The storm was gone. But the echoes remained.
Waves of scorched mantra still shimmered in the air like lingering heat. The sand around the fallen Herald's blade had blackened into glass. Ash and lightning residue mixed, forming crystalline streaks across the battlefield.
Astha stood alone before the embedded sword—no longer glowing, no longer alive. His cloak fluttered in the dry breeze. Smritidhaara had cooled, its embered chain wrapped back around his arm like a sleeping serpent.
Behind him, Luv limped forward, his armor cracked but holding. Sparks flickered along his knuckles.
"That wasn't a test," Luv muttered.
Astha didn't move.
"It was a summons."
Luv's brows drew together. "A what?"
"He wanted us to be seen," Astha said. "By someone else."
Luv looked toward the far horizon. Seven more rifts—thin but growing—flickered in the distance like slits in divine parchment.
And then Naira arrived.
---
[Regroup]
She dropped from a sigil of golden wind, robes torn, her mantra-weaving arms bandaged in sacred cloth. She looked at both of them—read the damage with a healer's eyes.
"You're hurt," she said.
"We're standing," Astha replied. "That's enough."
Naira stepped closer to the glass-etched ground and knelt by the blade left behind. Her fingers hovered over its hilt but didn't touch.
"This blade… it still holds something. A link."
Luv crossed his arms. "To who? The real Sharvaka?"
Naira nodded. "This was an extension. A divine channel. Whoever he is… he used this to judge us."
"Then he got his answer," Luv said.
"No," Astha interrupted. "He got our measure."
He looked at the sigils burning in the sky.
"And now he's rewriting the rules."
---
[What is Sharvaka?]
They made camp beneath a half-buried colossus, the ribs of a fallen sky-titan offering partial shelter from the winds. A memory-fire burned at the center, flames flickering through shades of white and violet.
Naira sat closest, tracing a diagram into the dust with mantra-ink.
"Sharvaka," she began, "is not a god. He's what the gods send when their laws are broken."
Astha's eyes narrowed.
"An enforcer."
"Yes. But older than law itself."
She tapped the center of her glyph—a spiral that spun in reverse.
"Even among the divine, there are codes. Forbidden actions. Treacheries too ancient to name. When those lines are crossed, he is sent."
Luv leaned back, gaze cold.
"So the gods needed someone they feared more than each other."
Astha's voice was low.
"They built a weapon… and gave it a name."
---
[A Name Forgotten]
"What is Sharvaka, really?" Astha asked, eyes fixed on the fire.
Naira hesitated.
"The scriptures don't agree. Some say he's the soul of an ancient god whose body was too dangerous to burn. Others say he's the final product of a Vedic curse that absorbed all divine betrayal into one vessel."
"And his mask?" Luv asked.
Naira's voice grew quieter.
"He wears the faces of those he judges."
Astha exhaled slowly. His gaze flicked to Smritidhaara, which now pulsed faintly.
"That means he knows me."
Naira nodded.
"He remembers you—even if you were erased."
---
[Preparation]
They didn't sleep.
Instead, they meditated, reforged broken mantra weaves, and prepared. Luv inscribed a thunder seal onto his armor's chestplate—golden script shaped like a roaring storm cloud. Naira mixed divine ashes with oil to mark protective wards around their resting site.
And Astha sat still. Cloak draped over his knees. Eyes closed. Breathing slow.
But inside his mind, a storm brewed.
Fragments of Sharvaka's herald's voice rang like bells in his bones. The word erased returned again and again.
Not forgotten.
Erased.
As if someone had stolen even the memory of who he had been. Who his people were.
"Not this time," Astha whispered to himself. "I will not be erased again."
Then Smritidhaara stirred—chains lifting faintly, as if hearing an oath.
---
[Closing Scene]
At dawn, the sigils in the sky cracked once more. This time, they formed a ring. A burning one.
From within it, a voice echoed down—not spoken, but declared:
"Astha of the Ash Path. Luv, Scion of Thunder. You have trespassed against divine order."
"In seven days' time, the Arbiter shall descend."
"Prepare your justifications. Or your graves."
And then silence.
Only the fire, and the slow burn of resolve in Astha's eyes.