Vindhya Mountains — Nightfall
Night had fully claimed the Vindhya Mountains.
As the royal entourage climbed higher, the air grew colder with every step. Fierce winds howled through the rocky terrain, echoing like distant voices across the cliffs. At the mountain's peak, Maharaja Virendra Yadev sat upon his chariot, his posture composed yet alert. Beside him rode Commander Bhanuraj on horseback, while rows of soldiers stood behind them—silent, watchful.
All eyes were fixed on the entrance of a massive cave.
Its mouth lay swallowed by shadow, carved into the mountain like a wound that had never healed.
Standing guard before it was a towering figure—an Aghori with a powerful frame and eyes that burned with an unsettling intensity. His wild presence stood in sharp contrast to the stillness of the mountain, as if chaos itself had chosen him as its sentinel.
Commander Bhanuraj dismounted, stepping forward with authority tempered by respect.
"Please," he said firmly, a note of urgency beneath his calm,
"allow us passage. Our Maharaj seeks an audience with the revered Baba."
The guard did not move.
His gaze remained steady as stone.
In a deep, unyielding voice, Balu replied,
"Only the one who has come to meet Baba may enter."
The words hung heavy in the air.
Without hesitation, Maharaja Virendra rose from the chariot. He left his attendants behind and walked forward alone, his resolve clear with every step, toward the dark mouth of the cave.
As he entered, the air thickened—heavy with the scent of smoke and incense. Shadows clung to the rocky passage, twisting along the walls like living things. Torches burned at intervals, their flames flickering and guiding him deeper into the mountain's heart.
Each step carried him further from the world he ruled…
and closer to truths he had long refused to face.
After walking a little farther, he saw him.
An Aghori sat upon a high slab of stone, elevated above the cave floor. His eyes were closed in deep meditation. His face was calm—ancient, weathered, as though it carried the weight of countless secrets across lifetimes.
Maharaja Virendra stepped forward cautiously.
Before he could speak, the Aghori's voice rose—calm yet resonant—echoing through the cave.
"Welcome, O King."
Virendra froze.
Startled, he looked up, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Incredible," the Maharaja said, his voice edged with astonishment.
"Your eyes are closed. How did you know I was approaching?"
The Aghori laughed—a deep, unrestrained laugh that rolled through the cavern like distant thunder.
"Mahadev has granted me the eyes of the mind," Bhairav said, his voice steady once more.
"I saw you through them."
He gestured toward the fire burning between them.
"Do not waste what little time you value, King. Come. Stand before this flame. Between you and me lies this fire pit."
His tone sharpened—not threatening, but absolute.
"Now tell me," Bhairav continued,
"what dilemma burdens your life?"
Virendra exhaled slowly. The weight he had carried for so long finally surfaced.
"What can I say, Baba…" he began, his voice heavy with despair.
"My greatest dilemma is this—our kingdom is slipping away from us."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"For the past three years, we have not won a single war. Our lands continue to shrink. This has never happened before—not in the last two hundred years. My ancestors never tasted defeat, not even once."
His gaze lowered.
"And now," he said quietly,
"it feels as though an evil gaze has fallen upon our empire… as if some unseen force has turned against us."
The fire crackled softly between them.
Hearing the King's words, Baba Bhairav closed his eyes.
For a moment, the cave fell silent.
The crackle of fire, the slow breath of the mountain—everything seemed to pause as he turned inward. Then, after a long, measured silence, he spoke.
His voice was deep. Final.
"What you believe is not the reason, O King," Bhairav said.
"You are not losing your kingdom because of someone's evil eye."
Virendra stiffened.
"You are losing it because of misfortune," the Aghori continued.
"Your army no longer carries the strength to win wars. And you…"
His words cut deeper.
"…you do not possess the power of your ancestors."
The fire flickered.
"Go," Bhairav said coldly.
"Return. You have no purpose here now. Leave."
The words struck like a verdict.
