Beyond the stars, above the layers of mortal perception, there exists a realm untouched by decay, war, or doubt—a place carved not in space, but in divine consensus.
The Celestial Court.
Its floor was forged from condensed starlight. Its sky, a shifting storm of creation myths. On a dais of nine thrones, the gods sat—each a being of immeasurable power, older than galaxies.
And tonight, for the first time in a millennia, they were afraid.
---
[The Court Gathers]
A voice echoed from the throne of judgment, carved from a collapsed neutron star.
"Astha has breached the Vault of the Unforgotten."
That voice belonged to Ravitan, god of structure and law, his form made of layered stone slabs engraved with every divine decree ever passed.
"He carries the Glyph," Ravitan growled. "He is not just a heretic anymore—he is a threat to the Blueprint itself."
Another god stirred—Mehrga, the deity of luminous order, who wore a crown of infinite suns and robes of ever-burning hymns.
"He unlocked Iksara," she said softly. "One who even we could not erase cleanly."
A third god, cloaked in feathers made of time—Tavoksha, god of destiny—opened one eye.
"Perhaps," he said, "the boy only seeks truth. Not rebellion."
Ravitan slammed his scepter onto the starfloor. The court trembled.
"There is no truth outside us."
---
But not all gods remained seated.
From the shadowed edge of the court, a figure stepped forward. A god with no name—called only the Veiled One. Their form was uncertain, cloaked in a tapestry of forgotten prayers and broken memories.
"If the mortal seeks the Blueprint… perhaps he deserves it."
The room fell silent.
"What did we become," the Veiled One continued, "when we silenced every other voice but our own?"
Mehrga's eyes flared.
"You speak treason."
"I speak memory," said the Veiled One. "Something Astha wields better than any of us."
"He threatens to unravel creation."
"No," the Veiled One said, looking toward a distant crack in the court's sky.
"He threatens our control over it."
---
Astha sat on a crumbled obelisk as wind swept ash across the barren land. Naira rested beside a fire, binding mantra glyphs across her arms. Luv stood alone, testing the limits of his lightning spear—now cracked from overuse.
Iksara hovered near the edge of the camp, a silent sentinel.
"You said there were eight more pieces," Luv asked quietly.
"Yes," Iksara replied. "Each hidden in domains not ruled by mortals—beneath the sea of tongues, atop the mountain of unspoken truths… and within the bones of a dying god."
"And what happens when we gather them all?" Naira asked.
"Then you'll see the original shape of reality," Iksara said.
"And why the gods broke it."
---
Away from the fire, Astha opened his palm.
Smritidhaara uncurled faintly, a warm glow at its edges. His other hand summoned Vaayutal, but it flickered—unstable. He felt it too.
"The gods fear something," he murmured. "Something deeper than rebellion."
He looked at the sky again.
"They're scared I might remember who I really was."
The Glyph pulsed in his chest—not a weapon. Not yet.
A key.
---
[In the Celestial Prison]
In a realm below even the gods' reach, a soul stirred.
A boy, forgotten. Dead. Erased.
Chained in stillness, bound in a chrysalis of divine silence.
But somewhere, faintly, he heard a name spoken again.
His name.
Aryan.
And the silence cracked.