~ "And yet, in his heart, all he wanted was to hold her hand—one more time."
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"BRING FIRE EXTINGUISHERS! NOT WATER!" Someone yelled, their voice cutting through the cacophony.
Yet amidst the chaos, another force stirred—silent, unwavering, surrounded by destruction.
Aloka's small, ethereal figure stood firm, her determination palpable even as the inferno closed in.
{Master, I'll protect you this time.}
Small. Still. Steadfast.
Her delicate figure remained untouched—a single drop of divinity held within a hurricane. Ethereal light shimmered faintly around her, shielding Vedika, Shivangi, and herself from harm—a testament to the power far beyond her apparent age.
Her lips moved in a soft incantation—speaking ancient words passed down not by mouth, but by soul. Ancient syllables, older than language itself, slipped into the fabric of the universe. The ritual was nearing completion.
The air grew thick with energy, shimmering like heat above a holy flame. Reality began to ripple.
Above, the stars responded.
One by one—slowly, impossibly—celestial bodies began to shift. Moons drifted. Planets swayed. Entire constellations realigned in perfect, divine choreography.
Samasthit Rashi Yog—a phenomenon so rare that it appeared only once in a billion trillion years—began to unfold. It was a cosmic alignment whispered only in the oldest scriptures, when all stars, their planets, and moons across galaxies fell into perfect linear harmony.
And when such an alignment occurred… even time would hold its breath.
The pull from so many celestial giants, lined up like beads on a sacred thread, distorted the very fabric of existence. Space rippled. Time twisted. The universe itself trembled—as if surrendering, for a fleeting moment, to something far beyond its own laws.
Aloka's hands—small and trembling—rose slowly above her head, quivering not from fear, but from the sheer force coursing through her. Her voice, delicate yet unwavering, echoed with intense ancient power as she chanted words older than memory:
"Om sahasrajīvanaṁ punaḥ[1]
smṛtirekhāsu jāgṛtam[2]
pūrvakarmaprabhañjanaṁ[3]
cetanāṁ dattamuktidam[4]
sarvarūpeṣu sañchāraṁ[5]
amṛtaṁ brahmarūpiṇam[6]
tejasā vyāpya viśvaṁ ca[7]
śāntiṁ śaktiṁ pradīyatām[8]"
As Aloka chanted the ancient, burning mantra, Vedika's whispered farewell echoed through the inferno.
>Goodbye, Azure. Goodbye to everyone.
>Goodbye, Aishwarya...
Her faint voice vanished into the roar of flames and shattering wood as destruction devoured the room. Her eyes, once full of fire, dimmed with the weight of finality. With a fleeting thought of what lay beyond death, Vedika's eyes gently shut. On the planet Azure, she took what felt like her final breath—leaving behind unspoken dreams and silent goodbyes.
As silence fell within Vedika, something ancient awakened within Aloka.
The syllables burned with energy. A pulse erupted from her being—dense, radiant, unstoppable—like the heart of a newborn star exploding into existence.
From the center of her forehead, a beam of light burst forth, searing gold and blinding white, cascading in a spiral of divine fire. For a breathless moment, time fractured. Sound ceased. Matter froze. And space... trembled.
The room was devoured in brilliance, its walls ignited in radiant flames—yet the energy didn't stop there. It surged outward, rippling across dimensions, unraveling the very fabric of space and time.
What followed was not an explosion.
It was an awakening.
Of memory. Of purpose. Of something far greater than a single life.
☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾
Somewhere beyond stars, beyond time, beyond form—within the chaos beating at the heart of creation—a spark stirred.
It drifted first like a sigh through the void.
Not a soul. Not a light.
A memory. A purpose. A divine essence.
Kaalvesh.
Once the God of Gods—the eternal weaver of cosmic rhythm, time, and transformation.
Time bowed before him. Realms unfolded at his command. Reality itself bent to his will.
And yet, all his boundless power shattered before a single force—Love.
Ojasvi.
His counterpart. His beloved. His mirror. His light. His eternal.
The only one who ever made eternity feel too short. She who held divinity in her smile, who softened the god and awakened the man within him.
She had fallen in the Great War—the final battle sealing the Evil Shadowy Cult, a force of unknown origin that sought to devour divine balance. She made the ultimate sacrifice.
To preserve balance, to protect countless worlds, she tore herself from reality, scattering her soul across dimensions.
A fracture so deep not even time could repair it.
Kaalvesh, ruler of timelines—he who could stretch moments or collapse centuries—stood helpless.
The past was carved into celestial scroll. Even he could not rewrite it.
He had watched her fade. Unable to save her. Unable to follow.
Not even his dominion over time could retrieve her. The past was immutable. Her death was the price of salvation.
