The grove of the Kumaras faded behind them, but its stillness lingered in Ganesh's heart.
Each step afterward felt lighter, yet heavier in meaning, as though the road itself now listened more closely to his choices. Aneet walked beside him in silence, her eyes thoughtful, fingers resting lightly near the bowstring at her shoulder.
They descended into a broad valley where the land dipped low and the sky opened wide. Tall grasses rippled like a living sea, and beyond them rose jagged cliffs that cut the horizon.
High above, something moved.
Not a bird.
Something vast.
Ganesh stopped.
The fire within him stirred — not in warning, but in recognition of an ancient presence.
Aneet followed his gaze.
"Do you see that?" she asked.
Before Ganesh could answer, the sky darkened.
Wind roared as a massive shadow swept across the valley.
With a thunderous rush, Garuda descended.
His wings spanned wider than the village roads Ganesh had walked, feathers gleaming gold and bronze, eyes burning like twin suns. The air itself seemed to bend around his form as he landed atop a rocky rise not far from them, talons digging into stone.
The earth trembled.
Aneet instinctively reached for an arrow, then stopped, sensing the weight of what stood before them.
Ganesh stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"O King of Birds," he said. "Bearer of Vishnu's banner. I greet you."
Garuda tilted his great head, studying the two mortals.
His voice boomed, yet carried a strange restraint.
"You greet boldly for one who walks without insignia," Garuda said.
"Tell me, mountain flame… who are you to know my name?"
Ganesh lifted his head.
"I have listened to stories," he said. "And to the world itself."
Garuda's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Stories fade," he said.
"The world lies."
Aneet stepped forward a half pace.
"Then listen to actions," she said. "We don't carry names to command respect. Only what we do."
Garuda regarded her with surprise, then let out a low rumble that might have been a laugh.
"Sharp tongue for one so small," he said.
Aneet met his gaze calmly.
"Sharp enough when needed," she replied.
Garuda shifted his massive wings, folding them partly.
"Good," he said. "Because you stand at the edge of an old war."
Ganesh's eyes sharpened.
"The Nagas," he said softly.
Garuda's gaze hardened.
"Yes," he replied.
"Serpents of the depths. Ancient foes of my kind."
The wind grew colder.
"They poison rivers. They bind storms. They hide in shadows beneath the world."
"And today, they shelter something that belongs to the skies."
Ganesh listened carefully.
"What do they shelter?" he asked.
Garuda's eyes burned.
"An egg."
"A child of my line, stolen by the Nagas of the eastern ravines."
Aneet's breath caught.
"They took your child?" she asked.
Garuda's wings flared slightly.
"Not mine alone," he said.
"But of my kin. A life meant to rise into the open sky."
Ganesh felt the fire stir.
"Why tell us this?" he asked.
Garuda leaned forward, his massive form casting a shadow over them.
"Because I smell Naga blood on you," he said.
"Yet I do not smell deceit."
Ganesh inclined his head.
"We helped return a Naga child to his father," he said. "If that makes me smell of them, I accept it."
Garuda stiffened.
For a moment, the air crackled with tension.
"You aided serpents?" he thundered.
Ganesh did not flinch.
"Yes," he said simply. "Because a child was taken."
Garuda stared at him, eyes blazing.
Aneet stepped forward.
"If your child were taken," she said, "would you not want someone to help, even if they were of serpent blood?"
Garuda's talons scraped stone.
Silence stretched.
Then he exhaled slowly, a powerful gust of wind washing over them.
"You both speak like those who do not belong to either sky or depth," Garuda said.
"That is… dangerous."
Ganesh nodded.
"Yes," he said. "But it is how we walk."
Garuda studied them for a long moment.
"Very well," he said.
"Then walk with me."
Aneet's eyes widened slightly.
"Where?" she asked.
Garuda's gaze turned eastward, toward the distant cliffs.
"To the ravines of the Nagas," he said.
"Where sky and depth will meet."
Ganesh did not hesitate.
"If a child is taken," he said, "then that is where we should be."
Garuda inclined his head.
"Then climb," he said, lowering one wing.
"But know this: if you betray me to the serpents, I will tear the fire from your bones."
Ganesh met his gaze calmly.
"If I betray dharma," he said, "you should."
Garuda paused, then let out a low, approving rumble.
"Spoken like one who does not fear falling."
The flight was unlike anything Ganesh had known.
Garuda carried them high into the sky, the wind roaring past as the land fell away beneath them. Valleys shrank into lines, rivers into silver threads.
Aneet gripped a ridge of feathers tightly, breath fast but eyes alight.
"You've done this before?" she shouted over the wind.
Ganesh shook his head.
"No," he replied. "But I'm glad you're here."
She laughed, exhilarated despite the fear.
"So am I," she said.
As they flew, Ganesh felt the fire within him settle.
Up here, beneath endless sky, he felt how small he was.
And how free.
They soon approached the eastern ravines — deep, jagged gashes in the earth where mist rose like breath from unseen depths.
