The trio journeyed downward now.
From the ash-laden peaks of Daant Parvat, they descended into a hidden valley — one not marked on any map, and possibly one that never existed until the gods willed it so.
Here, the terrain cracked with time itself. Rivers moved in reverse, roots from Yggdrasil spilled through the sky like suspended vines, and in the valley's heart stood a ruined structure that pulsed with both Devic and foreign energy.
"What is this place?" Naira whispered.
"Not a temple," Luv said, tapping the hilt of his blade.
"A burial ground… for gods."
Astha knelt before the runes carved into the stone entrance.
"It's written in… two scripts," he muttered.
"One is Vaidik. The other is older than language."
---
This was the Root Crypt, where fallen gods — too powerful to vanish, too dangerous to be reborn — were entombed between realms. Their corpses fed the roots of Yggdrasil, and the divine tree's growth twisted with their guilt.
The air felt like whispered memory.
Walls bled soft gold from the cracks — not blood, but residual divinity.
"This is where reality forgot to breathe," Naira muttered, tracing a broken mural with her fingers.
It showed a war — not between gods and mortals, but between gods themselves.
At the far wall lay a mirror with no reflection. Luv approached it and stopped.
Inside the mirror was… him.
But crowned.
Eyes glowing.
And behind him… corpses of hundreds of gods, impaled in a shattered celestial court.
---
Wind stirred behind them.
A man stood at the edge of the crypt — tall, silver robes flowing like moonlight, and his face pale like the waxing moon. His voice was soft, each word measured like ritual.
"You tamper with graves, warriors of the flame."
His aura was foreign — divine, but not Devic.
"And you are?" Astha asked, blade ready.
"Menes, Speaker of the Silent Ankh. I serve the council of Heliopolis."
"Your war reaches even our sands now."
Naira stepped closer, studying his aura.
"He's Egyptian… Ra-born. Not a god, but near."
"The gods watch you," Menes said. "From all corners of time. Not out of fear. Not yet. But curiosity… is a brittle wall."
"Then they better hope it holds," Astha replied coldly.
---
Flashback Begins – Naira's Past
The crypt echoed. Shadows flickered.
And Naira… stopped walking.
Her eyes stared into a cracked wall. A mural. A memory.
She saw herself — younger, a child, barely ten.
She was kneeling before a burning house. Screaming.
"Mother! Don't leave me—"
The flames spoke. They didn't burn her skin, but they told her stories. Stories of gods. Of pain. Of duty. She had been born a seer — not because of divine blessing, but because she was a mistake the gods forgot to erase.
The village elders tried to sacrifice her, saying her blood would "close the rift" that appeared on holy ground.
Only one person saved her.
"An old woman with one eye… and a name no one dared say."
The woman gave her a blade of bone. Told her to run. Told her:
"You'll follow fire one day. And he'll burn louder than gods."
The blade still hung from her hip — now reborn as a divine relic after Astha touched it during the Yama descent.
---
Return to Present
> "I was meant to die long before this war," Naira said, softly, as Astha looked toward her.
"But I think I was kept alive… to witness your rage."
"No," Astha said.
"To become part of it."
---
The golden blood on the walls began to ripple.
From deep beneath the crypt, a voice called.
"Children of ash… hear me."
The walls cracked.
And an eye opened in the stone — large, ancient, and filled with memories of gods long gone.
"You are not alone in your vengeance. We were buried, but not forgotten."