The skies of Mahakaal Lok no longer shimmered with golden streaks. They bled now — soft strands of crimson mist falling gently over the cracked land below. The world felt tilted, its heartbeat irregular, as if time itself had hiccupped. The village Lakshya had entered—Samayantar—looked ancient and newborn at once. Its trees bore both buds and decaying leaves. Clocks ticked backward. People repeated the same steps twice. And Lakshya's shadow lagged behind his movement by seconds.
"Where are we?" Lakshya whispered.
Beside him, Sharv, the sage-bearer of the Akhand Flame, narrowed his glowing eyes. "We've stepped into a time fold… a wound in reality. Samayantar wasn't supposed to exist in this era. It was erased three epochs ago."
"But I can see it—feel it—like it's real," Lakshya muttered. "It's calling to me."
Sharv nodded. "Yes. Because one of the Heralds is here."
I. Echoes in a Loop
The village center was empty, save for a girl chasing a butterfly. Lakshya watched her for a while. She giggled, tripped, caught the butterfly, and vanished. Then, seconds later, she appeared again—chasing the same butterfly from the same direction.
"She's repeating," Lakshya murmured.
"A fragment. Not alive, not dead. Just stuck in time," Sharv replied. "The Herald of Time — Kshya — is near."
As they walked further in, time grew unstable. Lakshya's hands would flicker, his heartbeat slowed, then sped. An old man offered him a cup of water, then vanished before Lakshya could take it. Another version of the man was sitting far off, crying.
"Why are these people still here?"
"They're echoes. When Kshya touched this place, he didn't destroy it. He unpinned it from the river of time. It floats—forever dying, forever being born."
Lakshya's vardaan pulsed softly. The system inside him—Shiv's silent blessing—activated instinctively, helping stabilize his body against the distortions. He gritted his teeth.
"I can feel him. Watching."
II. The Third Herald: Kshya
From the temple ruins at the edge of the village came a sound—a ticking, like a thousand clock hands grinding in sync. Lakshya and Sharv stepped onto the broken marble steps. The air shimmered like heat, but it was cold—biting cold.
At the heart of the ruin, sitting on a throne of shattered sundials and rusted hourglasses, was a tall figure.
Kshya.
His skin was ash-grey, layered like sediment. Clockwork gears pulsed under his arms. His right eye glowed with golden light, the left was a swirling vortex of black mist. Behind him floated six fractured halos of time—each spinning at a different speed.
"You've arrived late, Lakshya," the Herald spoke, his voice a blend of a boy, a man, and an old dying whisper. "Or early. Or just right. I've already met you. I've yet to meet you. And I am meeting you now."
Lakshya stepped forward, muscles tense.
"I came to end your influence. This world needs to move forward."
Kshya chuckled. "And yet, you fear the past. You are tied to dreams—futures never born. Don't you wish to see your lives again? The ones you might have lived?"
For a moment, the mist swirled, and Lakshya saw visions—himself as a warrior-king, as a simple village boy, as a dying man surrounded by children. Lifetimes unchosen. Possible selves. He staggered.
"Enough!"
III. Trial of the Timeless
Kshya stood. "You seek to face me? Then face the weight of all that could have been."
In an instant, Lakshya was pulled into a spiral of mirrored space. The Trial of the Timeless began.
He stood in a field of possibilities. To his right, he saw a version of himself who had chosen peace — a healer, surrounded by grateful souls. To his left, a darker version — ruthless, powerful, feared by all. And ahead — dozens more, each representing a path not taken.
Voices whispered:
"You could have been more."
"You left us behind."
"Why this life? Why this dream?"
Lakshya clenched his fists. His vardaan pulsed within him.
"I was reborn for my dreams — not someone else's. I don't walk backward. I create my path."
The storm shattered. Kshya reeled.
"You reject the gifts of infinite selves?" the Herald hissed.
"I accept them," Lakshya said. "But I choose who I become."
IV. Shakti Over Time
Kshya extended his hand, freezing the world. Sharv stood like a statue. The wind halted mid-sway.
"Then die in the stillness between ticks," the Herald growled.
But Lakshya's vardaan flared, breaking the time-freeze around him. From his palm, a glowing sigil appeared—Mark of Maha-Vardaan: Kaalbindu—a divine energy only triggered by direct temporal assault.
With it, he summoned Shakti fused with his own soul memory.
A blade of light shaped like an ancient trident formed in his hand—Trikaal Astra—shifting through past, present, and future forms.
The battle began.
Lakshya moved through warped time, slicing through illusions and collapsing Kshya's halos one by one. Each collapse echoed through Samayantar, freeing more villagers from their loop.
Kshya cried out, "You tear the very fabric of existence!"
Lakshya's voice rang through the twilight: "No. I'm stitching it back together—with will."
With the final blow, Lakshya struck the Herald through the heart.
V. The Vanishing Wound
Kshya's body disintegrated, not into ash, but into glowing grains of time-sand. The mist receded. The skies calmed. Samayantar shimmered… and vanished, as if it had never existed. Only a single flower remained where the village once stood—a Timeblossom, said to grow where paradoxes die.
Sharv finally moved again, now free from the freeze. He looked at Lakshya, eyes filled with solemn respect.
"You've just defeated a concept… not a being. You rewrote a fate."
Lakshya picked up the Timeblossom and whispered, "Then I'll keep writing until this universe sings."
To be continued...