The Ocean of Milk lay far behind them now.
Its quiet glow faded into memory as Ganesh and Aneet walked through the higher realms, along a path of light that wound between mountains of crystal and valleys filled with soft, living mist. The air felt calmer than during the days of churning, yet beneath that calm, Ganesh sensed a subtle tension — as if the cosmos had settled, but not healed.
"This peace feels… thin," Aneet said, her voice low.
Ganesh nodded. "The ocean was only one trial. Others will come, born not from depth, but from pride."
They had been summoned — not by command, but by a quiet pull — toward an ancient forest that stood between worlds, a place where time itself seemed to slow. It was said that here, the oldest voices of Satya Yuga often gathered.
As they stepped beneath towering trees whose leaves glimmered like stars, they felt it at once.
Seven presences.
Seven flames of awareness, each different, yet bound by a single current of wisdom.
They reached a clearing where seven sages sat in a wide circle around a small fire that burned without smoke.
The Saptarishi.
Vashistha sat straight and serene, his eyes calm as a still lake.
Vishwamitra leaned forward slightly, fire burning in his gaze.
Atri radiated gentle warmth, like a quiet hearth.
Bharadvaja watched with keen, disciplined eyes.
Gautama sat with sharp clarity, seeing more than he spoke.
Jamadagni was austere, power held tightly in restraint.
And Kashyapa, eldest among them, seemed vast, as if generations lived within his breath.
As Ganesh and Aneet approached, the fire at the center flared softly.
Vashistha spoke first. "So, the walkers arrive."
Ganesh bowed deeply. "Revered rishis."
Aneet bowed as well, her presence drawing a subtle shift among them.
Vishwamitra smiled faintly. "You carry the fire of change, young one. And you," he said, looking at Aneet, "carry the stillness that keeps it from burning the world."
Atri's eyes softened. "We have felt your steps since the ocean grew quiet."
Ganesh straightened. "Then you know why we come."
Kashyapa nodded slowly. "Yes. The age turns its gaze from the depths… to itself."
They were invited to sit.
The forest seemed to lean inward, listening.
Bharadvaja spoke. "Samudra Manthan has ended without immortality. That choice will shape Satya Yuga more than any nectar could."
Ganesh replied, "The choice was not ours alone. The world chose through us."
Gautama looked at him sharply. "And now the world will test whether that choice holds."
Aneet asked, "What do you see, revered ones?"
For a moment, none answered.
Then Jamadagni spoke, his voice low. "We see pride rising where humility once stood."
Vishwamitra added, "And ritual growing louder than truth."
Vashistha closed his eyes briefly. "In Daksha."
Ganesh felt the name settle heavily.
"Daksha," he repeated. "Father of Sati."
Atri nodded sadly. "Yes. A great organizer. A builder of order. But one who has begun to believe that order is his to command… not to serve."
Kashyapa said, "He prepares a grand yajna. A sacrifice meant to proclaim his place among the highest."
Aneet frowned slightly. "And Shiva?"
Vashistha's eyes opened. "Shiva is not invited."
Silence fell.
Ganesh felt the fire within him stir sharply.
"To exclude Mahadeva from a sacrifice that claims to uphold cosmic order," he said, "is not oversight. It is declaration."
Vishwamitra nodded. "A declaration that stillness has no place in ritual."
Atri added softly, "And that is where the wound begins."
Ganesh looked around the circle. "Why tell us this?"
Kashyapa answered, "Because you walk where dharma trembles. And because you stand close to Shiva and Sati."
Aneet felt a quiet ache. "Sati will not accept this lightly."
Vashistha nodded. "She is torn between devotion to her husband and love for her father. Daksha knows this… and still proceeds."
Ganesh's jaw tightened. "Then the yajna is not only ritual. It is challenge."
"Yes," Gautama said. "To Shiva's place in the world."
"And to Sati's heart," Atri added.
Vishwamitra leaned forward. "We will go to this yajna. Some of us, at least. To counsel restraint."
Jamadagni said, "But counsel does not always soften pride."
Ganesh stood slowly.
"Then I will walk to Kailasa," he said. "I will speak with my guru. And I will stand with Sati, whatever comes."
Aneet rose beside him. "And I will walk with her, so she does not face this alone."
Kashyapa looked at them both. "You cannot stop what is already forming," he said. "But you may shape how it breaks."
Ganesh bowed. "That is all we seek."
Before they left, Vashistha spoke one more time.
"Remember, walker," he said, "sometimes dharma is not in preventing the fall… but in standing where the fall teaches the world."
Ganesh met his gaze. "Then we will stand there."
Aneet added softly, "Together."
As they departed the ancient forest, Ganesh felt the weight of the coming days settle upon him.
"The Saptarishi have seen this before," he said. "Pride has shattered worlds in every age."
Aneet looked toward the distant peaks of Kailasa, barely visible beyond the mists.
"And yet," she said, "each time, the world still hopes it will not happen again."
Ganesh nodded slowly.
"We are about to walk into one of those moments."
Above them, unseen, clouds gathered in slow spirals.
Far away, in his shining realm, Daksha prepared his grand sacrifice, pride swelling in his heart.
And at Kailasa, Shiva sat in still meditation, unaware that the silence around him was about to be torn by grief that would shake the cosmos.