Garuda descended onto a rocky ledge overlooking a vast chasm.
Far below, faint glimmers of green light moved — Naga dwellings carved into stone, glowing with ancient runes.
Garuda's eyes burned.
"They are there," he said.
"And they will not yield."
Ganesh stepped down from Garuda's wing.
"We don't know that yet," he said. "Let's speak first."
Garuda scoffed.
"Serpents do not listen to birds."
Ganesh turned to him.
"They listen to parents," he said. "And to those who remind them of it."
Garuda stared at him.
For a moment, Ganesh thought the great bird might strike him down for such words.
Instead, Garuda folded his wings slightly.
"Then speak," he said.
"But I will not wait long."
They descended carefully into the ravine, following narrow paths cut into stone.
The air grew damp and heavy, glowing with soft green light from crystal veins in the rock.
At the base of the ravine lay a vast cavern mouth, guarded by towering stone pillars carved with serpent forms.
As they approached, massive shapes stirred.
Nagas rose from pools and coils of mist — emerald, sapphire, and obsidian scales gleaming.
At their head stood a tall Naga with a broad hood marked by ancient sigils.
His eyes fixed on Ganesh.
"You return, mountain flame," the Naga said. "And you bring the sky's wrath with you."
Garuda landed heavily behind them, wings spread wide.
The cavern shook.
"Give me the egg, Vasuki," Garuda thundered.
"Or I will tear your halls apart."
The Naga prince — Vasuki — lifted his head calmly.
"The egg was found drifting near our waters," Vasuki said.
"We took it to protect it from hunters of the surface."
Garuda snarled.
"Lies."
Ganesh stepped forward between them.
"Enough," he said. "Both of you."
The Nagas hissed.
Garuda growled.
Aneet stood beside Ganesh, bow lowered but ready.
Ganesh looked at Vasuki.
"Where is the egg?" he asked.
Vasuki studied him.
"In our deepest pool," he said. "Safe. Warm. Guarded."
Ganesh turned to Garuda.
"If it is unharmed," he said, "will you still call this theft?"
Garuda hesitated.
"It belongs to the skies," he said.
"Not to serpents' depths."
Ganesh nodded.
"Then let it return," he said. "But without blood."
Silence fell.
Vasuki's eyes narrowed.
"And if we refuse?" he asked.
Ganesh met his gaze steadily.
"Then I will stand in the middle," he said. "And neither sky nor depth will pass through me without breaking what they seek to protect."
Aneet glanced at him sharply.
"You'd stand between Garuda and Vasuki?" she asked quietly.
Ganesh nodded.
"Yes."
Garuda stared at him.
"You would die," he said.
Ganesh replied softly, "Only if one of you decides a child's life is worth more than pride."
The cavern was silent.
Vasuki lowered his hood slightly.
"You speak as one who has seen both our pains," he said.
Ganesh nodded.
"I have seen parents fear," he said. "On land, in forests, and in rivers. It all sounds the same."
Vasuki turned and gestured with his tail.
Moments later, a smaller Naga emerged, carrying a large, pale egg cradled in coils of mist. It glowed faintly, warm with life.
Aneet's breath caught.
Garuda let out a low, trembling sound.
"My kin…"
Ganesh stepped aside.
"Take it," he said. "And let this end here."
Garuda moved forward carefully and gathered the egg with his talons, holding it as gently as one might hold a child.
He lifted his gaze to Vasuki.
"You have my word," Garuda said.
"The skies will not forget this restraint."
Vasuki inclined his great head.
"And the depths will remember that a mountain flame spoke for both."
Garuda turned to Ganesh.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he bowed his massive head slightly.
"You have no wings," Garuda said.
"Yet you taught the sky how to descend."
Ganesh bowed in return.
"I only reminded it to look down," he said.
Garuda gave a deep, resonant laugh.
"If ever the skies darken around you," he said,
"call my name. Garuda will answer."
Ganesh nodded.
"I will, if dharma asks it."
Garuda spread his wings.
With one powerful sweep, he rose into the air, carrying the egg back toward the open sky.
The ravine grew quiet once more.
Vasuki looked at Ganesh and Aneet.
"You both walk strange roads," he said. "But they leave less poison in the world."
Ganesh smiled faintly.
"That's all we aim for."
Vasuki inclined his head, and the Nagas withdrew into the depths.
Ganesh and Aneet climbed back to the ledge as the evening light spilled across the valley.
They stood watching the sky until Garuda vanished beyond the clouds.
Aneet finally exhaled.
"I thought he would tear the ravine apart," she said.
"So did I," Ganesh admitted. "But he listened."
She glanced at him.
"They all seem to," she said. "Eventually."
Ganesh smiled faintly.
"Not to me," he said. "To what's right."
They turned back to the road.
The world felt a little quieter.
Not because a war had ended.
But because one had not begun.
Together, they walked on.
Two flames.
Between sky and depth.