The waves hissed like serpents against the shore.
Black sand stretched before them — coarse, hot, and lifeless. The sea had swallowed half the world, and what remained of land looked more like a wound than a home.
Parth stood still, staring at it.
Aarav adjusted the straps of his half-broken backpack. Neel scanned the horizon, silent as always.
The air felt heavier here. Not polluted — something deeper, older, like the breath of a world that once burned bright and then fell silent.
"Is this… really Lanka?" Aarav murmured, still in disbelief.
Neel nodded. "Or what's left of it."
In the distance, something glimmered — a faint golden hue amidst the grey. They followed it. Each step crunched over coral bones and shattered tiles. The ruins of temples jutted from the sand, their tops carved with half-visible engravings of the Vanaras and the mighty bow of Ram.
At the heart of the ruins, where time itself seemed to have stopped breathing, sat a single diya, burning.
And beside it — a man.
---
He looked neither old nor young, neither human nor divine. His skin shimmered faintly, as though the moonlight lived beneath it. His eyes — clear, ageless, and calm — opened slowly as the trio approached.
"I see the sons of Pandu and their loyal friend walk again," he said softly.
His voice was a whisper carried by the sea breeze. "Even when the world has forgotten their names."
Parth froze mid-step. He knew that voice — not from memory, but from the pulse of something deeper.
He bowed instinctively. "Vibhishan…"
The man smiled. "It has been an age since anyone remembered that name. Sit, all of you."
They obeyed. For a moment, no one spoke. The sea howled behind them, black and endless.
---
"Do you still guard this place?" Parth asked finally.
"I do not guard," Vibhishan replied. "I wait. For what must return."
He lifted his hand slightly, and the wind stilled.
"The Lanka you see is not the Lanka I knew. Fire consumed it once, and water claimed the ashes later. I remained — because compassion demanded it."
Aarav frowned. "Compassion?"
Vibhishan looked at him. "Even when the world is corrupted, compassion is the last bridge that binds humanity to what it once was. When that bridge breaks… darkness no longer needs to fight. It simply walks in."
Parth's eyes lowered. "And we are here to fight that darkness again."
The immortal's gaze softened. "To fight darkness is easy, Arjun. To understand it… that is harder."
He leaned forward, the golden glow around him deepening.
"Killing evil does not end it. It only changes its form. The enemy dies — but the shadow lives on in another name, another machine, another belief."
His words hung in the air like prophecy.
---
Vibhishan stood, facing the horizon. The sea had begun to glow faintly red — reflections of distant cities burning beyond the curve of the world.
"In this age," he said quietly, "Kali no longer needs worship. He feeds on apathy."
He turned back toward them, eyes flickering with sorrow. "There is a man — or perhaps a thousand minds merged into one. They create weapons, dictate wealth, command nature, and call it progress. He wears many faces — scientist, ruler, savior — but his heart is one. He is the shadow that learned to smile."
Neel's brows furrowed. "You mean… Kali himself?"
Vibhishan did not answer directly. He only whispered,
> "He takes the form the world deserves."
---
The air trembled. The old city behind them seemed to shimmer like a mirage.
Vibhishan stepped closer to Parth and placed his hand on his chest. A faint warmth spread across Parth's body, and when he looked down, he saw a small lotus mark glowing faintly through his shirt.
"The Last Lotus,"Vibhishan said. "A symbol of compassion that survives decay. You will need it when the time comes."
Parth bowed deeply. "What must we do now?"
The immortal smiled, eyes gentle yet knowing.
"Seek the Teacher of the Forgotten War. He remembers what all others have abandoned.
He waits… where the ruins still whisper your name."
Vibhishan turned toward the sea once more, and light consumed his form.
When the glow faded, nothing remained — not even footprints. Only the diya flickered in the wind, refusing to die.
The trio stood in silence.
For a long while, no one spoke.
Then Aarav murmured, almost to himself,
"Compassion amid corruption… sounds harder than any battle."
Parth looked at the horizon — where the waves met the dead sky.
"The real war," he said softly, "hasn't even begun yet."
——