In the moment she betrayed the one she was meant to protect, the beginning of her fall began.
~~~~~
Gyanwati was unstoppable, magnificent—one of the greatest forest spirits her people had ever seen. Her strength was unmatched.
But power is a flame, and flames devour.
The more she was praised, the more she burned for more.
Arrogance began to climb over her.She read old scriptures daily, seeking more power. Her hunger was not for wisdom anymore—she didn't realise it but it was for dominion. For a power beyond the reach of mortals or spirits.
Madhav watched her silently . At first he dismissed it as her brilliance, her unmatched curiosity. But soon he saw it in her eyes—obsession.
In the forgotten pages of an ancient text, she found what she craved: A ritual to master Mṛtyuñjaya Siddhi—the mastery over death itself. To command life and death, to decide when a being should live or die. A gift meant only for Yama, The Lord of Death, and his messengers. No spirit was meant to touch it.
But Gyanwati thought otherwise.
If she could wield it, no life in her forest would ever be lost. Her loved ones would never leave her. She herself would never perish.
The scripture said the ritual must be performed in a sacred cave—hidden in the deepest folds of the earth, painted with the ruins of gods, a cave which is never dry and have an unending flame, only there can this ritual be done.
She searched it for months, here and there, everywhere, until finally, in the mountains of Tibet, she found it.
The cave opened like the mouth of a beast, its arching rocks were carved with faint, ancient symbols. Inside, the air was thick, cold than the mountain winds outside, yet trembling with heat. Moisture dripped from the walls, though the ground never froze. And at the heart of that cave burned a flame. No wind touched it. No time aged it. The eternal fire.
There, she began her ritual.
Nights fell, within the cave she knelt before the fire, her body wrapped in silence except for the echo of her chants. For 21 nights she poured her breath into the mantras, her voice cracking yet resolute. On the twenty-first day, the fire shivered. The cave groaned and she knew she had crossed the first step.
Now it was time for the second step. It demanded a soul.
A pure soul, a perfect, non-tainted holy animal. The scripture spoke clearly: One untouched by sin, one guardian-like in nature, whose body bore no stain of karma. A protector loved and trusted by both angels and spirit.
She knew only one such being.
The wolf of her forest.
Her heart sank. He had walked by her side since her youth, never demanding, always watching. His silver-grey coat shimmered under the moonlight.He had stood by her throne when she was named Gyanwati, and he bowed only to her, as he accepted her as his Queen with all respect.
She searched for another. Weeks stretched, but no other creature bore that purity. The scripture left no room for compromise, and she could not wait for more time.
One evening, heavy with grief, she sat upon the high branches of a tree in her forest. The forest was quiet, drenched in dusk. From the shadows, he came—her wolf. His steps silent. He bowed to her, as he always did.
She jumped down and hugged him, burying her face in his fur. "How are you?" she whispered.
He pressed his head against her, answering in his language. "I am well, for you are well, my queen."
Tears blurred her eyes. How could she tell him? How could she deceive him?
He noticed the heaviness in her gaze and tilted his head, concern shining in his eyes. "What troubles you, your highness? Why do you look so sad?"
"No," she forced a smile. "I only… I must travel to Tibet. To learn something new. I must go alone, and that makes me sad."
"Alone?" he lifted his head. "But why? Take someone with you."
"I cannot take a human."
"Then…" his voice in her mind was soft, innocent. "Do not be sad. You will not go alone. I will go with you."
Her chest ached, guilt spilling like poison.
She nodded with trembling lips.
"Yes… please come. Thank you."
And the wolf licked her hand, unknowing, trusting. His loyalty was his innocence. His innocence, was his doom.