The forge was silent, but Karthi's soul was not.
Deep beneath the ruins of Ayothira's eastern quarter, he knelt beside a cracked relic crystal, its surface pulsing with faint, rhythmic light. The forge had once belonged to Durga Indrajeet—his mother, the architect of divine resonance. Now, it was his sanctuary.
He hadn't seen Jagan in four years. Rumors claimed his brother was dead, lost in the chaos after their parents vanished. But the crystal disagreed. It whispered Jagan's name in a frequency only Karthi could hear.
His cultivation had begun without ceremony, without guidance. At twelve, while other children stood in temples surrounded by flame, Karthi awakened alone. His path was not singular—it was a fusion. Spirit cultivation flowed through his veins, but he also summoned astral constructs, built machines that bent Qi, and studied beast taming from forbidden scrolls.
He was an anomaly. An all-rounder. A threat.
The world didn't know. The world didn't care. They called him a "dim flame," a failed heir. But Karthi knew better. His resonance was growing. His forge hummed with power. And beneath it, something ancient stirred.
One night, while testing a new spiritual engine, the crystal flared violently. A voice echoed—not Durga's, but something older.
"Eight seals remain. Eight shadows watch. The flame must choose."
Karthi collapsed, visions flooding his mind—eight monstrous forms bound beneath Ayothira, each guarded by a summon of ancient knowledge. He saw a serpent made of contracts, a monk with hollow eyes, a king without a crown.
He awoke trembling. The forge was intact. The crystal dimmed. But the message was clear.
The Eight Demons were real. The Guardians were watching. And the Indrajeet flame was not forgotten.
Somewhere, Jagan was alive. Somewhere, the shadows waited.
And Karthi was no longer alone.