Capítulo 15: Chapter 15
Ragu's heart pounded like a drum in his chest as he hurtled through the labyrinthine streets of the ancient city. His pursuers, the relentless guards of Karthikeya, were hot on his heels, their heavy footfalls echoing ominously in the stillness of the night.
Ragu's gaze darted frantically around him, taking in fleeting glimpses of the city's storied past - ancient shrines, weathered temples, and silent sentinels that stood as silent witnesses to his adrenaline-fueled pursuit. The occasional startled onlooker glanced up from their evening rituals, their expressions a mix of curiosity and alarm as the chase thundered past them.
With each passing second, Ragu felt the net tightening around him, the thunderous clamor of the guards leaving him scant moments for respite. His chest heaved with ragged gasps as he careened through the maze of alleyways, the steady, thudding footfalls of his pursuers a relentless reminder of the danger that lurked close behind.
Just when Ragu thought he could no outrun his pursuers, a twist of fate intervened. As he rounded a sharp corner, he stumbled over an uneven cobblestone, his feet slipping on the slick surface of a weathered rock. The world spun around him as he tumbled uncontrollably down a short, treacherous slope, his body colliding with the unforgiving earth with a sickening thud.
Pain shot through Ragu's limbs as he lay sprawled on the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He tried to rise, but his muscles refused to obey, betraying him in his moment of need.
Not far from where Ragu lay, a serene congregation of monks engaged in their evening prayers, their tranquil reverie interrupted by the sudden disruption. With a pained groan, Ragu attempted to rise again, only to find his body betraying him once more.
The monks, their collective trance broken, turned their attention to the fallen figure with a blend of concern and curiosity. One of the younger monks, his heart filled with compassion, was poised to offer aid before being gestured to halt by an elder among them.
The elder monk's hesitation wasn't born of heartlessness but of prudence. He recognized the Chola guards approaching with the same weary determination etched on their faces as Ragu's. The elder sensed the delicate balance of power at play, the simmering tension between the fugitive and his pursuers.
As the guards surrounded Ragu, their armored forms casting long shadows under the scorching sun, a hush fell over the scene. The monks, their faces now etched with apprehension, watched the unfolding confrontation with a mix of resignation and empathy.
The guards, their breaths still ragged from the chase, drew their weapons, their determination unwavering. Ragu, his body still protesting from the fall, braced himself for what was to come.
The tense stand-off continued, the air thick with anticipation. The guards, their eyes fixed on Ragu, awaited their next command. The monks, their silent prayers echoing in their minds, offered solace to the weary souls.
Then, with a curt nod from their leader, the guards apprehended Ragu, their movements swift and efficient. The drama culminated in a moment of quiet surrender, the fugitive finally cornered beneath the watchful gaze of the tranquil monks.
"If the majesty takes you to prison," one of the guards muttered through gritted teeth, "you better hope for the best." The guard's voice was laced with a mixture of frustration and pity, his words a stark reminder of the fate that awaited Ragu.
Had it not been for Karthikeya's explicit instructions to capture Ragu unharmed, the guard would have gladly inflicted some form of punishment on the man. But for now, he could only vent his anger in a few muttered words, his duty fulfilled, his task complete.
The young monk's question echoed the confusion and concern that had been building within him since the arrival of the Chola guards and Ragu's apprehension. His heart ached for the injured fugitive, and he couldn't reconcile the harsh reality of their situation with the teachings of compassion and non-violence that were the cornerstone of their monastic life.
"Why can we help him?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.
The elder monk, his face etched with wisdom and experience, turned to the young disciple with a gentle smile. "We can't, young monk," he replied, his voice soft yet firm. "These are turbulent times, and all we can do is pray and provide some assistance within our capabilities."
His words, though simple, carried a profound weight. The elder was not denying the importance of compassion; rather, he was acknowledging the limitations of their position and the need to navigate the complexities of the world with prudence.
The young monk absorbed his mentor's words, his mind struggling to reconcile the ideal with the reality. He had always believed in the power of compassion to mend hearts and resolve conflicts, but the harsh realities of the world seemed to challenge his convictions.
As the Chola guards led Ragu away, the young monk could only watch, his heart filled with a mixture of empathy and helplessness. He knew that their prayers would accompany Ragu, and that the monks would do whatever they could to provide him with comfort and support. But he also knew that their actions were limited, that they could not shield Ragu from the harsh realities of the world.
The elder monk placed a comforting hand on the young monk's shoulder, sensing his turmoil. "Remember, young monk," he said, "our compassion is not a weapon to be wielded, but a light to be kindled in the darkness. We may not be able to change the world, but we can illuminate the path for others."
The young monk nodded, his heart still heavy but his spirit renewed.
The air crackled with anticipation as Ragu, battered and exhausted, was brought before Karthikeya. The street was teeming with onlookers, a mix of commoners, nobles, and even a handful of monks who had followed Ragu's trail. The tension was palpable, the weight of justice and duty hanging heavy in the atmosphere.
Ragu, his once proud posture now slumped and defeated, collapsed to his knees as the guards released their grip on his arms. His disheveled appearance, a stark contrast to his usual regal bearing, spoke volumes of the ordeal he had endured.
Karthikeya, his piercing gaze fixed upon Ragu, stood tall and imposing, his presence radiating an aura of power and authority. The scene was one of stark contrasts, the fallen fugitive kneeling at the feet of the mighty king.
A hush fell over the crowd as Karthikeya's voice cut through the silence, his words amplified by the weight of his position. "Ragu," he began, his voice laced with helplessness , "you have been apprahended for a grave offenses against the crown. Your actions could have caused unrest and threatened the very stability of this kingdom bring more chaos to it."
Ragu, his head bowed low, remained silent, his thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of fear, defiance, and a glimmer of hope. He knew the gravity of his situation, the consequences of his actions hanging like a noose around his neck.
The crowd held its breath, their eyes darting between the fallen assassin and the imposing king. The weight of justice hung heavy in the air, the fate of Ragu hanging by a thread.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder