The air was cold when they awoke—colder than before. Though back in the temple chamber, something had shifted.
The floor beneath them was now laced with floral carvings, pulsing with faint whispers.
Saphthya's gaze had turned distant again, though her stance was more stable.
"The next fragment... lies in the Garden," she said slowly. "Where the gods buried the tongues of prophets who spoke too much truth."
"What do you mean buried tongues?" Luv asked, brows furrowing.
Saphthya didn't answer.
The divine pool glowed.
The next echo was calling.
Astha nodded.
"Let's go."
---
The transition was smoother this time—but colder.
They arrived in a field of pale grass and crooked trees. The sky was twilight—always dying, never night.
Hundreds of stone markers rose from the earth, each one shaped like a pair of severed lips, moss-covered and cracked. From beneath each stone grew a strange flower—each petal shaped like a torn piece of parchment.
Wind blew softly.
But the whispers that came with it were deafening.
"Astha…"
"Breaker of law…"
"He walks among us again…"
Astha's fists clenched.
"They remember."
Luv scanned the field.
"Then one of them might know where the next fragment is."
---
The Prophet Who Knew Too Much
The ground ahead split with a low rumble. One of the mouth-shaped stones twisted, and the flower growing from it bloomed into a black lotus.
A form rose—fragile and thin, like brittle paper given flesh.
It was a prophet.
Still alive.
"I remember you," it rasped.
"The one the gods feared to name. You were the flame that would not die."
Astha stepped closer.
"What do you know about me?"
The prophet raised a hand—and a blast of divine memory struck all three of them.
---
Flashback: The Child the Gods Couldn't Kill
In that memory, they saw a younger Astha—no older than twelve.
Tied down. Surrounded by glowing symbols. A circle of gods stood above him, faceless but radiant.
"He should not be born," one of them said.
Another raised a celestial hammer.
"He carries an echo from the last cycle."
But every time they tried to erase him…
He returned.
First, in screams.
Then, in silence.
Then, in fire.
The gods cast his name into oblivion. They erased his village, his people, and the sky under which he was born.
But Astha remained.
"They called you 'Ashes of Deva'," the prophet whispered. "Not because you were born from gods—but because your birth ended one."
---
The prophet extended its hands. Inside it bloomed the third fragment, laced in ink and lotus petals.
"Take it. And know… they are watching again."
As Astha reached out, the ground erupted.
---
A tree near them twisted and roared, birthing a massive creature—Vaanaksha, the god-assigned warden of the garden. Its body was bark and thunder, eyes carved from amber mouths.
It swung a branch-like mace laced with silencing sigils.
Luv stepped in, intercepting with a strike from his gauntleted fist. His Indra-inspired armor pulsed with silver veins, each blow echoing like thunder against the divine wood.
CLANG!
Vaanaksha roared, vines lashing toward Naira.
But Astha raised Vaayutal in mid-form and extended its arc, slicing the air like a whip. The blade danced mid-range like a storm tether—shattering vines mid-swing.
He spun, chaining Smritidhaara around Vaanaksha's leg and pulling with brute strength—slamming the beast headfirst into a stone of tongues.
It screamed. Dozens of the silenced mouths on its body broke open.
"Don't let it speak!" Naira warned.
Astha leapt, both weapons flaring in tandem, and stabbed downward into its throat.
"Too late."
The beast convulsed—then crumbled into twisted roots.
---
[Fragment Secured]
The prophet bowed low, whispering:
"Three pieces found. One more to wake her truth…"
The memory faded. They returned once again.
Saphthya stood taller now. A faint halo circled her head, and divine sigils began stitching her once-torn robe together.
"I feel the balance shifting… The gods will act soon."
Astha cracked his neck.
"Let them come."