The sands stretched like a golden sea, endless and whispering. The sun over Utkala was neither warm nor kind—it was ancient and glaring, like the eye of a buried god.
Astha's boots crunched on brittle sand as they stepped into the forgotten ruins. Tall broken pillars stood half-sunk, carved with spiraling bones and script no one had spoken aloud in millennia.
Luv narrowed his eyes, a distant rumble of thunder following his steps.
"This is where they locked up their mistakes," he muttered. "The ones who remembered too much."
"The Bone Choir," Naira confirmed. "Prophets who sang forbidden mantras. The gods broke their bodies... but couldn't silence their voices."
Beneath their feet, the ground began to tremble. Faint hymns echoed—not in melody, but in rhythm, like something chanting from beneath the earth.
---
They moved deeper, toward a crumbled shrine marked with skulls arranged in a spiral. The entrance led underground—steps carved into rib-bone arches and spine-shaped columns.
The air changed.
Heavy. Cold. Sacred.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of skeletons lined the walls, their jawbones stitched shut with gold wire. But still, they hummed. A deep, rattling mantra that beat like a war drum.
Suddenly—
A voice.
Clear. Deep. Familiar.
"Astha... son of flame... do you still wear their chains?"
He froze.
"That voice…"
"You heard it too?" Luv said, stepping beside him.
The center of the chamber held a massive ossuary pillar, made from compressed bones and silent skulls. But one was missing its jaw—and from that hollow socket, the voice emerged.
"Come claim the truth you buried with us."
---
Astha stepped closer—and his vision collapsed into white.
He saw a temple. Not the gods'. A hidden mortal temple, where rebels once protected forbidden texts. Inside it, a younger Astha knelt before a burning symbol—chanting a mantra as his body scorched, not from flame, but from remembrance.
The ritual was to awaken the soul of resistance.
The cost?
"Forget your name," said the priest.
"Forget your mother's voice. Forget comfort. And remember only fire."
"Why would anyone agree to that?" Naira's voice echoed faintly.
"Because the gods left him no other choice," whispered the skull.
---
From behind the ossuary, something shifted.
A towering skeletal figure rose, its bones gilded, and its chest marked with a cracked Veda seal. It was once a prophet, but it had chosen silence over rebellion. Now it served the gods as a gatekeeper.
"None shall take the last fragment," it hissed, voice like dry leaves.
Astha didn't respond. He was already walking forward, his robe flowing like ink across stone.
The skeleton raised its staff—bones fused with scripture—and slammed it into the ground.
The chamber split into nine floating platforms, each one flickering with glyphs of memory.
---
Astha leapt first, summoning Vaayutal mid-spin, its curved edge slicing a crescent arc across the floating scriptures. The air crackled with pressure. Smritidhaara wrapped around his left arm like a living flame, countering the bone staff's mantras mid-cast.
CRACK!
A glyph shattered as he punched through one platform, using raw strength to collapse it into shards.
Luv followed, teleporting between lightning sigils. His Indra-armored fists clashed with Asatya's staff, creating shockwaves that shattered bones in the walls. The Bone Choir began humming louder, louder—until some of their heads burst.
Naira handled the backlines—dodging curses, countering divine traps with sigils of her own making.
The battle spun like a cyclone of memory and light.
Astha's voice rang out:
"I never chose fire. The gods threw me into it."
"And now… I am the fire."
He invoked the name etched in his soul:
"Smritidhaara—bind the forgotten."
The chain flared with divine fury, wrapping Asatya's ribcage, pulling it apart. Then—
Vaayutal pierced through his spine.
Asatya screamed one final mantra—
"You should never have remembered...!"
And crumbled to dust.
---
The final fragment hovered from the ashes, glowing with blood-red light.
Astha caught it in his palm.
The moment he did, Saphthya appeared—her body fully restored, eyes glowing.
"You've awakened all four echoes," she said.
Her voice was no longer pained.
It was divine.
"Now… I can show you the truth the gods erased."
"And the one they created… to destroy you."
The entire chamber began to quake.
Far above, in the highest golden skies of Swarnalok, something stirred awake.