The Ending Has Begun
In a secluded Himalayan valley, nestled within the mist and majesty of the mountains, lay the secretive village of Shambhala. Shielded from the outside world by an invisible fabric of space—woven by the Uncorrupted—Shambhala was untouched by modern corruption. Anything attempting to enter or leave disintegrated into dust, untraceable by any known technology.
On the thirteenth day of the waxing moon, a beam of light fell from the sky. That very night, Sumati gave birth to a son. Joy overflowed in the hearts of her and her husband, Vishnuyashas, as they named him Bhagyavidhata—the one destined to change fate.
Bhagyavidhata, or Bhagya as they lovingly called him, was raised in truth, science, and dharma—the sacred balance of right and wrong. At just five years old, his mind sparkled with questions and curiosity.
One afternoon, while the winds whispered through the valley, Bhagya overheard his parents' hushed conversation.
Vishnuyashas (Vishnu):
"The village has locked us in a gilded cage, Sumati. I know the outer world is flawed, but we must consider opening ourselves. Trade, knowledge, opportunity—it could lift us out of stagnation."
Sumati:
"You're right, but remember: the village elder declared that anyone seeking the outside is a threat to our harmony."
Vishnu's face hardened with worry, his gaze lingering on the window where mist curled like silent warnings.
"I know," he said quietly, "but silence is no longer survival. We need to speak to him—before the elders bury us in this stillness."
Sumati's lips parted as if to answer, but before she could, the soft patter of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door creaked open just enough for a small face to peek in, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Father!" Bhagya burst into the room, unable to hold back his excitement. "Is there really a world beyond Shambhala?"
Vishnu paused, sorrow flickering in his eyes.
"Yes, Bhagya. But you mustn't concern yourself with it now."
Bhagya tilted his head.
"Is it like our village?"
Vishnu knelt beside him.
"No, child. The outer world is... darker. Many have lost their way—greed, corruption, and selfishness rule there."
Bhagya's eyes widened, eager to ask more, but Sumati swept in swiftly.
Sumati (sternly):
"He told you not to speak of it! That's not acceptable behavior, Bhagya."
Startled, Bhagya nodded and silently stepped outside. He sat beneath the Bodhi tree, his small hands tracing circles in the dust as his eyes fixed on the distant mountains. The world beyond Shambhala felt like a secret whispering to him from across the veil of space.
Inside the house, silence stretched between Vishnu and Sumati. The faint creak of wooden beams and the soft rustle of wind filled the room. Vishnu's gaze lingered on the doorway where Bhagya had vanished, his thoughts heavy with the weight of unspoken fears.
"We can't keep pretending," Vishnu said at last, his voice low but steady. "Bhagya already senses what we hide. The walls we built around this village... they're becoming walls around his mind too."
Sumati looked down, her fingers tightening around the edge of her shawl. "You're going to speak to him, aren't you?"
"I have to," Vishnu replied, resolve hardening in his tone. "The elder must hear me—before it's too late."
With that, he rose, stepping into the fading light of dusk.
The path to the elder's house was eerily still, but the air pulsed with a strange energy. Two imposing figures stood guard at the entrance, their presence radiating raw power from awakened chakras. Vishnu paused, feeling the weight of their gaze, then stepped inside. The room was dim and solemn. The elder sat alone at a low wooden table, eyes closed as if in quiet communion with time itself.
Vishnu bowed respectfully.
Vishnu stepped into the dimly lit room, his footsteps muted by the woven mats on the floor. The elder sat cross-legged at a low wooden table, eyes closed, as if meditating on truths older than the mountains themselves. For a long moment, Vishnu waited in silence, the air thick with the scent of burning sandalwood.
Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but weighted with frustration.
"Elder... we need to talk. The village is suffocating. We cannot remain caged forever. We must find a way to connect with the outside world."
The elder's eyes opened, slow and deliberate, as though he were waking from a dream. His gaze was deep—centuries of wisdom and an unyielding resolve glimmered within them.
"Vishnu," the elder said, his tone calm yet immovable. "You already know the answer. We do not cross the boundary. The outside world is forbidden."