He had wept. Not as a god—
But as a man. A broken one.
And so, he let go.
He abandoned his throne. Cast off immortality. Erased his name from the scrolls of gods, the lips of priests, the stones of temples.
All that remained was will—pure, unbound, unyielding.
A divine essence untethered, now coursing through collapsing stars and forgotten nebulae, riding on ancient songs sung by space itself.
He followed fragments—fleeting echoes of her laughter, remnants of her presence scattered like stardust across time.
Even in your one hundred and seven divine manifestations, you found your way to me… as river, as flame, as song, as silence.
As destiny. As grace. As love.
His vow echoed through dimensions like a forgotten prayer.
This time… even if you no longer remember me… I will find you.
What use is ruling the cosmos—if you are not beside me?
Without you, even eternity is silence. An eternal curse.
A golden-red blaze, born from the dying breath of a forgotten star, surged forth—not as matter, but as will incarnate.
Kaalvesh—stripped of name and form, yet burning with the memory of love—moved through the cosmos as a celestial streak of divine intent.
It tore across galaxies with a grace no comet had ever known. It slipped between asteroid fields like whispered breath. It outraced collapsing wormholes and defied black holes that clawed at its edges.
It was faster than light, untouched by time, immune to entropy.
Not a thing of nature—but a declaration against it.
Nebulae shimmered as it passed. Galaxies bowed in quiet awe. Civilizations looked to the sky and felt… something. Though they forgot, the stars remembered.
They whispered new names:
Nirjyotika-Ayonij [9].
Sattvamati-Vairajya [10].
But he was not returning to rule.
He was returning to remember. To reclaim the soul he lost. To fulfill a vow that even death could not sever.
"More than power, more than status, yeah you gave me your heart—now I'm here to return your soul."
After eons wrapped in silence, the comet began to slow. Its fire dimmed. Its will sharpened.
At last, the comet neared its destination.
Nirvania.
A world cradled in the celestial sea—a jewel veiled in blue and green.
Ancient. Wise. Pulsing with forgotten truths.
Its sapphire oceans danced with living rhythm. Emerald continents shimmered with mystic breath. Snow-crowned mountains watched the heavens. Forests murmured secrets older than man. Rivers flowed like silver veins humming ancient names.
Drawn by fate, the comet breached Nirvania's atmosphere and descended toward Manovrta—where wisdom and mysticism entwined.
At the heart of it lay—a marvel carved city in reverence and light.
Ivory spires kissed the sky. Domes held captured starlight. Mosaic streets whispered stories with every step. The air shimmered with mantras. Every stone held memory.
Celestial auroras unfurled—waves of fire and song.
Not just colors—but hymns.
Winds stilled. Beasts fell silent. Forests listened.
The bones of the earth stirred.
This was not arrival. This was ceremony.
The world, old as stars, remembered.
He had returned—not as ruler, not as god, but as promise. As man.
Deep within the cold, mist-veiled forests of the Manovrta mountains—where dawn moved gently across white snow, where giant snowy deer nibbled on glowing rare medicinal herbs, where birds sang hymns older than man—the world held its breath.
Life moved in its natural rhythm:
Furry snow lynxes prowled. White deer lifted their heads in curiosity. Black-horned mountain hares darted through ferns. A silver-feathered hawk circled above.
And then—the golden-red brilliance touched the forest.
Life breathed.
It struck the mist like fire meeting frozen time. The forest trembled. Mist swirled inward. Light folded upon itself. Reality rippled like a disturbed mirror.
From that collision of divine will and earthly breath—a shape began to form.
And then, like a breath, it merged within the misty forest.
A pulse followed. Subtle. Eternal.
A ripple across space-time.
Ojasvi… wait for me…
The whisper was not sound. It was will—carried across galaxies and folded into starlight.
A vow reborn. Rebirth had begun. The Eternal Wheel turned once more.
Not slowly. Not by birth. Not by growth.
But all at once.
A man appeared.
Fully grown. Ageless. Unearthly.
As if the universe remembered him and sculpted him again from memory.
His body was still. Silent. Otherworldly.
His face—long, sharply carved, shaped by ancient winds and cosmic precision.
Smoke-grey eyes, half-lidded in eternal meditation—eyes that had seen the first dawn and the last sunset. A silent fire slept beneath them.
His forehead bore a faint glowing line—a sealed ember of forgotten divinity—pulsing once, like a breath after centuries.
His skin was the cold shade of moonlit stone. His hair flowed long and dark like storm clouds.
He did not speak.
Yet the universe around him fell silent—not out of fear, but reverence.
His face was not beautiful. It was inevitable. A face destiny could not ignore.
From the glow of moonlight he emerged—calm, serene, unshakable. A presence that quelled storms and tamed the wild wind.
