The mountain air stung Aarav's lungs like fire.
Even with a thick woollen scarf wrapped around his face, the cold of Ladakh pierced through his clothes as if trying to erase him from the land itself. Diya walked ahead, unbothered by the snow crunching beneath her boots. Her eyes stayed fixed on the steep ridge above, where the sun struggled to pierce through thick grey clouds.
Aarav stumbled. "Remind me why we're climbing a deathtrap?"
Diya didn't turn. "Because you saw something in that vault. And because every time someone gets close to the truth... they disappear."
Aarav adjusted the strap on his pack and looked behind. The valley below stretched like a frozen sea. No roads. No towns. Just white.
He remembered the Watcher's words: Where fire meets the snow.
It had sounded poetic at the time. Now it just sounded like frostbite.
---
Two days earlier, they had fled Varanasi under cover of darkness. Diya's connections had arranged a private flight to Leh, then a long, silent journey by jeep into the mountains. Diya claimed her father, a government historian, had vanished after researching "forbidden dynasties" and unearthed something ancient—something buried in these hills.
And she believed the symbol Aarav had found—the Dharma Wheel with the Third Eye—was the same one in her father's final journal entry before he vanished twenty years ago.
He hadn't doubted her. Not after what he saw.
---
As they reached the edge of a rock outcrop, Diya signaled for him to stop.
She crouched and brushed away a layer of snow, revealing a rusted panel embedded in the ground. It looked like an old ventilation grate—except it hummed faintly with warmth.
"Here," she whispered. "The coordinates match my father's last log."
Aarav knelt beside her. His fingers hovered over a faded inscription along the edge of the metal.
> "Regalia Alpha – Crown of the Flame – Entry Codex: 33-Sen-12."
His pulse spiked. "That's… my name."
"Your name is a passcode now?" Diya raised an eyebrow.
He didn't answer. He touched the panel.
It hissed—then slid aside, revealing a narrow stone tunnel descending into the earth. Warm air escaped from below. The scent of old incense and molten metal hit their nostrils.
They exchanged a look.
Then descended.
---
The passage twisted downward, growing hotter with every step. The stone was carved with fluid geometric symbols, glowing faintly red, as if alive. Torches burned without fuel in carved sconces—eternal flames.
After fifteen minutes, the tunnel opened into a vast subterranean chamber.
Aarav froze.
At the center was a suspended temple—levitating over a pit of lava, held aloft by four massive bronze chains attached to the stone ceiling. Above the floating platform, flames spiraled into the air, forming an image: a crown engulfed in fire, floating just beyond reach.
"The Crown of the Flame," Aarav whispered.
---
But something was wrong.
The flame-crown flickered violently. Sparks burst outward. One of the chains groaned, trembling as the lava surged.
"Is it supposed to do that?" Diya asked, her hand already on her pistol.
Aarav stepped forward. "I think someone's already tried to take it."
> "Correct."
A new voice rang through the chamber—smooth, sharp, and young.
They turned.
At the edge of the platform, a boy no older than twenty stood, his hair silver-white, eyes pitch black. He wore a fusion of traditional and modern—silk robes laced with nanofibers, a jagged dagger tucked into a sash.
He smiled. "But it wasn't ready for me."
---
"Who are you?" Diya demanded.
"I'm what happens when you fail to bury the past," the boy said. "And when people like you come digging around in graves best left untouched."
His fingers twitched.
All around the chamber, red glyphs lit up.
From the shadows, mechanical guardians emerged—spindly, humanoid constructs with flaming cores embedded in their chests. Their heads turned in unison, eyes glowing molten orange.
Aarav stepped back. "What are those?"
"The Yakshas," the boy said proudly. "Ancient sentinels. Guardians of Regalia. Awakened only by those with the blood right."
"You're one of the heirs," Aarav said, realization crashing over him. "A rival."
The boy grinned wider. "No, not a rival. A purifier."
---
The Yakshas surged forward.
Diya fired. One shot clipped a guardian's chest, but it barely staggered. Aarav ducked as another swept a burning blade toward his head.
"Run!" Diya shouted.
"No—we can't leave the Crown!" Aarav shouted back.
> "Then claim it," the Watcher's voice echoed in his mind.
> "If you are the Flame's Heir... reach for it now."
Aarav turned toward the floating image.
The suspended temple beneath the flame-crown pulsed.
The guardians closed in.
Aarav ran.
He leapt onto the first bronze chain, flames licking around his feet, hands burning as he crawled toward the platform.
---
The boy's eyes narrowed. "He can't… he's not ready."
Diya kept firing, but more Yakshas emerged.
Aarav reached the edge of the platform. His skin blistered, heat curling the air like glass.
He looked up at the burning crown above him.
It pulsed.
Then dropped like a falling comet.
Aarav screamed.
The flame enveloped him.
---
And then... silence.
The Yakshas froze mid-step.
The boy staggered backward. "No…"
Aarav stood at the center of the platform.
Flames danced around his shoulders like a living mantle.
His eyes—now glowing like twin embers—locked with the boy's.
The Crown had chosen.
---
⚡ To be continued...