly not a part of her destiny?" She had survived so much, endured pain and loss, but now, at the end of this impossible journey, she felt utterly defeated. Maybe she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, made a mistake that led her astray. Her heart heavy with sorrow, she began to turn back, ready to admit defeat.

But then, just as she was about to leave, she heard a voice—soft, soothing, and filled with warmth. "Welcome to Shambhala, my child," the voice said.

Cassopiea looked up in surprise, but before she could respond, her body gave in to the exhaustion that had been threatening to overwhelm her. Darkness clouded her vision as she felt herself fainting, and the last thing she saw was the gentle face of a woman catching her as she collapsed into her arms.

Finally, after all the pain, fear, and doubt, she had reached her destination.