Across the mountains, the air stirred. Creatures sensed him. Rivers hushed. Birdsong halted. The lynxes lowered their heads.
Even the mountain wind paused.
They parted, forming a path by instinct, guided by memory older than themselves.
He stepped forward—silent, fluid, unhurried—like a thought the world had been waiting to remember.
Then—a sudden tremor of chaos.
A young wild bull calf burst through the trees, maddened and raging. Branches broke. Birds scattered.
But the moment it entered the man's aura—everything changed.
Its fury shattered. Its legs buckled. Without a sound, it collapsed into deep sleep.
Not harmed. Simply subdued.
The man walked to it, kneeling with unmatched gentleness. Two fingers pressed to its forehead. Warmth flowed. Fear dissolved.
Nature recognized him. Accepted him. Submitted to him.
Even the ancient winds trembled with recognition.
He walked the world unaware of his eternal promise—guided not by memory, but by yearning.
Drawn by the ache of something lost waiting to be found.
Not just to find her body—but to awaken her soul.
For love this deep does not vanish; it weaves itself into destiny.
I will find you, Ojasvi. Across all realms. Across all veils.
No matter the shape you take. No matter how far time scatters us.
I will find my way—until the stars remember, until even the winds remember your name… and whisper it back to me.
Until our souls become one once more.
He was no longer a god.
But he was something far stronger—
A soul incarnated through love. Unforgotten. Undying. Unyielding.
☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾☼☾
The Nirvania Grah[11]
Celestial Period 8562
The land of Manovrta Mahadvip[12] awakened to a dawn woven not just in sunlight, but in prophecy.
At its heart, the Rajvansh Samrajya[13] flourished—a realm where empires breathed history and myths walked alongside men.
And at its center stood Shrinagar, the jewel of Nirvania.
As the first rays of golden light spilled over its ivory domes, the city stirred.
Temple bells chimed in rhythmic blessing, their echoes mingling with saffron-scented air and the sweetness of freshly made mithaiyaan[14].
Marketplaces bloomed with color—silks from Suvarna Nagar, gems that glowed like bottled starlight, spices that whispered of distant isles.
In the bustling Maharaja Bazaar, traders called out their wares with pride, while women in vibrant sarees[15] exchanged laughter and garlands.
Children ran barefoot, singing songs of heroes and gods.
Today, the streets pulsed with celebration—
For Pradhāna-Samanta Rudrapratap Chauhan, the terrifying lion of the Rajvansh armies, was returning victorious.
Seven years of battle.
Seven years of waiting.
Drums thundered like monsoon clouds.
Trumpets blared.
Flags of crimson and gold danced atop every tower.
The gates of Shrinagar were thrown wide, ready to welcome home a legend.
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[1] Om sahasrajīvanaṁ punaḥ (ॐ सहस्रजीवनं पुनः।)
→ Om, may the thousand lives revive once more,
[2] smṛtirekhāsu jāgṛtam (स्मृतिरेखासु जागृतम्॥)
→ Let the lines of memory awaken.
[3] pūrvakarmaprabhañjanaṁ (पूर्वकर्मप्रभञ्जनं।)
→ Shatter the buildings of past karma,
[4] cetanāṁ dattamuktidam (चेतनां दत्तमुक्तिदम्॥)
→ Grant the soul its destined freedom.
[5] sarvarūpeṣu sañchāraṁ (सर्वरूपेषु संचारं।)
→ Let divine nectar move in all forms,
[6] amṛtaṁ brahmarūpiṇam (अमृतं ब्रह्मरूपिणम्॥)
→ As Brahman's own eternal essence.
[7] tejasā vyāpya viśvaṁ ca (तेजसा व्याप्य विश्वं च।)
→ May light pervade the universe,
[8] śāntiṁ śaktiṁ pradīyatām (शान्तिं शक्तिं प्रदीयताम्॥)
→ And gift us peace and power within."
[9] Nirjyotika—representing sacrifice or void;
Ayonij—representing eternal existence
[10] Sattvamati—one born of pure existence;
Vairajya—one becomes detachment personified
[11] Grah (Planet): The word "planet" in Hindi and Sanskrit is: ग्रह (Grah)
[12] Mahadvip (Continent): The word "continent" in Hindi is: महाद्वीप (Mahādvīp)
[13] Samrajya (Empire): The word "Samrajya" (सम्राज्य) is a Sanskrit/Hindi term that means: Empire
[14] Mithaiyaan (Sweets): Mithaiyaan (मिठाइयाँ) is a Hindi/Urdu word meaning: "sweets" or "desserts".
[15] Saree: Saree is used to describe someone—usually a woman—wearing a saree, a traditional Indian garment. A "saree woman" means 'a woman dressed in a saree'.