"Sixteen years…" her voice trembled, distant as if carried from another world. "You've been sleeping here for nine years."
The boy froze. His breath caught in his throat like a knot that refused to untie. Nine years—? His mind tried to grasp the number, but it slipped through his thoughts like ash. The old woman, the one he called granny, sat beside him with a strange stillness. Her eyes were clouded and a faint glow pulsed beneath her wrinkled skin to feel him something was alive it and watching him, even thought he did not able to understand it.
"You have something inside your body," she said, her tone neither kind nor cruel. "Something dangerous. It has been fighting me for years to control you. But don't worry… I've sealed it, for now, a very deep place. It will awaken only when the time demands it."
Her words echoed in the hollow world around them. The tree beside them groaned as if it understood. Even after some many years, he could still see its two faces of tree, one half consumed by darkness, the other alive with pale light and blue-green veins like rivers of the moon.
"Any other questions?" she asked, though her voice had grown thin, like smoke ready to vanish.
He swallowed. "What are those darkness and that sun you put inside me? Why did you… why me?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes wandered to the top of the tree. The branches bent into the mist above, and from there came whispers, like thousands of voices trying to breathe. Finally, she said, "Time will tell everything. For now, I must leave. I've lingered too long between their breaths."
He frowned. "Then, how do I get out?"
She pointed toward the horizon where the sky and earth seemed to melt together. "Walk that way."
He turned to see nothing, no soldiers, no path, just a flat, grey plane swallowed in fog. Still, he obeyed, stepping down from the broken tree root, his bare feet touching the soil that wasn't soil at all, it pulsed faintly, like flesh. He began to run on it.
But after a while, panic struck him. "I'm running… but I'm still here!" he shouted, spinning in place. "I haven't moved an inch!"
The old woman laughed softly behind him. Not in hollow mockery but more like a sorrow's reflection. "Why run?" she said. "Why do you flee from what already carries you? Walk, child. Just walk. Are you not going to say goodbye to this granny?"
He turned toward her. "Why would I say goodbye when we'll meet again?"
Her smile deepened so much that the air seemed to bend around it. "Because you are walking toward an unknown path. Take this."
She reached out and pressed her index finger against his forehead. The touch burned cold, an impossible feeling that sank deep into his skull. His vision flickered but he could not able to understand what he had seen.
"Stay in the lotus position when you can, try to feel them" she whispered. "Search within. What I gave you lies sleeping. But to awaken it… you must first awaken yourself."
His hands trembled. "You'll never tell me, will you? What it is, why it sleeps, why me?"
She smiled again, eyes fading like coals losing their last heat. He tried one last question "Why did you call it human life instead of divine? Didn't you say this is the border between gods and demons?"
Her face darkened. The shadows near the tree began to twist more, forming more faint shapes, bodies crawling sound coming from that side was making that place to sunk in horror, their whispering making ear to burn. But a calm wind from the other half of the tree flared with green light, veins pulsing like arteries makes everything away with in few moments.
"Because," she said, her voice lowering into something that did not belong to her anymore, "humans are both. The gods only dream, and the demons only feed. But humans… they do both—at once. That's why they fear you. That's why the path never moves until you do."
She stared at him for a long time. Her eyes did not blink. Her wrinkled face stretched into a strange smile, and then she began to laugh, soft at first, then louder, cracking like old wood. Her laughter echoed in the empty space, mixing with the faint hum of unseen things crawling beneath the soil.
When the laughter died, she tilted her face toward the sky, though there was no sky, only a pale ceiling of mist, and said, almost to herself, "Hunh… did you know, child, we all wish to become gods? Because gods can control, they bend the world as they please. They choose who breathes and who burns. But…" she sighed, the sound dragging like something heavy, "the path to godhood is not a road, it's a wound that never heals. You walk it until even your soul forgets how to bleed."
Her words slithered into him like smoke. He wanted to speak, but she continued.
"There is a easier path also. If you want to reach the divine by demonic path, it is easier. Far easier," she said with a tired grin. "To rise as a demon god, you need not centuries of prayer or sacrifice—only a few sacrifices of your own kind. A few broken vows. A few eaten hearts. Millennia to become a god… but only a few screams to become a demon."
She chuckled again, her face glowing faintly red from the veins beneath her skin. "Still… most who walk either path never reach its end. They stop halfway. The humans give up when the pain bites too deep. The demons give up when desire becomes hunger. All of them, half-born, half-dead, half-forgotten."
