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The book of destiny

  Aman remained oblivious to the silent drama unfolding in his bookshelf. Exhaustion had finally claimed him, and he lay on the sofa in a daze. waiting for the familiar comfort of Sophie's tea. Behind the swinging door of the kitchen, Sophie moved with a terrifying grace.

  Aman's kitchen was a minimalist haven , utensils were kept in obsessive order, from the ceramic mugs, to the cast iron pans. The wooden cabinet were stacked with spices, fresh vegetables, and a hidden stash of premium whiskey. It was a room of logic and nourishment. As the water began to boil, Sophie reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small shriveled plant. It looked dead, brittle and brown, like something plucked from a grave.

  But the moment she dropped into the boiling water, the liquid transformed. it didn't turn brown like tea: it bled a vibrant unnatural green. The plant melted instantly, dissolving like a sugar into a solution, Not even a bloodhound could have detected the change in scent. in the living room, the "fever of fate" finally pulled Aman under.

  As he drifted into sleep, the electric jolt that had been humming in his veins since the surgery returned with a vengeance. It settled in his wrist, stinging like a thousand needles. Suddenly Aman felt weightless. He was floating among clouds that felt thick and suffocating when he looked down, didn't see the city of Banaras he saw a vast, endless ocean of red.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  It was the color of fresh arterial blood. The red began to fade, and gravity reclaimed him. He fell through the crimson mist, screaming silently, until he slammed into a hard, tiled floor. The scene shifted instantly. He was back in the operating theater.

  The room was freezing. The shadows were longer, darker. He looked across the table, expecting to see Sophie's reassuring presence, but he was alone. It was just him and the monk like patient. Aman's eyes drifted to the patient's arm. The skin was pale, not the healthy paleness of a living man, but a translucent, ghostly white.

  And there etched into the patient's wrist, was the mark. It was a snake, it's scales shimmering with a metallic sheen. But the most disturbing part wasn.t the serpent itself; it was the eyes. The snake had deep piercing blue eyes, the exact same shade as Sophie's

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