Disappointment settled heavily upon Virendra's face. Without another word, he turned away, his steps slow, burdened by defeat.
Then—
Every torch in the cave flared at once.
Flames leapt wildly along the walls, and the fire in the agnikund roared to life, burning higher, fiercer, as if the mountain itself had drawn breath.
Baba Bhairav rose sharply.
"Stop!" he shouted, fear breaking through his composure.
"Stop, O King. Come back… now."
Virendra turned at once and hurried back toward him.
"What is it, Baba?" he asked, startled.
Bhairav's face had changed. The calm was gone—replaced by awe, dread, and reverence.
"Mahadev has just sent me a message," he said quietly.
"What you fear… will indeed come to pass."
Virendra's eyes widened.
"You will conquer many kingdoms."
Hope flickered—brief, fragile.
"But… how?" the King asked.
Bhairav fell silent again, his gaze distant, weighed down by the truth he had received.
"Because you will not conquer them yourself," he said at last.
"Someone else will conquer them… for you."
The flames hissed.
Hearing this, Maharaja Virendra allowed a small, confident smile to form.
"I understand now, Baba," he said calmly.
"My son, Rudra, will conquer those kingdoms."
Baba Bhairav laughed.
A deep, echoing laugh that carried no mockery—only certainty.
"No, King."
Virendra's smile vanished.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Then who is it," he asked, his voice tight with confusion,
"who will conquer the kingdoms for me?"
Baba Bhairav laughed again, louder this time.
"Ha… ha… ha…"
Then his tone changed—grave, commanding.
"Listen carefully, King, to what I am about to tell you."
He leaned forward, the firelight dancing across his face.
"He will belong neither to your lineage… nor to your blood."
Virendra stiffened.
"He will not possess the strength of a single soldier," Bhairav continued,
"but the power of an entire army."
The words struck like thunder.
"He will be the protector of you, of your son, and of your empire—
a protector unseen, unknown, unheard of."
Bhairav's voice lowered.
"Mahadev's own blessing will rest upon him."
Virendra stood frozen, stunned.
"But… where will I find such a man?" he asked quietly.
"Who could possibly become the protector of my empire?"
Baba Bhairav closed his eyes.
"I see a mark upon him," he said slowly.
"A symbol of the sun, etched between his shoulders."
He opened his eyes again.
"You will not need to go searching for him, King.
Fate itself will bring him to you."
Then, his gaze sharpened.
"But you must recognize him when he arrives."
Bhairav's final words fell like a seal upon destiny.
"Prepare yourself, O King.
Your fate is about to change…"
A brief pause.
"He will come to you… very soon."
Hearing this, Maharaja Virendra released a long breath.
Relief washed over him as he stepped out of the cave, hope rekindled within his heart. For the first time in years, the weight upon his chest felt lighter. The mountain winds greeted him as he departed, carrying with him the promise of salvation.
Inside the cave, Baba Bhairav returned to his seat.
He closed his eyes once more, sinking back into meditation.
But this time—
peace did not last.
Within moments, horrifying visions seized his mind.
As far as his sight could reach, a vast mountain of lifeless bodies stretched endlessly—a grotesque monument to war and destruction. At its peak stood a lone figure, gripping blood-soaked swords in both hands.
Around him rose the faint, agonized echoes of the fallen—
pale, broken screams tearing through the silence.
Baba Bhairav's eyes flew open.
His body trembled violently. Terror twisted his face as he clutched his chest, struggling to breathe.
"What calamity is this, Mahadev?" he cried, his voice shaking with despair.
"How can you send such a force upon this earth—
an invincible warrior destined to become a kingdom's protector—
when millions will perish by that protector's own hands?"
His voice broke.
Tears streamed down his face as his strength failed him.
Softly, almost pleading, he whispered in prayer—
"If this vision becomes truth… then his name will be etched upon this world…
not with ink…"
A pause.
"…but with blood."
The words echoed through the cave, clinging to the stone walls—
a warning meant for time itself.