The mountain wind bit at their faces.
Snow drifted sideways like shards of glass, slicing through the thin silence of the Himalayan borderlands.
There were no cities here anymore—only frost, stone, and echoes.
The path had ended hours ago, but they kept walking. The compass on Neel's wrist flickered, refusing to stabilize. Aarav's breath came out in short clouds. Parth led ahead, his eyes scanning the horizon until finally, the mist thinned—revealing a small plateau where an ancient hut stood, half-swallowed by snow.
A solitary figure chopped wood outside it, his arms still as marble, his presence heavier than the cold around them.
---
The Hermit of the North
"Are you sure it's him?" Neel whispered.
"Who else would live here?" Parth muttered.
As they approached, the man turned. His beard was streaked with white, his eyes glowed faintly golden under the stormlight. There was a scar running across his left arm, and yet—something divine stirred beneath that mortal shell.
He looked straight at Parth, unblinking.
> "Leave. I do not meet travelers anymore."
His voice carried both power and fatigue—like thunder muffled by time.
Parth bowed slightly. "We didn't come as travelers. We came seeking your guidance, Maharishi Parashurama."
The man froze for a moment, his axe stopping mid-swing. The silence stretched thin before he spoke again, tone sharper.
> "Names are meaningless unless the bearer knows their worth. You—who are you three?"
Aarav stepped forward. "I am Sahadeva reborn."
Neel added softly, "I am Yuyutsu."
Parth hesitated, then lifted his gaze. "And I am Arjun."
The hermit stared at them long, long enough for the wind itself to bow away.
Then he smiled faintly.
> "I know that already."
The three exchanged a confused glance.
> "If you already knew," Parth began, "then why refuse to see us?"
Parashurama leaned his axe against the wall.
> "Because knowing a name is not the same as knowing a soul.
If you are who you claim to be, prove it.
Answer my questions—not with memory, but with truth."
---
The Test
He gestured for them to sit.
The ground was frozen, but none of them protested.
To Parth, he asked first:
> "A warrior stands before his enemy—but his heart trembles because that enemy once shared his blood.
What should he do?"
The question struck deeper than Parth expected. For a heartbeat, faces flickered behind his eyes—Karna's, Duryodhana's, his own.
He took a slow breath.
> "He should fight not the man, but the darkness within him.
For dharma is not about who bleeds, but what survives after the blood dries."
Parashurama's lips curved faintly. "So the bow remembers its string."
Then, he turned to Aarav.
> "Knowledge is both gift and curse.
Tell me, child, what happens when the one who knows the end chooses silence?"
The air trembled. Aarav's fingers clenched around his knees.
He answered quietly, eyes downcast.
> "He carries the weight of mercy.
Because truth, spoken too soon, can kill faith before the war begins."
The sage's eyes glimmered, ancient recognition in them.
Finally, he faced Neel.
> "A man born between two sides—light and shadow—must choose his path.
Tell me, which side does he belong to?"
Neel met his gaze without fear.
> "To neither. To truth.
For the side that holds truth in that moment is dharma."
For the first time, Parashurama smiled—truly smiled. The snow around them seemed to still, as if listening.
> "So the echoes remember their source," he murmured.
"The world has grown deaf to such answers. Perhaps not all is lost."
---
He rose, the frost crunching beneath his feet.
> "Go now. Return to the shore where the Lord still breathes through stone and silence—Puri.
The wheel turns there once more."
Parth frowned. "But what awaits us there?"
Parashurama didn't answer. He only turned toward the horizon where the sun glowed faintly through the storm.
The three bowed to touch his feet.
The moment Aarav's fingers brushed against them—
—his body stiffened.
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into the snow.
> "Aarav!" Parth shouted, kneeling beside him.
Neel shook him, panic in his voice. "He's not responding!"
But Parashurama didn't move. His expression didn't change.
He spoke softly, as if to himself.
> "He has seen what even gods dread to see."
Parth looked up, stunned. "What do you mean? What did you—"
> "He is fine," Parashurama said calmly. "Take your friend and start your journey to Puri.
He will wake when the world allows him to."
The wind howled again, covering the sage's voice in whispers.
By the time they lifted Aarav between them and turned back,
the hut behind them was gone.
Only a single axe stood upright in the snow—its blade gleaming faintly like molten gold.
And above them, the storm clouds began to circle—
—as if something enormous had just stirred beneath the mountains.
----