Smoke curled around Iksara's chained form, its many eyes dimming into slits of amber and obsidian. The talismans that once hovered and burned in solemn orbit now clung to the shrine walls, whispering, folding back into silence—as if even they feared what came next.
Luv lowered his spear of thunder, its current still crackling at the edges. Naira's mantra field pulsed like a heart in retreat, gently folding around her like a cocoon.
But Astha didn't move.
His weapon, Vaayutal, now glowed with a pale heat—muted, uncertain. Smritidhaara remained wrapped tight around his arm in Vikara Mode, flame licking his shoulder like a living wound.
"You promised truth," Astha said, voice cold. "Start speaking."
Iksara grinned beneath the cracked mask of bone and brass.
"Then prepare to bleed…"
---
[ The Revelation Begins]
Chains rattled, not in resistance—but as conductors. The glowing sigil left behind by Astha's chain flared to life, etching itself into the shrine's floor and ceiling in molten ink.
Suddenly, the ceiling split, not physically—but through perception.
A spiraling mirror of stars opened, revealing a cosmic mural—shifting images drawn from divine memory itself.
And Iksara spoke.
"In the beginning, there was no Dharma, no Karma, no Cycle.
Only Design."
Images unfolded:
Astral hands—not of gods, but of something older—etching symbols into space itself.
World-trees blooming from fragments of fallen titans.
The first Devas, not born—but engineered from blueprints—woven from mantra, flame, and silence.
"The gods were not born divine. They were chosen. Crafted."
Astha's eyes sharpened.
"By who?"
"By the one who came before even creation. The Shaper of the Original Verse—the true Creator, whose name they have buried beneath millennia of false scriptures."
---
> "The gods you fight… are not creators. They are usurpers," Iksara continued, voice thick with bitter hymn.
"And when their creations rebelled—when mortals grew close to discovering the truth—they burned our civilizations, erased our names, and buried the blueprints of existence."
The next visions were horrifying:
Civilizations that never appeared in history—floating cities of glass and flame—shattered by divine spears.
Entire pantheons slaughtering their own followers to preserve the veil of control.
And beings like Iksara—the Unforgotten, locked away instead of killed, because their deaths would leave cosmic ripples.
Luv took a shaky breath.
"They didn't win because they were just. They won because they erased every other version of the story."
Naira's face paled.
"How many gods know the truth?"
"Not all," Iksara whispered.
"But enough. And those who do… fear what you might become."
---
The shrine convulsed. From the sigil on the floor, a spiral of inked scripture reached upward and touched Astha's chest.
It didn't burn.
It branded.
An invisible glyph embedded beneath his skin, right above his heart.
"You now carry one piece of the Divine Blueprint," Iksara said.
"It will awaken in time… when the next truth calls."
"How many pieces are there?" Astha asked.
"Nine. Each guarded by a forgotten being. Each tied to a lie the gods never wanted spoken."
"And what happens if I gather all of them?"
Iksara's eyes flickered like collapsing suns.
"Then you'll rewrite the laws of existence… or burn trying."
---
Suddenly, the shrine ceiling shivered.
A golden spear pierced down through the dimensional fold, slamming inches from Iksara's head.
Luv reacted instantly, pulling Astha and Naira back.
From above, a haloed silhouette descended—not flying, but manifesting like light becoming flesh.
A Divine Messenger—clad in layered armor of sunlight threads and eyes burning with judgment.
"So," the Messenger snarled, wings unfurling behind him,
"the heretic walks the path of forbidden echoes."
He pointed his blade at Astha.
"You were warned, Ash-Walker. You trespass where mortal blood does not belong."
Astha stepped forward, fire burning in his eyes.
"Then come spill it, if you think you can."