(Book 4) Hayden Mackay and The Fest of Vrindahina

33. Fallout

"Let's get this over with," said Tyrell, "so we can all go home. Give me the stone and I'll leave."

For how long Pruthvi had been waiting for this moment to get together and his dear friend was already talking about separation. The parrot, Maruti, sitting on his shoulder flapped its wings, flew over his head and screeched, "Nazi! Nazi!" before it winged swiftly and desperately towards the entrance door leaving the palace. Pruthvi watched it fly away from the corner of his eye and he unwillingly let it go, for the one standing in front him held his greater interest.

The temperature seemed to drop for real. Somehow it didn't feel as moderate as the day before. The ventilation in the great hall was indispensable to allow the sun's heat to penetrate. This disappearance of Maruti and the sudden shift in the weather- an inkling surged through Pruthvi's brain-wires about what must be happening in the world outside.

He watched the one thoroughly, the one who had always seen the fun in anything and everything. The laughs and the smiles, the gloom and doom, everything they had went together. Pruthvi frowned watching those damp eyes that were gently flicking back and forth, Tyrell's gaze wandering all around the great hall in search for someone whose safety had always been a top priority.

"Home?" Pruthvi said, raising a single eyebrow, "Oh right, are you talking about the one you destroyed?"

"You are free to blame me as much as you want," Tyrell replied, dismissively, now keeping his eyes fixed at Pruthvi, "That's your personal opinion which I couldn't care less. Just give me the damn stone."

"What's the rush?" Pruthvi asked, inhaling the festering smell, "we have a score to settle first."

"I knew you were looking forward to it," said Tyrell, and then added with a mocking voice, "Believe me, I have no intention to, Afraz Khan."

Tyrell's mouth twisted in a humourless smile and he winked. Pruthvi gritted his teeth. Hearing that name, it reminded him of the one to whom he had shown the death's doors. He balled a hard fist but restrained himself from doing what he wanted to. He swallowed the bile forming in his throat and his anger for what Tyrell, in the form of Rahu, had done to their academy, to the innocent people of the country on the day of Fest, and not to mention- the Clan of Matsyasvi. 

He was still on the fence about choosing the way he thought was easier. Leena's crumpled face spouting her inconsolable tears was what had thrown him in dilemma. Of far more vital importance he needed to give right now was to take Tyrell back to Doctor-with or without his soul awakened.

"Tyrell," he said, his eyes moistening as he watched his friend intently, "I know you are somewhere there, trying to get..."

"Stop the nonsense," interrupted Tyrell, firmly yet sounding casual, "The guy you knew is dead, he isn't listening to you. The sooner you all realise it, better off we all will be. Standing in front of you is someone who doesn't care about anyone and anything but me. No feelings, no compassion, no emotions. Just me, mine and myself."

Pruthvi scoffed and nodded. "You are saying you don't feel anything?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Not even for your friends?"

"Not even for Leena."

That was it. His sheer impassiveness and outright lie to evade the possibility of rousing his soul... Pruthvi was now off the fence.

Smack!

He had his fist tightened all along before he punched Tyrell right in the jaw. His agile movement caused his friend to swivel aside. Tyrell staggered backwards, slightly moaning, his upper body bent a little low.