(Part Not Mentioned)
In the wake of Rudraksha's departure from the dream-scape, the celestial sanctuary did not dissolve into nothingness as it appeared to the boy. Instead, the vibrant colors deepened, and the air grew heavy with a weight that would have crushed a mortal soul.
A jagged, silver rift—a spatial crack—tore through the fabric of the sky a short distance from where Gauri stood. From this tear in reality, two silhouettes emerged, radiating a power that made the mythical beasts of the valley bow their heads in instinctual terror.
The first was a beast of nightmare and majesty: a colossal, jet-black water buffalo, its horns tipped with celestial jewels that pulsed with a rhythmic, rhythmic violet light. Beside it walked a figure that embodied the very concept of the end. He was tall, his skin the color of a storm cloud, clad in silken robes of royal crimson and gold. His aura was not merely dark; it was the darkness of the void, a silent, absolute force of destruction and justice.
This was Yamraj, the Lord of Death, the King of Dharma, and his vahana, the Great Bull.
Yamraj walked slowly, his footsteps leaving no mark on the blue-green soil. He paused, his gaze sweeping over the valley with a flicker of genuine admiration. He noted the unique beasts and the crystal waterfall—the architecture of a soul that had refused to surrender to the laws of the mortal plane.
Gauri, far from being terrified, turned toward him with a serene, respectful smile. She bowed her head slightly, her celestial blue sari shimmering.
"Please, Yama Maharaja," she spoke, her voice steady and clear. "If there is something a mere mortal soul can provide to satisfy your journey, I shall do my utmost."
Yamraj let out a low, resonant laugh that sounded like the distant grinding of tectonic plates. "You? A mortal, Gauri?" He stepped closer, his piercing eyes examining the very fabric of her being. "A mortal does not craft a sanctuary such as this. A mortal does not possess the unique treasure I see woven into the very threads of your soul."
He gestured to the empty space where Rudraksha had just been. "You already know why I have come to check this perimeter, do you not?"
Gauri's smile remained, though it took on a sharper edge. "I do. What I have done was a matter of utmost necessity for my son. I expected the Great Judge would take notice eventually."
"Hmm." Yamraj stroked his chin, his gaze shifting to the spatial crack behind him. "I suspect it was you who allowed me to enter this sanctuary in the first place. Your soul is… difficult to manage, Gauri. You exist outside the usual scripts written for the departed."
"Please, take a seat, Lord Yama," Gauri invited, gesturing toward the waterfall. "I believe this conversation will require time, and I find that even the King of Justice appreciates the finer fruits of the spirit."
They walked together toward the crystalline cascade, where two benches carved from living white rock and a table of solid starlight awaited. Gauri plucked a handful of unique, glowing fruits from a nearby vine—fruits that shimmered with a pale, iridescent light.
Yamraj took a fruit, biting into it. A look of mild surprise crossed his divine features. "A fruit that nourishes the soul directly. As unique as the one who grew it." He looked at her intently. "This is the reason you are still present in the astral plane, is it not? Why your memories remain intact and your consciousness is as sharp as a living being's, rather than fading into the mindless, gray existence of the low-level ghosts that haunt the mortal world?"
Gauri ate a piece of the fruit as well, her eyes distant. "It is a part of the reason, yes. But only a small part."
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the roar of the waterfall. Yamraj's expression turned solemn, the weight of his office returning to his voice.
"You must tell me the truth, Gauri. As the Ruler of Death, I am the guardian of the cycle. I need a reason for your continued independent existence. I must report this to the upper echelons—the Higher Realms. If your presence here is found to be a violation of the Great Law, the Devas will take action to maintain the balance of life and death."
Gauri sighed, a sound that seemed to echo through the entire valley. "The Devas… the ones my people worship? The ones who watch from the heights while the world below burns?"
Yamraj nodded. "Technically, yes. Though there are forces even beyond them that I am not permitted to speak of. The cycle is fragile, Gauri. Why are you the exception?"
Gauri leaned forward, her gaze meeting the God's own. "My existence is a mystery even to me, Lord Yama. You informed me yourself, moments after my breath left my body, that you could not command my soul. Your noose would not tighten; your servants could not lead me."
Yamraj narrowed his eyes, remembering the anomaly.
"I believe," Gauri continued slowly, "that the reason is that my soul is not of this plane. I am from another dimension, perhaps a different realm entirely. I possess memories of a life before this one—fragments of a world where the laws of magic and spirit were different. For some reason, the waters of forgetfulness did not wash over me when I was born into this world. My soul is woven from a different power, a different law."
Yamraj sat in stunned silence for a moment. He had processed billions of souls, but only a handful in the history of the universe had ever made such a claim—and those were usually beings of immense cosmic stature.
"So that is it," Yamraj whispered. "I have encountered such wanderers before, though they are rarer than falling stars. If your soul is forged in a different forge, then the laws of this realm—my laws—can only grasp at you, they cannot hold you. Your essence is alien to our script. Thank you for this honesty, Gauri. It clarifies much."
They spoke for a while longer, discussing the threads of fate and the boy who now walked alone in the forest. After a time, Yamraj stood, signaling the end of the meeting. He looked over to where his great black bull was happily nuzzling a patch of the strange blue-green grass.
Yamraj chuckled, a warm, booming sound. "It seems my vahana has taken a liking to your garden, Gauri. If you do not mind, might he visit this sanctuary again? He rarely finds grass that tastes of starlight."
Gauri laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "He is welcome anytime, Lord Yama. This land is a sanctuary for all who respect its peace."
Yamraj walked back toward the spatial rift, but before stepping through, he turned one last time. His aura flared, turning cold and rigid.
"Remember, Gauri. The laws of death are iron. Do not attempt to call a soul back from the mortal plane—not even your son's. For us, the laws are rigid, and all are equal before the end. If he dies, he belongs to me. Do not interfere with his thread again."
Gauri bowed her head, her face obscured. "I understand, Lord Yama."
With a final flash of violet light, the God of Death and his beast stepped through the crack, and the rift sealed shut as if it had never existed.
Gauri stood alone in the silence. Slowly, she opened her right hand, which she had kept tightly clenched throughout the meeting. A single, glowing drop of blood—celestial and gold—fell from her palm onto the blue-green soil.
She whispered, her voice so low it was meant for no ears but her own: "Yama… you are a king, but you are a king of a single world. Mine is special."
She looked toward the horizon, where she knew Rudraksha was now waking in the cold forest.
"There will come a time when all you 'beings' will acknowledge what is coming. The time will surely come when an existence you deem as small as an ant will shake the foundations of your heavens. We shall see, Lord of Death. We shall see what my little star becomes."