Reina opened her eyes. Her breath came in ragged gasps, as though she’d just resurfaced from a sea determined to swallow her whole. But instead of salty water or enveloping darkness, she was greeted by a warm golden light hanging in the hall like a cracked celestial canopy. The symbols etched into the stone floor glowed softly, their luminescent lines converging toward the ring on her left hand.
“Am I… really here?” Reina murmured.
Her body no longer felt heavy. Her mind was clear, and more than anything—she felt… whole. A part of herself she’d long lost was slowly returning from some nameless place.
“She has succeeded in opening the Gate of Ancestral Memories,” whispered Radeeva, standing at the edge of the magic circle.
Bhirendra only nodded, though the sharp focus in his eyes betrayed his surprise.
Reina gazed down at her palm. Faint, flickering images formed: a sword, a cracked sky, unfamiliar faces that felt rooted in her blood yet defied logic.
“Is all of this… mine?” she breathed.
Radeeva stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “These are the memory echoes of the Heirs. Your power doesn’t come from physical training alone—but from being acknowledged by your ancestors. You—Reina, girl of Arunika—are the reincarnation of a soul that once brought this world together centuries ago.”
Reina met his eyes, uncertain. “But I’m just an environmental researcher—”
“There’s no ‘just’ in destiny,” Bhirendra interrupted quietly, softer than usual. He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “If you’re part of the cosmos’s grand design, then now is the time to walk its lines—not deny them.”
Reina inhaled deeply. “Then… teach me.”
Silence greeted her words. Radeeva glanced toward Bhirendra, who nodded once.
---
Training resumed—but this time it felt different. Radeeva arranged a series of movements to harmonize her body with her inner energy. To the untrained eye, they looked like dance—but woven into each graceful arc was ancient magic, the basis of the royal martial art known as Somodrawa Steps, the path of the artifact guardians.
Bhirendra guided her endurance and self-control—not with force, as before, but with sharp observation. He only spoke when necessary. Though he remained taciturn, his gaze now carried respect.
During the session, Reina stumbled twice, fell once, even tripped on her own robes. Yet she didn’t complain. She even laughed. “So this is what it feels like to be a pupil in a weird world,” she said, brushing dust from her knees.
Radeeva offered a small, knowing smile. “If you can still laugh during training, then you haven’t lost the best part of yourself.”
---
That day, Reina learned more than moves. She began to sense the rhythm of this world. The voices in the ring became coherent echoes, the whispers transformed into resonant phrases. In the shadows of magic, she glimpsed fragments of the past: battlefields, shouts of warriors, and a silver-robed woman—herself in another time, another form.
When dusk enveloped the sky and the twin moons hovered like watchful eyes, Reina stood alone on the balcony of the hall, gazing across the violet-orange horizon.
“I don’t know who I was…” she whispered. “But I know I must find her again.”
For the first time since being thrust into this world, Reina didn’t want to go back. Not because she’d accepted everything—but because… she needed to uncover who the Heir of Light once was—and why destiny chose her.
---
Night draped Swastamita in deep auburn as Reina lingered on the training-tower balcony. A breeze lifted her hair, carrying the smell of damp earth and unfamiliar pines she’d never smelled on Earth. Her voice nearly vanished in the hush as she said, “Strange… this place awakens a part of me I never imagined.”
“Because it does,” came a gentle voice behind her.
Radeeva appeared silently. His cloak, embroidered with magical tendrils, brushed the stone floor like a drifting mist. He held a cup of warm, golden-hued drink, and offered it to Reina without comment.
“Drink this. It will help you sleep—and stabilize your energy frequency. Right now, your newfound power is competing with your old world’s logic. Without balance, you risk… exploding,” he said, giving a faint smile.
“Exploding?” Reina sipped slowly. “Why does that sound like I’m carrying a biological bomb inside?”
“Because technically… you are.”
They both laughed—a light moment for the first time that felt natural. After a while, Radeeva spoke softly, “Do you know why I was angry at Bhirendra earlier today? It wasn’t just his rough methods. It was because… I was once trained the same way. And… I know what it feels like to be seen as less than human.”
Reina turned to him. Radeeva’s gaze lifted to the moon, his eyes reflecting its glow. “I wasn’t born chosen. I was shaped by desperation—not destiny. But you… you were summoned by hope. This world embraced you because it remembered you.”
Silence followed. Then Reina asked gently, “You and Bhirendra… you seem so opposite. But why do you share the same purpose?”
Radeeva’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Because perhaps we each bear wounds from different sides of the same struggle.”
Reina nodded slowly. No explanations needed. There were truths here beyond Western logic or academic theory.
---
Late into the night, as Reina finally made her way back to her quarters, she glanced down the long hallway. At its far end stood Bhirendra—silent within the shadows.
They exchanged gazes. No words. But Reina sensed—her guardian carried more than a vow. He carried a burden, a story. And somehow, that story was seeping into her—as an underground river revives a dormant seed.
That night, as beauty faded into uneasy sleep, Reina had a dream.
She stood in a luminous field. Before her was a silver-robed woman crowned with light, smiling at her. The woman said nothing—only placed her hand on Reina’s chest and whispered a single name that echoed through her soul:
“Istradewa.”
At that instant, the Cakra Adhiwara glowed with a steady pulse. Ancient runes began to etch themselves onto her skin… as though her body was remembering who she truly was.
---
In her room, the night sky beyond the carved Arunika door was never truly dark. Reina slept fitfully, haunted by her own heritage.
Bhirendra entered without a sound—like the night slipping in unnoticed. His footsteps were soft, blending with the shadows on the walls. This wasn’t the first time. Since the first night, since her troubled breathing turned into silent cries, he’d known—sleep was not a safe refuge for Reina.
“Don’t… please… Mother…”
He recognized the words—always the same, the same rhythm. As though Reina’s nightmares were etched into her soul’s walls. He sat at the bedside, silent, and placed two fingers against her forehead.
A gentle glow spread beneath her pale skin. A calming magic—not only to induce sleep, but to soothe wounds of a depth he still couldn’t fully see.
Reina thrashed slightly, then gradually calmed. Her breathing slowed; the tension in her face eased—like ice melting at winter’s end. Yet her lips still trembled, whispering the name that haunted her sleep.
“Mother… please…”
Bhirendra leaned in, his hand hovering above her—not touching, but keeping a respectful distance from something so delicate, personal… and strangely vital.
He didn’t know why he was doing this. He wasn’t a caretaker, or a guardian of children. Not a father, not a kin, not a lover.
Yet each night he came. Sat. Watched. Ensured that her nightmares didn’t swallow her completely. Sometimes he closed his eyes; at other times, he simply stared at her—trying to read something that even history refused to record.
Once, Reina almost awoke—the sweat and screams tearing her from sleep. She panicked, tried to sit up. But before she could, Bhirendra laid his hand on her forehead again. He soothed her, and she drifted back into quiet slumber, unaware he was there.
He always left before dawn. When the night air turned sharp and moonlight faded behind mist. He departed quietly—avoiding footprints. Avoiding explanations. Because he didn’t have one.
Perhaps… deep down, beyond his rejection of her destiny, he was the first to recognize that Reina was not fleeing from power—but from a wound older than her memories.
That night, before disappearing again, Bhirendra lingered at the threshold. Watching Reina sleep more peacefully than she had in nights past.
“You’ve been too harsh on yourself… and I’ve been too harsh on you,” he whispered softly—then stepped away, vanishing like the night before the dawn.