He gestured toward a shelf. Upon it lay a thick tome bound in ancient cloth—the Book of Destiny, a manuscript said to contain the fate of every soul born in Shambhala.
Vishnu stepped forward. He had seen the book many times, and each time, it echoed the same prophecy: Anyone who defies the weave will be consumed by it.
Vishnu:
"So... if we go outside, we risk destruction? Are we truly destined to be prisoners in paradise?"
What followed was a long exchange—a clash of ideals, hope battling caution. Hours passed as they debated. Vishnu pleaded for openness. The elder warned of catastrophe.
Finally, the elder exhaled deeply.
Elder:
"You may go, Vishnu. But only alone. No one must know. If you speak of it... the protectors—those born of the uncorrupted space—will rupture your heart before your words escape."
Vishnu's gaze hardened. He nodded in silent agreement.
As he stepped outside, the chakra energy swirled once more. A storm of destiny was brewing.
******************_______________________________*********************************
Vishnu stepped out into the chilled mountain air, the door to the elder's home closing firmly behind him. His conversation with the old man still echoed in his mind—but the weight of tradition offered no room for hope.
As he walked past the entrance, the two guards of the elder's house—Balveer and Bhisham—stood watch like statues carved from energy itself. Their chakra aura pulsed faintly.
Balveer (with quiet certainty):
"You're leaving, aren't you?"
Vishnu (pausing):
"And what makes you so sure?"
Bhisham (smirking):
"Your chakra has surged. We felt the resonance. Power shifts like that don't go unnoticed."
Balveer:
"I've reached level two. Bhisham's still at one. They say those who master all seven chakras can bend reality to their will... but even then, they fall short of the gods."
Vishnu said nothing in return. He walked on, letting their words settle in the silence.
"Mastering chakras and rewriting reality?" he thought, incredulous.
"This can't be true.The elders feed us stories, but that doesn't make them real."
As Vishnu walked back from the elder's house, the path felt longer than ever. The evening wind brushed against his face, but it couldn't cool the storm within him. Every step pounded in rhythm with his heartbeat—loud, deliberate, almost like a drum warning of what was to come.
When he reached home, he paused at the doorway. Through the warm flicker of the oil lamp, he saw Sumati and Bhagya waiting—Sumati seated with her shawl draped around her shoulders, Bhagya fiddling with a wooden toy but glancing at the door every few seconds.
Vishnu drew in a deep breath and entered. The weight of his decision hung in the air before he even spoke.
"Sumati," he began softly, his voice steadier than he felt. "The elder has agreed. I will go beyond the barrier."
The room went silent. Bhagya stopped moving. Sumati's eyes widened, and for a moment she just stared at him, as though she hadn't heard right. Then she shook her head, her voice breaking.
"No... Vishnu, you can't. You know what lies beyond—"
"I know," he interrupted gently, kneeling beside her. "But if we remain here, locked in fear, Bhagya will inherit nothing but a cage."
Tears welled in Sumati's eyes, her fingers trembling as they clutched his hand. "And what if the outside takes you from me?"
Bhagya's gaze shifted between them, confusion and awe mingling on his face. He whispered, "Father... you're leaving?"
Vishnu pulled him close, his voice soft but firm.
"Only for a while, my son. To see what lies beyond, to learn if there's a path for us all. This is not just for me—it's for you, for your future."
The boy's eyes glistened. He tried to smile but it wavered, turning into a trembling expression that mirrored both admiration and sorrow. Sumati hugged them both tightly, as if by sheer force she could hold the world together.
Vishnu (softly):
"I leave at dawn. I must see what lies beyond... even if it takes me far away for a long time."
As the stars above Shambhala blinked slowly into view, a man prepared to break the weave—for truth, for survival, for destiny.
*****************_________________*******************
Vishnu lay on his bed, staring into the wooden rafters above. The village was quiet, but inside his heart, a storm brewed.
"Should I really go? Leave everything behind—Sumati, Bhagya... all that I've built?" he asked himself.
"I don't want to," a voice echoed from the depths of him.
"But do I have another choice?" he whispered internally.
"No," a quieter, firmer voice replied.
Tears didn't reach his eyes, but in his mind, they poured freely. He clutched his blanket tighter, as if it could hold back fate.
