Antarctica. Beneath Lake Vostok. Present Day.
There are places where time coils in on itself, like a serpent devouring its own tail. Beneath 4,000 meters of ancient ice, in the darkness that predates nations, religions, even the idea of death, a man who should not be alive kneels before a wall of salt-frozen stone — and listens.
Not to the silence.But to the voice inside the stone.
Hanuman's breath fogs in the sealed chamber, but his body does not shiver. His muscles, still dense with strength the modern world has no language for, remain taut. He is not praying. He is remembering. And that, in this place, is a dangerous thing.
Because memory... has begun to bleed.
The wall before him is not just rock. It is scripture, encoded not in letters but in sound — buried syllables from an age before Sanskrit. Words that rearrange themselves when seen too long. The Spiral Script. The same that once thundered through Lanka, etched into the throne of Ravana. The same script the Vatican now denies ever existed. The same that—if deciphered fully—would collapse time.
Hanuman runs his fingers across it.A spark.
"Namo..."
No.Not now.
He clenches his jaw, stops the chant before it finishes. Even here, after two Yugas of silence, the mantras rise in him like instinct. But the world is no longer ready for that voice. It is not just gods who listen through the veil now. Machines do too. Satellites. Algorithms. Spies. And they have all begun to fear him again.
A red light blinks in the far corner of the vault. Motion detected.
He doesn't turn.
"They've come," he whispers to the wall. "They found this place through Markandeya's fragments. I told him not to digitize the Akashic residue. But he believes in patterns, in mathematics. I believe... in blood."
The ice groans. Somewhere far above, explosives are being set.
Hanuman does not move. He knows what's coming. And he has one task left before they breach the sanctum.
He carves three lines into the stone with his nail.
Memory Pulse Activated
Recipient: ParashuramaLocation: Western Ghats, IndiaPayload: Spiral Entry – 'The First Rewriting'
The memory jumps. Through continents, across data storms and spiritual firewalls, into a man who once wielded an axe drenched in divine wrath.
A man who now sits in silence.
Western Ghats.Rainfall.Parashurama opens his eyes.
And thus it begins again. Not with a war cry.But with a corrupted memory.
The war was over.But someone has changed the ending.
And if the Chiranjeevis don't stop it — all of history will become a lie that humanity forgets to question.