The world around Lakshya had changed.
The stony path behind him, once scorched with divine battle, gave way to wet moss, whispering reeds, and a thick, silvery fog that swirled around his feet. The deeper he stepped into this new region — known only by hushed tongues as The Echoing Marsh — the more time itself felt uncertain.
No winds blew. No sun broke through the clouds. Only echoes.
Echoes not of sound, but memory.
A Whisper Not Meant to Be Heard
Lakshya slowed his breath and listened. The marsh hummed with voices — not in languages of the world, but in images. A woman's laughter, an old man's regret, a child's scream of joy. But none of these belonged to him.
Or so he thought.
"You were supposed to die, Lakshya. Not once — but twice."
He froze.
The voice didn't belong to the marsh.
It belonged to something watching.
The Marsh Oracle
As Lakshya pressed forward, glowing mushrooms dotted the bog, casting an eerie blue-green glow. He reached a stone platform just slightly raised above the wet ground. Ancient carvings marked it — Vedic symbols twisted with forms he didn't recognize.
There, in the center, a figure sat.
A woman. Barely clothed in mist. Her long, silver-white hair fell over her shoulder like a cascade of river water. Her eyes were closed, but her voice entered directly into Lakshya's mind.
"He who holds Vardaan. He who remembers both life and death. You carry too much."
Lakshya stood still. "Are you one of the Heralds?"
She shook her head slowly. "No, child. I am something older. I am the marsh's memory. A Dreamspeaker."
"You seek the next piece of your Vardaan. You will not find it in fire or steel. But in dream. In reflection."
A Dream That Wasn't a Dream
Without warning, the marsh shifted.
The Oracle raised one hand — not in threat, but in sorrow — and Lakshya felt the world peel open like a flower. A strange force gripped his mind, not violently, but inevitably.
He was pulled into a dream.
But this dream wasn't born of his thoughts.
He stood again in his old world — Earth. His school. His friends. His rooftop where he used to watch anime and wonder what it'd be like to fly.
He saw himself — the boy Shiwang — laughing in the sunlight. Smiling with no worries. Not yet reborn. Not yet burdened.
And behind that Shiwang, he saw himself now — Lakshya. Armored in mystic runes. Powered by Shakti. Eyes glowing faintly with resolve.
Then came a question.
"Which one was more alive?"
The Mirror Moment
The dream twisted again. The school faded. The rooftop cracked like glass. The echo of the Oracle's voice continued.
"You seek meaning in strength. You will find only burden. What you call power, is but the weight of your fate."
Lakshya shouted into the void, "What do you want from me!?"
But the void didn't answer.
Instead, a mirror appeared — floating in darkness. In its surface wasn't his reflection.
It was the image of a black sun.
From it poured a whisper: "You will become one of us if you continue."
Lakshya clenched his fists. "Then I'll burn that path too."
The mirror shattered.
Return to the Marsh
He gasped as he returned to his body, drenched in sweat though the marsh was cold. The Oracle was gone. No trace remained of her.
Only a stone etched with the words in ancient script:
"Trinetra watches you. Choose well the eye you open."
In his hand, without realizing it, Lakshya held a new sigil. Not granted, but earned. A part of the second level of the Vardaan system had awakened.
[Dreamwalking: Active Skill Unlocked]
Enter the dreamworlds of others or yourself. Discover secrets lost in memory.
Marching Toward Trinetra
Lakshya walked now with new understanding. The dream hadn't just been a vision.
It had been a warning.
And deep within the Vardaan, a voice stirred faintly — one he hadn't heard before. Not Shiv, not Shakti, not even Maya.
Something beyond all three.
The path led north, toward the three-peaked mountain range known as Trinetra. It was there the next Herald was said to stir.
And this one wasn't a copy or a trick.
This one was real.
And waiting.
To be continued....