He listened, frozen. The air trembled as if the world itself disliked hearing her truth.
"Humans want to be gods," she whispered, "and demons want the same. Both fight for the same throne. But in the end, neither can hold it for long. So tell me, boy, what will you become?"
He hesitated, feeling something cold crawling behind his ribs. "If I… endure the hardships," he asked softly, "can I become a god?"
She leaned closer, her breath warm with the scent of rust. "Why not become a demon instead?" she hissed. "Think about it. You'd suffer less. Pain would matter less. No burdens of light, no chains of purity, no endless, suffocating expectations. Only hunger. Raw, honest, unrelenting hunger. And yet… freedom within that hunger."
He shook his head. ""It's not about avoiding suffering. I just… I want to live long enough to see everything. I don't want to fade."
She smiled, and that smile wasn't kind, it was knowing. "So you desire longevity," she said. "Very well. Live long… and you will carry the weight of every wound, every betrayal, every truth that others dare not look at. The gods… they call that wisdom. The demons… they call it madness. And perhaps, in the end, you will find… that wisdom and madness are the same coin, just seen from opposite sides."
He looked at her with wide eyes. "Then tell me—what's higher than both? Higher than god or demon? If such a thing exists, I'll go for that. You said once: there will always be higher mountains than mountains."
For a moment, she said nothing. She began to walk slowly around him, her gaze never breaking from his eyes. Each step she took, the ground below her feet bled faint light, like each footprint was a wound.
"Yes… or no," she said finally, her voice a ripple between laughter and sorrow. "I don't know. But I know this, you should not go for godhood. Your fate isn't bound to that throne. It's something… older. Something that even gods whisper about in fear."
He frowned, confused. "Then what should I go for?"
Her smile stretched wider, thin as the cut of a blade. "You'll know when the world stops spinning," she murmured, and began to walk toward the lightened half of the tree.
Her body shimmered faintly as she neared the trunk. The bark opened like flesh, and she stepped inside, slowly sinking into it, merging with its shadow. Her eyes glowed once before vanishing.
Then, a sound broke the silence.
A voice not hers, not his, not human, rose from deep within the roots. It was ancient, cracked, filled with impossible gravity. It whispered one word:
"Nirbindra."
The very air convulsed. The boundary between day and night shattered like glass. The earth beneath him shuddered, tearing open in great rifts that breathed smoke and screams.
He turned in terror and saw the demons he had glimpsed earlier, massive, malformed, their bodies stitched from bones and faces, suddenly stop. They froze as if remembering something they had forgotten for eternity. Then, one by one, they began to run.
Far away, a skeleton holding a burning lamp at the blood river's edge dropped to its knees. The flame went out. It bowed low, so low the bone of its skull cracked on the ground, toward some unseen direction in the dark.
The boy's knees buckled under the weight of that single word. It pierced his mind, his chest, his spine. The whisper didn't echo in his ears, it throbbed inside his soul.
Around him, the demons burst apart, their bodies exploding into red mist and ash. The soil burned black. The horizon screamed.
He fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground, his voice trembling: "Thank you… for taking care of me. I will repay this debt. We will meet again."
When he lifted his head, the tree was shaken so heavily that even his roots would be uprooted. He turned toward the unseen path and began to walk again. Each step sank deeper into the trembling earth, but this time, he didn't stop.
...........................
He grabbed a dry branch lying beside him, its surface coarse, splintered, half-burned from the nightmare he had just left behind and used it as a walking stick. Each step echoed softly against the silent soil. The path stretched ahead, veiled in mist, carrying the scent of unknown origins, unknown ends. He didn't know where it would lead, only that it had to lead somewhere. Unknown path, unknown life, unknown destiny.
High above, two figures watched from the tree that marked the border of his former world. On the living half, bathed in dim light, the old woman, granny, sat cross-legged, her expression soft but unreadable. On the darkened half, where bark bled shadow, sat another woman cloaked in duality: one mask red as blood, the other white as bone. Her voice slithered across the stillness. "I still don't understand," she murmured, eyes flickering between the halves of her face. "Why did she ask me to protect him? What fate do you think waits for that boy?"
Granny did not answer at once. Her gaze lingered on the path below, where the small figure of the boy grew distant, swallowed by pale fog. Finally, she whispered, "Who knows? Maybe he can achieve it this time. Maybe this time, the river will flow backward, and the sky will finally open its eyes."
