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

Swirling confusions

Just as his words settled in the air, Cassopiea’s mind was still wrestling with them. Her hand instinctively brought the honey and milk drink to her lips, but as she sipped, it caught her off guard. The warm sweetness turned bitter in her mouth, and suddenly, the drink sputtered out, splashing across the stone floor. Her eyes widened as the liquid pooled around her feet, and she stared down at the mess with the same confused expression she had worn for the past few moments.

She glanced up at Ashwatthama, still processing his words. "Fellow immortal?" she repeated, the words sounding odd, as if they were foreign to her own ears. "You look like a deer caught in headlights," she added, trying to lighten the mood, but her voice trembled slightly. She wiped the remnants of the drink from her mouth, her fingers still shaking from the shock of it all.

Ashwatthama’s expression didn't shift, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, did I startle you?" he teased, though the sarcasm laced in his voice was unmistakable. "What, you didn’t know? How quaint."

Her head tilted in confusion as she processed his mocking tone. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or just toying with her. "I mean, you’re telling me I’m immortal. You don't expect me to be shocked?"

Ashwatthama chuckled softly, and the sound seemed to echo in the cave, sharp and sardonic. "Immortal, eh? You don’t even know what it means, do you? That’s adorable.” He leaned back casually against the stone wall, his posture almost lazy as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell in her lap. “It means you can never die, sweetheart," he said, his tone almost tender but too mocking to be taken seriously. "Not ever. And you’re stuck with it. Forever."

Cassopiea blinked, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of his words. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. "I... What?" she stammered, her voice faltering. She looked around, her hands instinctively clutching the stone beside her, as though searching for something solid to anchor herself to.

"Well, there it is. The Mistress of Death thing," Ashwatthama added with a lazy shrug. "Pretty fancy title, huh? Though, you might want to get used to it. Seems to be attached to you like a leech.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. "Mistress of Death?" she repeated again, the words barely a whisper, as if she were trying to convince herself it was some bizarre joke. "That’s what you mean by... immortality?"

"Uh-huh," Ashwatthama answered, unbothered, his voice almost dripping with sarcasm. “You know, in the grand scheme of things, being immortal does tend to come with perks. Of course, it also means you’ll have plenty of time to reflect on everything you ever did wrong. But hey, don’t let me spoil it.”

Cassopiea shook her head as if trying to clear the fog. Her gaze dropped down to her hands, trembling now, though she couldn’t quite explain why. "What do you mean by that? What is this?" Her voice was rising, growing more frantic, but her confusion clung to her like a heavy cloak. She had come here on a mission, hadn’t she? She had been looking for answers, looking for someone who could help her. But now, none of this made sense.

Ashwatthama raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the confusion he had stirred. “Oh, calm down, child. Drink your drink—try to calm down a bit.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as if scrutinizing her. “Seems like you’ve got a lot to catch up on, doesn’t it?”

Cassopiea opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to collect herself. She had been on a mission, after all. She had to remind herself of that. "I... I was on a mission," she muttered, still lost. “To find him. To find the master.” Her voice faltered slightly as she looked at him, hoping he would offer some sense of direction, something—anything—to latch onto.

"Oh, that old man," Ashwatthama replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"You mean, the immortal master?" She asked startled at his tone that was so casual it bordered on mockery, as if the existence of master—this godlike figure—was no big deal. “Yeah, yeah, him. Didn’t think you’d be so confused about it.”Ashwatthama then gave a lazy grin, clearly entertained by her disorientation. “You’re one of those Shambhala kids, aren’t you?”

Cassopiea felt a flicker of recognition—Shambhala. Of course. The mysterious academy that had trained so many before her. She nodded, though it felt more like a reflex than any true understanding. "Yes, I’m a student at Shambhala. Is that what you mean?" Her voice was edged with frustration now, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“Ah, I see," Ashwatthama said with a slight chuckle. "Shambhala. Those people—they know how to get kids like you into trouble, don’t they?"

Cassopiea felt a surge of anger at his dismissiveness. "What’s that supposed to mean?" she snapped, though her voice wavered.

Ashwatthama's eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in, his gaze intense. "It means, child, if you prove yourself, I’ll take you to Parshuram myself.” He smirked, as if the task were some simple, trivial thing. "Prove yourself, and maybe—maybe—he’ll have a little chat with you.”

Her brow furrowed. "Prove myself? What do you mean?" The world felt like it was slipping further away from her grasp.

Ashwatthama let out a dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the question was too much for him. "Did you really think it was going to be that easy to get to Parshuram? He’s not just some immortal old man," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "He's a reincarnation of a god. The god who cursed me."

Cassopiea froze. "What?" she whispered, the words barely leaving her lips. A god? Parshuram? The god who cursed him? Her mind reeled. This couldn’t be real, could it?

Ashwatthama chuckled, the sound dark and knowing. "Yeah, that god. He’s Parshuram. Sixth avatar of Lord Narayan, the one who gave me this little... curse." His words dripped with bitterness. "And now he’s the one who’ll give you your answers, if you can manage to prove yourself."

Cassopiea's head spun. "I— I don’t understand..." she whispered, almost pleading. The shock of it all was too much, too overwhelming. Her heart raced, and her hand instinctively went to her belly, feeling the small, delicate life within her. "I need to find him. I need to know what this means... for my child. Please, I need answers."

Ashwatthama’s gaze softened, though only slightly, as if he were seeing her for the first time. "You will learn. In time. But first—rest, child," he said, his voice now quieter, though still with an edge of sardonic humor. "There’s much to be unveiled, and you’ve got so much to learn."

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing. He was right—there was so much she didn’t know. So much she needed to learn. But she was running out of time. For her child, she had to find a way to unravel this chaos. "I... I don’t know if I can wait," she murmured, her voice breaking. But as her eyelids fluttered closed, exhaustion finally overtook her. Maybe in the morning, she’d have more answers. Or maybe—just maybe—she’d have the courage to seek them out herself.

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HOPE ALL OF IT MAKES SENSE!