"Not all threads are woven in daylight. Some are knotted in frost and silence." — Namiran Proverb
❄️ Namira — The City That Forgot Itself
Wind howled through the white ruins of Namira. Once a center of ancient reflection arts, now a skeleton of marble towers buried in snow.
In the deepest vault, surrounded by frozen glyphs, sat a boy.
Aarav.
Eyes closed. Lips parted. But silent.
His eyes had not opened since the eclipse that birthed him. Yet he saw more than anyone.
The elders had warned: "Do not wake the Mirrorborn."
But the Breath had begun whispering. And now — the ice cracked.
Aarav's eyes opened.
Silver.
The world did not change.
It remembered.
🪞 Reflections Stir
In the Hall of Forgotten Names, mirrored shards floated midair. For years, they reflected nothing.
Now they moved.
A shard spun, glowing faintly, showing three children under a banyan tree. Another reflected fire curling into a lotus. A third showed Meera, whispering a name no one dared to speak.
The seers gasped.
"He's Awakened."
"We must bind him—"
"No," said the old caretaker, eyes full of tears. "We must let him see."
🕊️ The Journey Begins
The wind outside calmed.
Aarav stood.
He walked barefoot to the edge of the northern cliff, where no one dared tread.
There, beneath the aurora skies, stood a figure in black and silver.
"You felt it too," the figure said.
Aarav nodded. "I saw fire. Harmony. And silence."
"The Trinity rises again."
"What am I to do?" Aarav asked.
"Go south. The boy of Nirvana waits. The girl of Light already calls."
"And you?"
"I am only the beginning of your forgetting."
With that, the figure vanished in falling snow.
🌀 Meanwhile — Amaravati
Meera paused during meditation. Her fingers trembled.
A new vision burned across her senses.
Silver eyes. A city of ice. A whisper:
> "You are not alone."