The masked woman tilted her head, her red half smiling faintly. "Goodbye then, little boy. Your Sheela sister will always be there, watching. Fight them all, kill them all if you must. Never stop. Never look back. Carve your own path through this cursed soil… Goodbye."
Their words melted into the air like prayers half-heard by the world. Then both figures faded, first into smoke, then into silence. The ancient tree split once, groaned, and became still once more.
He continued walking until something inside him told him to look back. When he did, the entire horizon had changed. The darkness that once seemed eternal was gone, wiped clean like an old painting erased by a trembling hand. The dome that once loomed like a god's eye had vanished too, leaving behind only pale air and a horizon soft as dawn.
He breathed, uncertain at first, then deeper. For the first time in his life or, perhaps for the first time in centuries, he felt the wind touch him without weight. The air was no longer thick, no longer whispering his name. It was free.
He blinked, and tears burned his eyes. Around him, the world had changed colour. Birds flew across the silver skyre, al ones, not illusions. He could hear their chirps, uneven, alive. The grass glistened with beads of dew, and the scent of wet soil rose like incense. The river, somewhere far away, sang softly, a song of forgiveness.
He fell to his knees on that soft grass. His hands trembled as he touched the blades cool, alive, real. Something in him broke then, something that had been sealed since before he ever entered that darkness. He began to smile, an uneven, trembling smile that soon cracked into laughter, and then into sobs. He laughed and cried at the same time, unable to understand why. The tears were warm, cleansing him from something unspeakable.
And then, with his face pressed into the earth, he fell asleep.
This time, sleep did not drag him into illusion or horror. It was gentle. For the first time, he felt what it meant to rest, not to escape. The earth beneath him felt like a mother's lap, soft, endless, kind. The breeze played with his hair. He dreamed of nothing, and in that nothing, there was peace.
When he awoke, it was night. A cool wind caressed his skin. Above, the moon floated like a calm face watching over him. Its light poured across the land, filling the world with silver silence. He had seen the sun, the dome, the illusions of gods and demons, but never the moon like this. It was pure serenity, an eye that neither judged nor forgave.
He stared at it for a long time, unmoving. The moonlight painted the road ahead in ghostly white, like a river of light stretching into infinity. To his left lay a wide embankment, damp with dew. To his right, a field stretched out, wildflowers swaying like tiny spirits in the wind. The trees on the other side whispered softly, and between them fireflies blinked like forgotten stars.
For a long while, he didn't move. He simply stared, lost in the stillness. Then, suddenly, his stomach growled, a sharp reminder of the body's small, insistent truth. He touched his abdomen and began to laugh again, shaking his head at his own fragility.
He rose, shouting into the night, "I came out of the illusion! I came out! I am free!" His voice echoed across the hills, scattering a few startled birds into the sky. "I'm not falling asleep again! I'm not going back!"
And then, softer: "Let's walk again."
The moonlight seemed to tremble in reply, as if nodding. He began to walk, barefoot, along that pale road. The moon's glow fell upon his shoulders, and in that glow, it almost seemed as though two figures, shadow and light, walked beside him, one on each side.
The night wind brushed his face like a mother's hand. His body swayed slightly, moved by the rhythm of the world itself. The old pain, the illusion's chains, the endless cycle of dread - gone. All that remained was a rhythm, pure and steady, pulsing through the air, through his skin, through the soil itself.
For the first time, he was not running toward something or away from something. He walked deeper into the silver horizon, the world seemed to hum in quiet harmony by whispering a single word:
Freedom.
He didn't know how far he had walked—nor did he care. His steps carried him like a drifting leaf, unbound by hunger, thirst, or even the thought of rest. The world itself felt endless: a long field of tall grass, silvered by dew, where the earth whispered softly beneath his bare feet. When the wind blew, it sounded almost like laughter, or weeping.
At some point, he forgot even his own body. He only remembered the warmth of the sun, the way its golden weight pressed gently on his shoulders, like a mother's touch. Then, as though cradled by that same warmth, he drifted into sleep.
When he opened his eyes again, a sharp light pierced through his eyelids, stinging them awake. He flinched, blocking the sunlight with his hand. His body was lying under a large tree, its roots curled around him like ancient arms. The air smelled of moss and fruit.
Then he noticed him.
A man sat nearby, dressed in saffron robes, cross-legged in perfect stillness. Around his wrists hung strings of small, round fruits, dried and hardened like prayer beads. His lips moved faintly, chanting something inaudible. The sound was neither word nor hum, just a vibration that seemed to stir the air itself.
