Shankar spun around, heart leaping to his throat.
Darkness swallowed the way back—gone. Just gone.
He stood frozen, every instinct screaming to run… but there was nowhere to go but forward.
And then—
something shifted.
The silence cracked. The cold air warmed.
And all at once… light bloomed.
Not from bulbs. Not from torches. But from the walls themselves.
The rock began to glow, soft at first, like embers under stone… then brighter… then breathtaking.
Before him, a massive underground temple revealed itself—a sanctuary carved into the very heart of the mountain, ancient beyond words.
It wasn't just old—it felt eternal.
The temple's structure rose majestically, chiseled with astonishing precision, each curve and edge glowing faintly with a silvery-blue luminescence, like moonlight had been trapped in stone. The pillars were impossibly tall, holding up a ceiling that seemed to vanish into mist. Carvings covered every surface—creatures, symbols, deities, and things too abstract for the mind to name.
But it wasn't just stone.
Gold.
Real gold. Ornaments, veins, and embossed symbols, woven into the temple like it was the treasure itself—not protecting it.
And in the very center of this impossible cathedral stood a banyan tree.
Not just big—colossal.
Its roots wound around the base of the temple, curling into the walls like ancient fingers gripping their secrets.
Its trunk was wider than any tree Shankar had ever seen, so massive it looked like a pillar of earth itself.
And its branches—those reached up and out into the carved ceiling, touching the stone sky like it was the bridge between two realms.
The tree glowed faintly, too—not from lights, but as if it had soaked in centuries of forgotten energy.
Shankar took a step forward, completely overwhelmed.
The place didn't feel man-made.
It felt… divine. Forbidden. Majestic.
As if he shouldn't be here, but somehow was meant to be.
His breathing slowed.
He had come looking for flags in a game. Now, he stood in a place lost to time—a temple of impossible wonder, buried under stone and shadow, waiting.
But waiting for what?
Shankar stepped into the temple.
He was still trying to process the fact that he'd even found this place. Every step echoed like it didn't belong to him. The glowing walls pulsed faintly, not just with light—but something deeper. As if the mountain itself was alive, breathing through stone.
Ancient chests layed open, piled with gold coins, ornaments, and unfamiliar relics that shimmered under the dim glow. Everything looked untouched by time—yet somehow, they felt watched. Guarded.
Then came the statues.
Lining both sides of the inner hall, they stood tall—humanoid but not quite human. Their eyes were closed, their faces carved with expressions that seemed too layered for mortals. Peace. Sorrow. Judgement.
They didn't feel like gods. They felt like witnesses.
But none of that prepared him for what stood beyond the Banyan tree.
A colossal golden idol, rising like it had grown out of the mountain itself.
It had four arms, each holding strange objects—one looked like a wheel, another a conch, while the others were harder to identify. The face… was perfect—symmetrical, regal, almost divine—but Shankar couldn't read it.
There was no clear identity, no name that came to him. And that unsettled him.
He knew his scriptures, his deities, his stories.
He should have recognized it.
But there was something… off.
The smile wasn't comforting—it was unreadable.
The eyes weren't closed in peace—they were open just enough to feel alive.
The details weren't weathered—they were fresh, as if they were made only yesterday.
It was like a memory rendered wrong—intentionally.
And then he saw it—
The tree.
The Banyan rose from the stone floor, old as time, but brimming with a strange, still energy. Its roots wrapped through the temple like veins through a body. It stood at the very center, a bridge between what was divine and what was real.
At the base of its massive trunk… was a groove.
And inside that hollow…
A ring.
It didn't glow with light, but with awareness—as if it knew someone had entered.
Not flashy. Not grand. Just… present. Like it had always been there, waiting.
Shankar's breath faltered.
This wasn't treasure.
This wasn't a discovery.
This was a test.
Everything in his body screamed to leave—
But something in his mind whispered:
"You were meant to find this."
It all started making sense to Shankar now.
The mountains…
The location…
The hidden temple, carved within the mountain rather than upon it.
The ancient Banyan, rooted at the heart like a sentinel.
And then—the ring.
This wasn't just some abandoned temple.
This was chosen ground.
A place meant to stay hidden—until it wasn't.
And then… the figure.
A faint carving in the background, nearly weathered away. A silhouette of a man, different from the idols, less divine—more real. Perhaps once a wielder? A guardian? Or just a witness like him?
Shankar stood still.
His thoughts clashed like thunder.
It couldn't be real—yet everything in his bones told him it was.
What if this was a trap?
What if it was a dream?
What if this was meant for someone else?
But then again… why was he the one who found it?
His eyes locked on the ring.
It was simple, broad, made of a heavy gold—etched with ancient symbols that pulsed faintly in the temple's glow. The kind of artifact that didn't ask to be found… it waited.
He took a deep breath.
He reached forward.
And then—he wore it.
On his thumb.
The moment the ring slid into place, the chamber exhaled.
Light died.
The glowing walls blinked out, as if the ring had unplugged the source itself. One by one, the carvings faded. The statues dimmed. The veins of gold turned black.
It was like he'd taken the heart from the mountain — and now it waited to see what he'd do with it.
Silence.
Then—
The banyan tree pulsed.
A soft hum rose from its roots… followed by a sudden burst of golden dots.
Fireflies.
Millions of them.
Swarming out from the tree's hollows, coiling through the air like living stardust, they surrounded Shankar in a whirling cyclone of glowing whispers. They didn't sting. They didn't burn.
They watched.
Just as Shankar lifted his hand in awe
A rumble.
Low. Deep. Ancient.
Something moved behind the statue.
Something huge.
Stone cracked.
Dust spilled.
And then it stepped out.
A beast.
Tiger… but not.
Its fur was snow-white, marked with ancient black script instead of stripes. Fangs like curved scimitars, claws as long as machetes. Its eyes glowed molten gold. And it stood as tall as a small house — towering, muscle-bound, silent… until it roared.
Not loud.
Deep.
Like thunder rolling through a dead world.
Shankar couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Every cell in his body was frozen. Even the fireflies backed away.
The creature stepped closer, paws silent despite its size.
Its breath fogged the air.
Then it spoke.
Not in words.
In poetry.
Its voice was heavy, hollow, like wind echoing inside a cave. Calm, but carrying the weight of judgement.
"The one who holds this— the world once betrayed.
The lies it whispered, he never obeyed.
Truth he sought, and truth he found—
In cursed silence, not in sound.
But truth is a flame, not a prize to win,
The more you chase it, the more it burns within.
This ring is bond, not just a tool.
It feeds on questions. It answers cruel.
You want to know? Then bleed for the knowing.
Truth heals no one— it only keeps growing."
And then… the tiger was gone.
Just like that.
No sound. No exit. No trace.
The fireflies spiraled upward, vanished into the canopy above.
And everything collapsed.
The chamber flickered out of existence.
The mountain swallowed its heart again.
And Shankar—
woke up.
Face-first in forest soil.
Leaves brushing his cheek. Rain in his hair.
The temple was gone.
The slab was gone.
But the ring?
Still on his thumb.
Still warm.
Still waiting.