Sharv stood looking at the burning funeral pyre of his father. He had cremated him according to tradition. The sun had risen, and the air was already beginning to warm. Standing near the pyre, his face felt hot from the flames.
'Express your emotions through your actions.' Sharv thought, recalling his father's last words. 'I can do that.'
"May your soul find peace and a good afterlife, Father." With these final words and one last look at the pyre, he returned home.
All its comforts couldnt compensate for the death or the solitude that followed. Its beauty felt like a haunted forest of flowers.
'There is nothing more to do here. I should start my journey. They might come again,' Sharv thought while drinking water. He went into his father's bedroom. A photo of his mother hung on the opposite wall; a bed was positioned on the left side, touching the left wall.
Sharv moved the bed to the right and started digging with a pickaxe.
Just as his father said, he found a black box cuboid metal safe two feet under the ground. He brought it out, under the tap, to wash it.
' It's really dense and heavy.' He thought, opening the tap.
A single wash gave the box a shiny metallic luster removing any signs of its burial. Sharv then moved to his courtyard and sat down with the mysterious-looking box. It was a two feet cubic box of solid black color, with a golden wheel on its top.
'How does it open?' he thought after inspecting it. 'There's no opening, no seal... What if...'
He tried rotating the wheel, which didn't move, but a word beneath it started glowing faintly with golden light: PRÁNÀ, etched in modern script.
'PRÁNÀ... so I just imbue it with my PRÁNÀ. Okay.' Sharv thought, curious. He placed his right hand on it and channeled PRÁNÀ. With a golden glow, the wheel began to turn. As it rotated, the four side panels of the cube-shaped box retracted smoothly into the upper face, leaving only the top and bottom.
A smaller red box, marked with a golden sun, rested on a book. Between the book and the box, a white silk handkerchief had been placed. Sharv picked up the red box first, inspecting it. It had a hinged lid, unlike the first box. He set it down and picked up the handkerchief, revealing the unnamed black leather cover of the book which resembled a diary more than a book.
As he unfolded the handkerchief one word, written in bold red letters revealed itself : BLOOD.
'Blood? Father really put precautions above everything else.'
He fetched a needle, pierced his index finger, and let a few drops of blood sprinkle onto the handkerchief. As the blood spread, red letters appeared one by one, revealing a letter.
'Dear Son,' Sharv began reading.
"If you are reading this, it means I am dead. But don't fret over me or the past; you have a long journey ahead. The red box carries the weapons passed down in our family, meant for those who take the trial. You are the last of our lineage; use them as you wish. To open it, just imbue it with your PRÁNÀ.
Read the book – or diary, you might call it – before you reach the 'FOREST OF DEATH'. But follow these three rules as you traverse the world:
1- Do not reveal your community. Even though excommunicated, you are a target.
2- Do not reveal your beliefs or preach 'DHARMA'. Just follow it.
3- Do not reveal your full powers. Showing them will expose you.
Further details are in the book. Remember to read it.
MAY GOD PROTECT YOU"
"Quite a detailed letter, Father. I will heed your commands," Sharv spoke sadly, but with eyes brimming with determination. He then picked up the red box again.
'Let's see, what does destiny behold as my companion.' With a thought, he channeled his PRÁNÀ into it, the hinge clicked open. When he opened it completely, first an axe, then a trident and finally, a third weapon.
He inspected both the axe and trident. Engraved beautifully with blue runes of some ancient script, they gave off raw wrath and divine power, respectively. But what attracted him the most was the third weapon.
'Hmm... A dagger? But why does it have a handle like a longsword's?' he mused, looking at the third weapon. The weapon was housed in a straight, dagger-sized sheath of ocean blue color, engraved with golden runes in the Language of the Gods. But its handle was indeed almost as long as the sheath itself.
'Ākāś Kràntàk,' Sharv read the runes aloud. "Meaning 'Cutter of Space'. Nice name. But what is this, truly - a dagger or a sword ?"
Sharv picked up the dagger and gripped its handle. Though made of pure metal, it was oddly soft—his grip sunk slightly into it, molding to the shape of his hand for comfort. Its pommel was shaped like an inverted water droplet, blue in color, glowing faintly.
As he drew it from the sheath, a soft blue light shimmered inside. By the time it was fully unsheathed, what he held was no dagger—but a beautiful long sword. It was vantablack, absorbing the sunlight around it, double-edged, with a four-and-a-half-foot-long blade and a width of about six centimeters. Its edges had subtle, wave-like contours, almost artistic in nature. Like the axe and trident, it was made of that same dense, divine metal.
' So the sheath itself has a pocket dimension. And The blue engravings... they look magnificent when I swing it,' Sharv thought as he performed a fluid sword dance, the blade humming faintly with each motion. 'It's half the weight of the axe... and suits me more than the trident. This is my weapon now.'
After carefully placing the weapons back into the box, he picked up the book. Its first page held a map etched into a silken cloth glued to leather, with a small instruction - Imbue with PRÁNÀ. As he followed the instruction he got the initial direction of his journey - South.
Sharv put the book down and fetched a small spatial waist bag from the cupboard—a small leather pouch inscribed with spatial runes. These bags were expensive but common among travelers. He stored the weapons, the book, and the letter inside.
The sun was high, and the day was hot. Sharv dressed lightly, wearing a black dhoti, tying another one across his waist to serve as a saddle for the sword. Then he put on a light & fine white cotton shirt. The blade, with its long handle and small sheath, looked unconventionally mismatched at his waist, but it was the most practical way to carry it.
After a last look, he stepped out of his house and moved towards the village.
But unlike his house, the village was still in chaos from the attack of the last night.