Without opening his eyes, the man spoke: "You've already awakened."
The boy blinked, still dazed. "Yes… but who are you?"
The man's lips curved into a gentle smile. "Just a traveller," he said softly, "like everyone else in this world."
The boy frowned slightly. "Then… what are you doing here?"
The man's eyes remained closed as he answered, "I'm searching. For the one, eternal, unique truth."
The boy tilted his head. "You mean, someone who holds everything? Someone who is everything?"
The man nodded. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it is not someone at all, but something. The shape of existence itself. We all see, hear, taste, and feel differently. What we accept becomes truth for us. For another, that same truth may be falsehood."
The boy sat down near him, curling his knees. "So… like a flower. Some call it beautiful. Some hate it for its thorns or its smell. Each one speaks their truth."
The man smiled faintly. "Exactly. What we seek depends on how deeply we can see. The flower is never just a flower."
The boy was quiet for a while, listening to the rustle of leaves. Then he said, "What do you seek, sage?"
The man chuckled. "You're quick to ask, but not to answer. What do you seek?"
The boy looked down at his hands. "Meaning," he whispered. "I'm looking for meaning."
"Why?"
He paused. "Because… I'm like you. I want to find the One. The thing that exists beyond all names."
The man's chanting stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes. They were deep, amber, and full of strange light — as if they had reflected countless suns and moons before.
"And what do you call this 'One' you seek?"
The boy raised his head and said the word carefully, as though it might break if spoken too loud: "Nirbindra."
For a long while, the man said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the boy, unblinking, until even the wind stopped moving. Then, in a low murmur, he said, "Ahh… So you are also walking that path. The path of seekers."
He closed his eyes again, but his voice carried the weight of recognition and perhaps, fear.
The boy smiled faintly. "Then we're travellers of the same road."
"When did your journey begin?" the man asked.
The boy thought for a moment. "From birth, I think. But until now… I was sleeping. So maybe my journey only starts today."
The man nodded slowly. "That's how all journeys begin. When one wakes up."
The boy looked toward the horizon, where the road stretched endlessly, half-hidden by mist. "Do you think I can find it?"
The man's lips curved into something between a smile and a warning. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But remember this: never leave a single leaf unturned. Look beneath every shadow. Even pain can be a teacher."
He lifted his hand and pointed to the ground beneath the tree. "If you ever understand it — truly understand it — return here. Tell me your story when your journey ends. I'll be waiting."
The boy stood, brushing grass from his clothes. "Will you really be here?"
The man gave a small laugh, eyes still closed. "I'm everywhere, and nowhere. But if your heart remembers this tree, you'll find me again."
The boy said softly, "Of course, I will surely come again. But… which path did you come from? I didn't see you walking the road I came by." He pointed toward the nearby trail, half-buried in grass and sunlight.
The sage smiled faintly, eyes still half-closed. "Everyone walks a different path, child. Why do you think all must walk the same one as you? My steps began from the other side — the path opposite to yours."
The boy placed his hands together in a gesture of respect. "Thank you for letting me sleep here," he said, bowing.
The sage chuckled lightly. "You thank too easily. I only found you lying unconscious on the road. I carried you under this tree so the sun wouldn't burn your face. That's all. It's nothing worth bowing for."
Then, after a small pause, he asked, "So? Will you stay here for a while or continue your journey?"
The boy thought for a moment, his fingers tracing the soil. "Yes… I'll go soon. But before that, may I ask you something?"
The sage opened one eye. "Ask."
The boy hesitated, then asked, "Do you know where this path leads? Where it begins or where it ends?"
The sage's gaze deepened. "Do you know?"
The boy nodded. "Yes. It leads to a place people fear — a place they call Hell. I came from there."
The sage blinked, surprised, then coughed twice before bursting into dry laughter. "Heh… haha… what foolishness. What is your age, boy? You don't even have the weight of sin in your bones, yet you speak of walking through Hell?" His laughter echoed among the branches, light but uneasy. "Don't joke with me. You - coming from Hell? Impossible."
The boy's tone turned grave. "I'm not joking. I can't prove it to you, but I've seen it. I've lived there."
The sage's expression softened, turning curious. "Alright then, tell me. If you truly came from there, why? What drew you into such a place?"
The boy looked down. "I didn't go there by will," he murmured. "Something… pulled me in. Like a river. I was drowning before I even knew it."
