The sun struggled to break through the storm clouds lingering over Bhaktapur as Arya sat silently on a broken stone wall, staring at his trembling hands. The square where the Rakshasa General had fallen was still scorched black, a wound in the heart of the city. Vendors were slowly returning to rebuild their stalls, but whispers filled every corner—tales of lightning storms and demons walking among mortals.
Baba Kedar leaned against his staff nearby, chewing on a dried root like it was the most casual morning of his life. Tara stood with her staff planted firmly beside her, eyes closed, face serene as she whispered prayers under her breath.
Arya finally broke the silence. "I almost died yesterday. Again. If that old man—" he nodded toward Kedar "—hadn't stopped that chain, I'd be in pieces right now."
Kedar spat out the root and chuckled. "If you'd actually listened, you might've sent that overgrown lizard back to Narak without breaking a sweat. You've got Rudra's storm inside you, boy, but you're using it like a candle when you're meant to be a thunderhead."
Arya ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't want this. I didn't ask to be Rudra's anything. I just wanted to steal some food and survive."
Tara opened her glowing eyes and spoke softly, but her words cut sharper than Kedar's teasing. "The world rarely asks permission before it needs saving."
Arya looked away, frustration burning in his chest. "I'm not a savior."
"No," Kedar said, hobbling over to him. "Not yet. But you could be." He tapped Arya's chest with his staff. "Power like yours needs forging. Otherwise, Narak's going to tear this realm apart looking for you."
Tara stepped closer. "There is a place," she said. "Sacred. Untouched by demons. Gosaikunda. A shard of Rudra's trident sleeps beneath its frozen waters. Claiming it will awaken part of your true strength… and teach you to control what burns inside you."
Arya frowned. "And if I can't?"
Kedar's eyes hardened. "Then we all die."
⸻
They set out at dawn. Leaving Bhaktapur behind felt strange; Arya had grown up stealing in those streets, hiding in its rooftops, surviving in its shadows. Now, he walked openly with a blind monk and a drunken sage as thunder rumbled faintly in the distance like an omen.
The path to Gosaikunda wound through steep trails hugging mountain cliffs. Snow-dusted peaks pierced the horizon, and icy winds howled through narrow passes. Prayer flags snapped violently overhead as they climbed higher each day.
At night, they camped beneath star-laden skies where the Milky Way burned bright and clear. Tara would meditate silently, her breath even despite the freezing cold. Kedar told rambling stories of gods and demons, laughing at his own jokes while Arya huddled by the fire, silently practicing to control the faint sparks dancing over his hands.
One evening, as they crossed a narrow suspension bridge over a roaring gorge, Arya glanced at Tara. "You don't even flinch on these paths. Can you… see through the cloth?"
Tara's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Not as you do. I see threads—energy, life, storms moving where eyes cannot."
Arya hesitated before asking the question that had haunted him since the awakening. "Am I really… Rudra's heir?"
She tilted her head slightly, listening to the wind. "The storm does not choose lightly. Rudra fell sealing Narak… yet his mark found you. Whether heir or something more, fate has tied you to the stormbearer's path."
Kedar interrupted with a loud grunt. "Heir or not, he's walking like an old goat with a bad hip. Hurry it up, boy, or the demons will catch us before enlightenment does."
Arya glared but quickened his pace.
⸻
Days passed. The air thinned as they climbed higher into the Himalayas. Pine forests gave way to rocky cliffs and frozen streams. Snow began to fall in gentle sheets, and every breath burned like fire in Arya's lungs. Yet something inside him stirred—a strange calm, as if the mountains themselves whispered forgotten truths.
On the seventh day, as they crested a ridge, Tara stopped abruptly. She raised her staff, glowing faintly, and pointed toward a distant, shimmering lake nestled between jagged peaks. The waters glowed with an ethereal blue light, steam rising faintly despite the ice surrounding it.
"Gosaikunda," she said softly, reverence lacing her voice.
Even Kedar's usual grin softened. "It's been centuries…" he murmured. "Still beautiful… still dangerous."
Arya stared at the sacred lake, the wind whipping his hair. The storm in his chest pulsed harder, resonating with something far ahead, something waiting beneath those frozen depths.
Kedar tapped his staff. "That's your trial, boy. The shard won't just hand itself over. It's going to test every ounce of you—your courage, your guilt, your very soul."
Arya swallowed hard. "And if I fail?"
Tara's voice was like a prayer carried on the mountain wind. "Then you won't leave the lake alive."