The pilgrim didn't speak again.
After he whispered "He's here," the man's skin flaked into ashes, as if belief itself had given up on holding him together. Only the mantra-etched blood trail he left behind served as proof he'd ever existed.
Astha watched the last of the man's body drift on the wind, his jaw tight.
"We leave now," he said.
"There's no more time to prepare. We see what he broke."
---
The Journey to Bhayashraya
The trio traveled west, crossing the ash-covered plains of Bhayashraya, once home to one of the largest mountain-top temples to Varuni, goddess of spiritual intoxication and divine madness.
The air grew quieter the closer they got.
Luv noticed first.
"No animals. No insects. Not even rot."
"That's not peace," Astha muttered. "That's surrender."
Vaidehi walked between them, a dark veil drawn over her face, her blade sheathed but pulsing with black-red light. Her corruption had stopped spreading—but not receded. She had become a balance between herself and… something else.
---
The Temple of Ruin
They reached the summit by dusk.
What once stood as white marble towers now lay collapsed inwards—like the mountain had rejected its own faith. Statues of gods were shattered, not violently—but precisely. Decapitated cleanly. Their altars were cold. Symbols half-carved.
Astha knelt beside a fallen prayer bell, running his fingers across the melted mantra-rings.
"These aren't broken."
"They were unwritten."
---
In the center of the ruins, they found a woman.
Old. Blind. Kneeling beside a cracked idol of Varuni.
Her lips moved without sound, trying to recite forgotten verses.
Vaidehi stepped forward.
"She's still praying…"
"No," Luv corrected. "She's trying to remember how."
Astha approached and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Do you know who did this?"
The old woman turned to him, and for a second—just a second—her eyes glowed white.
Her voice spoke in two tones.
One human.
One hollow.
"He walked into the temple wearing a crown of broken halos… and asked:
'If your gods are real… why haven't they stopped me?'"
"Then he laughed.
And the scriptures burned themselves."
---
Astha's Resolve Deepens
That night, Astha stood at the edge of the broken altar. Smritidhaara wrapped around his arm like a serpent of memory, its edges glowing dull crimson.
Ashvaanta floated beside him, hovering—alive now more than ever.
"This is what they let happen," he whispered.
"They—the gods—hid this."
"So we'd never know how easily belief dies."
Luv joined him, crossing his arms. His armor gleamed faintly, reflecting the dead fires of the temple.
"We have to get stronger."
"Not just to fight," Astha replied.
"To restore. And then decide if anything is worth restoring."
---
Far below the mountain, in a realm known only to lost monks, a veil of salt and blood split open.
A hooded figure walked through it. Tall, golden eyes, skin laced with cracks glowing white.
He looked up at the ruins where Astha stood.
"Let them chase ghosts," he whispered.
"I'll bring the storm of annihilation."
His name forgotten. His allegiance unknown.
But he carried a seal of Swarnalok—and a command to hunt the traitors.