The thunder had faded.
All that remained was silence — deep, electric silence.
Shiva stood before the statue of Indra, both weapons still glowing faintly. The lightning he had summoned had carved glowing veins across the ground, forming concentric circles that pulsed once… twice… before splitting open.
A crack appeared at the statue's feet — a stairway of light descending into the earth.
[Hidden Pathway Unlocked — Takṣaśilā Inner Vaults]
[Warning: Energy Levels — Stable]
[Access Granted to Host: Shiva]
He swallowed hard. "Guess I'm going underground again."
The steps were cold under his feet, smooth stone worn by centuries. The deeper he went, the more the air changed — from dust and ruin to the faint scent of old parchment and sandalwood.
The hum of the Interface dimmed, replaced by something older. Quieter.
Alive.
When he reached the bottom, he stopped breathing for a moment.
The chamber stretched endlessly before him.
Rows upon rows of ancient scrolls, palm-leaf manuscripts, and stone tablets lined the walls.
Idols of forgotten deities stood in silent rows — Vishvakarma, Saraswati, Agni, and even obscure figures he didn't recognize. The air shimmered faintly, as if the knowledge itself still breathed.
It wasn't a ruin.
It was a library — untouched, unburnt, waiting.
[Scanning Environment...]
[Classification: Pre-Collapse Archive — "Takṣaśilā Central Vault"]
[Estimated Age: 5200 Years]
[Preservation Status: Perfect]
Shiva walked slowly, his fingers grazing the edges of ancient wisdom. The script was beyond him — Sanskrit so complex it looked almost alien. The carvings along the walls depicted men forging storms, women weaving light, beasts made of pure flame.
"What were you people…" he whispered, "…and what happened to all of you?"
The Interface stayed silent, as if it too were reverent.
In the center of the vault, on a raised platform of obsidian, lay a single fragment — a scroll torn in half, faintly glowing.
Its edges shimmered like molten gold, the writing alive with power.
He reached for it, and the Interface immediately flared.
[Item Acquired — Fragmented Scroll of Origin (1/108)]
[Language: Vedic Sanskrit — Translation Impossible]
[Description: One piece of the Lost Chronicle. The complete set reveals the First Code of Creation.]
Shiva frowned. "One of one hundred and eight? You're joking."
[Joke Not Detected.]
"Yeah, figures."
He turned the scroll over in his hands. The letters swirled when he tried to read them — alive, resisting. His head began to ache. The Interface dimmed briefly, as if protecting itself.
He sighed. "Alright, alright. You win."
He tucked the scroll into his satchel — or tried to. The fragment burned faintly, refusing to fit anywhere. The hammer pulsed once, and the scroll quietly vanished into thin air.
[Auto-Storage Engaged — Item Secured.]
He blinked. "You could do that the whole time?"
No answer.
After searching every corner of the vault — opening stone chests, reading carvings, tracing murals — he found nothing else. The place was meant for one discovery, and he had made it.
As he climbed back to the surface, the ruins seemed quieter — like the world above was holding its breath. The wind whispered faint Sanskrit verses through the broken walls, almost like farewell.
When he reached the temple courtyard, the Yaksha was waiting.
The same tall, black-skinned hermit with eyes like molten amber stood beneath the cracked statue, his presence bending the air around him.
"You have entered the vault," the Yaksha said softly. "And the vault has accepted you."
Shiva tightened his grip on his hammer. "What was that scroll? What does it mean?"
The Yaksha smiled faintly, showing no malice — only depth. "What it means will not be told… only earned. The one who gathers all one hundred and eight fragments shall inherit both knowledge and burden."
"Great," Shiva muttered. "More riddles."
The Yaksha's gaze lingered on him — unreadable, ancient. Then he raised his hand, and a faint shimmer of gold appeared between his fingers. A ring — plain, silver-gray, pulsing faintly with inner light.
"This is my blessing," said the Yaksha. "A gift for the one who calls the thunder."
He placed it in Shiva's palm. The metal was cool, humming faintly like a living thing.
[Artifact Acquired — Ring of Holding (Unique)]
[Function: Spatial Storage Enabled. Capacity: Unlimited.]
[System Note: "Try not to lose your lunch in it."]
Shiva snorted. "Cute."
The Yaksha continued, his tone turning grave.
"Go to Shyam Baba once more. Your path forks ahead, and the next choice will define your world. He awaits."
Before Shiva could ask another question, the Yaksha faded into mist — his form dissolving like smoke carried by wind.
The courtyard fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the ring now bound to his hand.
He looked at it for a long while, then turned toward the east.
The ruins of Takṣaśilā stood quiet behind him —like a city of ghosts whispering secrets.
"Alright, old man," he muttered. "Let's see what you've got for me this time."
He took one last look at the shattered statue of Indra. Lightning flickered faintly in the distance — answering.
Then Shiva walked away, the hammer glowing softly at his side, the ring gleaming faintly with promise.
End of Chapter 10: The Vault of Echoes