The gardens of Shaniwar Wada were a pool of shadow under the moonless Pune sky, the ancient fort's walls silent as Amar and the Messenger faced each other across the weathered stone bench. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and damp earth, the night alive with the Messenger's playful energy. His hooded robe shimmered faintly, catching nonexistent starlight, his grin a constant challenge to Amar's wariness. Their conversation flowed, unbroken from the revelations of The Man's Sound-bound power and Amar's anomalous strength. Tonight, Amar's golden eyes held curiosity over aggression, his chaotic heart eager for more truths.
"You've told me about The Man, the proxies, their games," Amar said, his voice steady but probing, leaning forward. "But you—you're still a riddle. Who are you, Messenger? You claim to be unbound, a free spirit. Tell me about yourself. No games, just truth."
The Messenger's laugh was bright, a melody that danced through the garden like wind through peepal leaves. "Oh, Amar, you think you can unravel me so easily? Truth's no fun without a little dance!" He leaned back, eyes twinkling with ageless mischief. "I've seen a lot, you know. Been on this earth for… oh, longer than I bother counting. Time's a blur when you're flitting through history. Mortals have given me many names, in many tongues, across many lands. But here, in this ancient soil, they call me the Messenger of Gods. You might know one name: Narad Muni."
Amar's breath caught, his golden eyes widening. "Narad Muni? The sage from the old tales—Mahabharata, Puranas? You're saying you're him?"
The Messenger's grin widened, his hooded gaze sparkling. "Am I? Or is Narad Muni just a mask I've worn? I chose this moniker, you know—Messenger of Gods. It fits, don't you think? Stirring pots, whispering truths, weaving chaos and wisdom. But don't get too hung up on names, God of Darkness. I'm a thread in many tapestries, not just your Hindu legends."
Amar leaned closer, intrigued, his shadows calming. "So the stories—Mahabharata, Ramayana, the gods—are they real? Are they all proxies like us? Or something more?"
The Messenger tilted his head, his voice a playful riddle. "Yes and no, my curious friend. Some are proxies—avatars, as they called them in the old days, vessels of primordial power walking among mortals. Others? The primordials themselves, stepping into the world when it suits them. The tales are true, but twisted through mortal eyes, spun into myths. Your gods, your demons—proxies and primordials playing their cosmic games. But it's not just here. I've been in other lands, other stories, with different names, always the same role: the Messenger, stirring, guiding, watching."
Amar's mind raced, piecing it together. "Other mythologies? You're saying you're in all of them? Norse, Greek, every culture's tales?"
The Messenger clapped, delighted. "Sharp as a blade! Yes, I've flitted through them all—different faces, same spirit. Always the Messenger, always meddling. I chose this path, this name, because it's fun! Mortals love their stories, and I love nudging them along." He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But you, Amar—you're a new chapter. Power like yours doesn't come often. I've seen eons, and I've never seen a proxy like you."
Amar's chaotic heart thrummed, his voice firm. "You keep saying I'm different, stronger. Why? What's so special about my Darkness?"
The Messenger's eyes gleamed, his tone almost reverent. "That's the riddle I'm still unraveling. Your patron—Darkness itself—is a force beyond most. It doesn't bother with proxies often, not like others Ah, spitting out their puppets. You're a rare spark, a storm they didn't see coming. That's why I'm here, Amar. Your story's just beginning, and I want to see how it unfolds."
Amar nodded, absorbing the weight of it. "And The Man's committee? The proxies controlling the world? What's their endgame?"
The Messenger's grin faded slightly, his voice softer. "Power, control, the usual mortal sins wrapped in cosmic ambition. They're many, but they're fragile compared to you. We'll talk more—next time, I'll call you first, give you a heads-up. Deal?" He stood, his robe swirling like liquid night. "For now, ponder these truths, friend. You're shaking the cosmos, and I'm cheering."
Amar rose, shadows stirring. "Next time, more answers. No riddles."
The Messenger laughed, stepping back, his form flickering. "Oh, I'll keep it spicy, but I'll deliver. Goodbye, God of Darkness. Goodnight!" With a wink, he vanished, his laughter echoing faintly, swallowed by the night.
Amar stood alone, the garden silent once more. His mind buzzed with revelations—Narad Muni, proxies as avatars, primordials as gods. The Man's empire was vast, but Amar was an anomaly, a storm in their game. He teleported home, materializing in his apartment, shadows curling around him like a cloak. Sitting on his charpoy, he let the information settle, his golden eyes glinting with resolve. "The Messanger," he murmured. "A friend who knows too much. I'll use that." The night deepened, and Amar prepared for the battles ahead, armed with truths that could unravel the world.