"I have to go. No matter what happens... I'll do it for my family," he resolved.
Yet as he tried to sleep, the contradiction gnawed at him. Hope and guilt, strength and sorrow—all colliding within the heart of a man who had chosen to defy the stars.
*********************_____________________****************
Sumati sat upright the entire night, wrapped in silence. Sleep refused to come—her heart was burdened by a fear she couldn't speak aloud. The thought of not standing beside Vishnu when he stepped beyond the barrier tore at her. She wanted to be strong, supportive—but inside, she trembled.
Vishnu had noticed. He saw the glint of unease in her eyes when she brought him water. But he also saw Bhagya, fast asleep, a soft smile on the boy's face as he dreamt. That small flicker of peace gave Vishnu a momentary calm.
Then dawn arrived.
The mountains began to glow in pale orange as Vishnu stood ready. Bhagya still lay curled under his blanket, unaware of the turning tide. Vishnu didn't wake him—perhaps he couldn't bear it.
He walked to the stable, where his white horse waited.
Devadatta—a strange gift from a traveling merchant whose eyes never quite met Vishnu's. The horse had cost very little, yet something about him felt mythic. When Vishnu ran his hand along Devadatta's mane, the air grew still.
He saddled up and turned back toward his home one final time.
Sumati stood at the threshold, shawl drawn tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes met his, saying everything words couldn't. Vishnu leaned down from the saddle and embraced her—firmly, lovingly. Neither spoke.
Then he turned, eyes focused on the path ahead.
The barrier lay far off across the frozen ridges. A twenty-minute ride for a fine horse—and Devadatta was finer than any.
As he rode toward the unseen world, the wind picked up. The weave shimmered faintly at the horizon, not as a warning—but as an invitation.
In his heart, Vishnu carried hope. In his mind, contradiction. In his saddlebag, only essentials... and the courage to find the truth beyond the cage.
Vishnu rode through the valley, the shimmer of the barrier growing clearer with each thudding step of Devadatta. His breath grew heavier, mind racing with visions of what lay beyond.
Just as he reached a narrow ridge near the boundary, he heard something rustling in his saddlebag. He stopped.
"What...?"
Bhagya's small head popped out from beneath a blanket, eyes wide and unbothered.
Bhagya (grinning):
"I followed you, Father! And look—I learned clone creation from Balveer!"
Suddenly, next to him appeared two shimmering copies—identical forms breathing in sync with him. Vishnu's heart dropped.
"You did what?!"
He jumped off Devadatta, panic sweeping through him.
"This isn't a game! He's just a child! I can't take him through the boundary..."
Vishnu grabbed Bhagya and hugged him tightly, his breath ragged. But as his eyes met the boy's—something changed.
A thunderous echo burst inside Vishnu's ears, like a thousand voices screaming. His vision swirled. The sky twisted. The boundary pulsed violently.
Vishnu staggered backward and collapsed to his knees. The air around him distorted—memories not his own flooded into his mind. Images. Faces. Symbols.
Visions of the Non-Corrupted, beings tied to the weave itself. Memories of protecting the fabric. Of watching intrusions. Of judging souls.
Bhagya screamed, clutching Vishnu's hand.
"Father! What's happening to you!?"
But Vishnu couldn't answer. His mind was split—half his own, half pulled into a vast, timeless archive. The voices didn't stop. They were everywhere, layered and vibrating.
Then—silence.
Vishnu gasped, cold sweat on his skin. Bhagya sobbed, but the clones stood silently, blinking as if observing the scene with some hidden awareness.
Something had changed.
The boundary hadn't just recognized Vishnu. It had reacted to Bhagya
Vishnu's world collapsed into darkness.
Voices echoed in his skull—twisted, frenzied, unfamiliar.
"Don't come near me! I don't want to die!"
"Leave me alone!"
"Just die!"
The screams intensified, ripping through his mind like jagged blades.
Then, one voice rose above the rest—cold, furious, absolute:
"So you die, Vishnu!"
He clutched his head, his senses unraveling.
The very air around him felt like it was vibrating, warping, bending inwards. Reality blurred.
Then—
"Silence."
A deeper voice emerged.
