The temple did not welcome them.
It observed.
Ancient stone steps creaked under Aarav's feet as he ascended, moss peeling away beneath his touch as though disturbed after centuries of stillness. The forest surrounding the temple stood unnaturally quiet—no birds, no insects, no wind.
Only breath.
Not theirs.
The temple's.
Aarav felt it in his chest—a slow, rhythmic presence, deep and patient, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. His Lightning core dimmed the further he walked, not suppressed, but humbled. Power did not belong here.
"This place…" Kunal muttered, rubbing his arms. "Why does it feel like even my thoughts need permission?"
Anaya stopped at the threshold.
"This temple predates the academies," she said quietly. "Predates most written history. It was built not for worship—but for guardianship."
Aarav turned to her. "Guarding what?"
Anaya didn't answer immediately. Her Ether extended inward, invisible threads brushing against the inner sanctum—and recoiling.
"…Someone," she said.
The doors creaked open on their own.
Inside, the air was cool and heavy with age. Pillars carved with faded depictions of Devas and cosmic battles lined the hall. Symbols of Agni, Vayu, Varuna, Indra, and Akasha were etched into the floor, forming a vast mandala that converged at the center.
There—sat the broken idol.
Or so it seemed.
As Aarav stepped closer, the ground trembled—not violently, but deliberately. Dust lifted. The carvings ignited with a dim, steady glow.
Then—
The idol moved.
Stone cracked, falling away like shed skin.
A massive form rose from the sanctum, towering yet unmoving, powerful yet restrained. Muscles carved from divine stone flexed beneath ancient bindings. Eyes—deep, unwavering, endless—opened slowly.
A bull.
No.
Nandi.
Guardian of Mahādeva.
Keeper of vows.
Witness to time.
Kunal froze. "I—uh—so that's… not decorative."
Nandi's gaze swept over them, vast and immeasurable. When it settled on Aarav, the air thickened—not with pressure, but judgment.
"Another seeker," a voice echoed—not spoken, but felt.
"Another age."
Aarav dropped to one knee instinctively.
"I did not come to claim," he said, unsure why the words felt right. "Only to understand."
Nandi studied him for a long moment.
Lightning stirred faintly around Aarav's shoulders. Space warped subtly near his spine. Ether trembled.
And somewhere far deeper—Time watched.
"Indra's spark," Nandi rumbled.
"Ākāśa's echo."
"Mahākāla's shadow—unawakened."
The great bull lowered its head slightly.
"You are early."
The mandala beneath their feet shifted. Stone slid aside, revealing a recessed altar. At its center lay a fragment of metal—dark, ancient, humming with restrained power.
A shard.
Not a blade.
Not yet.
Aarav felt it instantly.
His chest burned—not painfully, but reverently.
"What is that?" Kunal whispered.
Anaya answered, voice barely steady.
"A fragment of the Trishūla."
Silence followed.
Nandi's voice filled the chamber once more.
"The Trishūla was broken," it said.
"Not in defeat—but in foresight."
Images flooded the space.
Mahādeva standing alone against a sky split by war.
Asuras clawing through dimensions.
Devas sealing realms.
Earth—fragile, burning, yet alive.
"Twelve fragments," Nandi continued.
"Twelve Jyotirlingas."
Aarav's breath caught.
"Each fragment rests where Mahādeva anchored his light," Nandi said.
"To gather them is not conquest."
"It is purification."
Anaya's Ether pulsed. "Each Jyotirlinga… will be contested."
Nandi inclined its head.
"Asuras will come."
"Ancient families will interfere."
"False claimants will fall."
The bull's gaze sharpened.
"Only one who walks Dharma—not ambition—may carry the fragments without being consumed."
Aarav stepped forward.
"I won't take it," he said firmly. "Not yet."
Kunal stared at him. "BRO—ARE YOU INSANE—"
Nandi's eyes softened.
"Good," it said.
"You listen."
The altar closed, sealing the fragment away once more.
"When the first fragment calls you," Nandi continued,
"you will know."
"Until then—train."
Aarav bowed deeply.
"What happens when all twelve are gathered?" he asked.
The temple darkened.
"Then you will journey to Kailāsa."
The word alone felt heavy.
"There," Nandi said,
"the Trishūla will judge you."
"Not by strength."
"By surrender."
The bull turned, ancient bindings cracking as it stepped forward.
"Until that day," Nandi declared,
"I will walk with you."
Kunal's jaw dropped. "WAIT—HE'S COMING WITH US?"
Nandi snorted softly.
A sound like distant thunder.
"You will need restraint," it said.
"And patience."
"And humor," it added, glancing briefly at Kunal.
Anaya exhaled slowly.
"This changes everything," she murmured.
"Yes," Nandi agreed.
"That is the nature of destiny."
As they exited the temple, the forest stirred once more. Birds returned. Wind whispered through leaves.
The temple closed its eyes.
Far away, beyond mortal sight, Asura Lords felt something shift.
A seal had acknowledged its heir.
The journey had begun.