The icy wind cut like knives as Arya stepped onto the final stretch of the mountain path. Gosaikunda lay ahead, shimmering beneath the pale glow of a cold moon. Steam curled gently from the sacred waters, a strange warmth defying the frozen air. Jagged peaks surrounded the lake like ancient guardians, their tips vanishing into a blanket of stars.
Arya's breath came out ragged, each inhalation stinging his lungs. His boots crunched over frozen soil as he descended toward the shore. Baba Kedar stopped short of the lake, leaning on his staff with uncharacteristic solemnity.
"This is where we stop," Kedar said, his voice rough but serious. "The trial is for you alone, boy. Whatever happens in there… only you can face it."
Arya glanced at Tara, silently hoping for a reprieve, a hint that this was madness. But Tara only stepped forward and placed a hand over his chest, just above the glowing trident mark.
"The shard sleeps beneath the waters," she said softly. "But it will not awaken for someone unworthy. You must confront what binds you, or the lake will become your grave."
Her glowing white eyes softened slightly. "Fear is not your enemy… running from it is."
Arya swallowed the knot of dread in his throat and nodded. "I'll… try."
Kedar snorted. "Try not to die, boy. That's a better start."
⸻
Arya stepped onto the frozen shoreline. The wind howled louder, carrying with it whispers—low, indistinct, like forgotten prayers spoken by ghosts. The glowing water lapped gently against the icy rocks, each ripple leaving a faint trail of blue light.
Taking a deep breath, Arya stripped away his torn hoodie and boots, wincing at the cold biting his bare skin. The trident mark on his palm pulsed violently, resonating with the lake.
"Alright…" Arya muttered under his breath, staring at his reflection on the surface. "Let's see what you want from me."
He stepped into the water.
⸻
The chill was immediate and suffocating, seizing his lungs and muscles. Arya gasped, nearly collapsing, but forced himself deeper until the water swallowed him whole.
Silence.
He sank like a stone into an endless blue abyss. The surface vanished above him as glowing symbols spiraled downward, pulling him deeper. Breath should have failed him, yet somehow he kept sinking, lungs burning but alive.
Then came the voice.
"Face yourself… or be forgotten."
The abyss twisted. Arya landed hard on wet ground and staggered to his feet, finding himself standing in a place that should not exist—a dark, ruined version of Bhaktapur. The sky was blood-red, lightning forking across it without sound. Streets burned with ghostly fire, buildings crumbling as shadowy figures screamed silently in the distance.
Arya spun around in horror. "What… what is this?"
From the ruins, a smaller figure emerged—thin, ragged, with wild black hair and terrified eyes.
It was him.
The younger Arya, no older than nine, trembling and dirty, clutching a charred blanket. His lips quivered as he whispered, "You… left her…"
Arya's chest tightened like a vice. "No… no, not this."
Flames roared higher around them. Through the fire, Arya saw flashes of that night years ago—the night he had run as their home burned. His mother's desperate cries echoed in his ears as he bolted into the alleys, leaving her trapped behind. He had never seen her again.
"I was just a kid," Arya whispered, fists shaking. "I couldn't save her…"
The younger Arya's eyes glimmered with tears as they turned into glowing pools of stormlight. "And now… you'll run again."
The shadows of the ruined city twisted, forming monstrous Rakshasa with molten eyes, crawling toward Arya like predators. Chains of guilt snaked around his arms and legs, pulling him down.
"You will always run… you will always fail…"
Arya fell to his knees, gasping, as fear and grief swirled into a crushing storm. But somewhere beneath the despair, a spark flared.
He clenched his fists and screamed, the sound cutting through the illusion. "No! I won't run anymore!"
Lightning erupted from his body, shredding the chains and tearing through the Rakshasa shadows. The younger Arya looked up, eyes wide, as a faint smile appeared on his small face before fading into light.
⸻
The world shattered in a blinding flash.
Arya awoke beneath the frozen waters of Gosaikunda, suspended in glowing light. From the lakebed, a shard of crystal floated upward toward him, humming with divine energy. As he reached out, the shard dissolved into pure stormlight, merging with the trident mark on his palm.
Power surged through him—cold yet electric, like a glacier struck by thunder. Sparks of icy lightning danced over his skin as he slowly rose toward the surface.
With a gasp, Arya burst from the lake, collapsing onto the frozen shore. Tara was already beside him, kneeling as faint trails of frost curled off his arms.
"You succeeded," she said softly, her expression unreadable.
Baba Kedar gave a low whistle. "Well, you didn't drown, and you didn't come out screaming… that's something."
Arya sat up slowly, his body trembling but alive. "I… saw him," he said quietly. "Myself… from when I was a kid."
Tara nodded as if she already knew. "The trial shows what weighs heaviest on your soul. Facing it gives strength… denying it breaks you."
Arya looked at his glowing hand. The storm inside him no longer felt like a raging beast. It still hummed wildly, but now it pulsed with purpose. For the first time since that night in Bhaktapur, Arya felt a sliver of control.
Kedar clapped him on the back with surprising force. "Not bad, boy. You're a bit less useless than yesterday. But don't celebrate yet…" He gestured toward the horizon where black clouds gathered far beyond the peaks. "Narak's not going to sit quietly while you play hero."
Arya stood, staring at the distant storm. He didn't know what waited ahead—more demons, more trials, perhaps death itself—but as icy lightning sparked across his hand, he knew one thing.
He wouldn't run again.