It didn't shout. It didn't plead. It commanded.
Vishnu's eyes flew open. He gasped. Sweat clung to his skin. The world had gone quiet.
Bhagya stood beside him, trembling.
"Father... what just happened?"
But Vishnu had no answer. The barrier hadn't just tested him—it had begun peeling him apart.
And something ancient had spoken.
Darkness consumed everything.
Vishnu stumbled, unable to see, reaching blindly for Bhagya. But his son had vanished.
Then came the voice—deep, infinite, resonating from every direction.
"I am the Barrier.
I am space itself.
I protect Shambhala.
I am the Universe.
I am Brahma."
Vishnu froze. His breath stalled.
Suddenly, the void lit up. A divine brilliance pierced the black, and standing before him was Brahma—three heads, infinite gaze, radiating power that could tear reality apart.
Brahma:
"My very presence corrupts those who are unworthy. Their souls fracture in my light.
But you...
You're different.
You've touched the glitch in the fabric of this universe.
Before you pass...
Ask one question."
Vishnu, trembling, whispered:
"Where am I? And... where is Bhagya?"
Brahma:
"You are inside your own mind. This is the realm where thought meets soul.
Bhagya is safe... trying to wake you up."
Relief washed over Vishnu. But the presence of Brahma still pressed on him like gravity.
Brahma:
"Ask another, if you wish."
Vishnu:
"I was told by the elder that I only needed to cross the barrier... and then I'd be free. Was that a lie?"
Brahma's eyes darkened.
"Ah... that old man.
He sent you knowing the danger.
He hoped you'd be destroyed.
That no one else would dare follow.
But you've endured the trial.
You will pass."
Then Brahma paused. And thought for a second and spoke
"But first... you must give me something in return."
Vishnu's heart pounded.
"What do you want?"
Brahma:
"The glitch.
The child.
Bhagya must be taken to the outside world."
Vishnu (horrified):
"He's just a boy!"
Brahma's voice boomed:
"Either you obey...
Or Shambhala crumbles.
I protect it.
I can destroy it."
Vishnu stood in silence.
"So this is it," he muttered.
"We were wrong. The corruption isn't just out there. If they started this... I'll finish it."
Behind him, Brahma smiled—three heads glowing with divine serenity. And just like that, the vision broke.
Vishnu stirred awake on the cold ground. His body ached, but the first thing he saw was Bhagya crying beside him.
He pulled the boy into his arms.
"You're safe father" asked Bhagya he whispered. "We're okay."
Bhagya sobbed into his chest, his small hands clutching his father's shirt. Vishnu held him tighter, burying his own fear beneath his steady breath.
Then he looked up.
The barrier shimmered before them—an expanse of thick, invisible cloth fluttering gently in the mountain wind. It cloaked Shambhala like a sacred curtain. From Bhagya's eyes, it looked like nothing at all. But Vishnu, having endured the trial, could now see faint lines of light weaving through the air like threads of fate.
If not seen... the barrier would disintegrate anyone trying to cross.
He stared at it, memories flooding back—the echoes, the screams, the Non-Corruptors Their whispers still clung to the edges of his consciousness.
He took Bhagya's hand.
Together, they walked forward. Step by step, heart aligned with destiny.
As they reached the weave, a voice arose—not angry, not threatening, but ancient.
"What is the magic spell?" it asked.
Vishnu stared into the shimmer... and smiled.
"The Glitch of the Universe," he declared.
The barrier pulsed once—an otherworldly shimmer rippling through the fabric of space like water disturbed by a pebble. The very air vibrated, humming with an energy that made the ground beneath their feet tremble.
It didn't simply vanish—it peeled apart, the threads of space weaving back to reveal a towering gateway of pure light. The edges glowed like molten metal, radiating a warmth that was both inviting and terrifying. It was less like a door opening and more like reality itself was being unzipped.
Vishnu glanced at Bhagya, who stood frozen, his wide eyes reflecting the brilliance of the opening. Taking his son's hand, Vishnu whispered, "Stay close, no matter what you feel. Do not let go."
Together, they stepped through the threshold, their silhouettes swallowed by the glow.
The father and son duo have no idea what fate awaits them!