The sage tilted his head. "And when you reached there?"
"I found someone," the boy said, his voice low. "No… not someone — two. But they were one. Two faces of the same being. One healed me. Fed me medicine. The other watched in silence."
The sage's lips curved slightly. "Ah… two yet one. You speak in riddles, little traveller. Tell me then — did you see how Hell itself is made?"
The boy closed his eyes. "Let me think…"
He tried to recall, but as he did, his breath shortened. The images returned, black forests twisting like veins, trees made of bones, creatures crawling through rivers of oil. Faces without eyes whispered from the walls, and the sky itself breathed. The sound of screams came not from throats but from the soil.
The boy's hands trembled. His skin turned pale. Sweat ran cold down his spine. The ground beneath him seemed to pulse like a heart.
"Stop," the sage said quietly, but the boy couldn't.
"I saw them…" he gasped. "The shadows… they were alive. They were… waiting…"
His body convulsed. The veins on his neck bulged, dark as ink. Then his nose began to bleed — thick, black blood trickling down his lips. His pupils widened until only darkness filled them.
The sage moved closer, placing a hand on the boy's forehead. His palm glowed faintly with light.
"Enough," the sage whispered. "The memory of Hell burns the living. Some things are not meant to be remembered before their time."
The boy's breathing slowed, his vision fading between black and grey.
And just before he lost consciousness, he heard the sage's final murmur:
The sage caught the boy just as his body began to shake uncontrollably. His hands moved quickly practiced, precise, pressing against the boy's chest, then his forehead. His fingers glowed faintly, tracing symbols in the air as he murmured something ancient, a whisper that sounded like smoke breaking apart.
The black blood seeping from the boy's nose turned to vapor, dissolving into the wind. The boy gasped, air flooding back into his lungs as the trembling stopped. His heartbeat slowed from thunder to rhythm. The sage reached into a small pouch, pulled out a handful of green leaves, crushed them between his palms until a bitter scent filled the air, and pressed them beneath the boy's nose.
"Breathe," he said calmly. "Now, slowly."
The boy took a weak breath, then another. His eyes fluttered open, dazed but alive.
The sage sighed and said softly, "Are you alright now? I shouldn't have asked you to recall it. I thought your words were just wandering dreams, but… you truly saw that place. I am sorry, for making you remember it again."
The boy sat up, his face pale as ash, still panting heavily. "Yes… I think so," he managed to say between breaths.
The sage raised a hand. "Don't speak. I understand. Those who've seen that realm, they never forget the taste of it. Even trying to remember burns the mind again. You're fortunate to have come back from that darkness. To survive its memory… your mind must already be forged in pain."
The boy didn't reply, only nodded weakly. His stomach growled then, a small, almost human sound breaking the grim silence. He looked down, realizing how empty he felt. He hadn't eaten since yesterday, maybe longer.
The sage chuckled softly. "Ah, even after glimpsing Hell, the body still reminds us of life." He stood up, dusted his robe, and glanced up at the tall bell tree beside them. Its golden-green fruits shimmered faintly in the sunlight, shaped like small hanging bells. The sage picked up a smooth stone, flicked his wrist, and threw it precisely. A single fruit dropped from the branches, landing neatly beside him.
"Here," he said, tossing it to the boy. "It won't fill your stomach, but it will remind you what sweetness tastes like."
The boy turned it in his hands. "Thank you… but what fruit is this?"
The sage smiled, biting into another one himself. "It's from the bell tree. Bell fruit."
He smashed one onto the dirt, cracking it open with a hollow ring. The inside was soft, faintly glowing, like pale amber honey. The boy followed his example, ate carefully, and was surprised, the taste was cool, faintly sour but soothing, as if washing away the remnants of fear still clinging to his tongue.
When he finished, he rubbed his hands clean with dust, imitating the sage. "May I ask… what's your name, Grandpa? Or Uncle?"
The sage looked at him and burst into laughter, not mocking, but deep and genuine, echoing through the trees. "Haha! I'm neither your grandpa nor your uncle, little one. As for my name…" His laughter softened. His gaze turned distant, lost beyond the tree's shadow. "I've forgotten it. Long, long ago."
The boy frowned slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
The sage smiled again, faint but kind. "Don't be. You're wise for your age, wiser that those whom I have met in these years. It's strange… you've aged in your mind but not in your body."
The boy froze, eyes wide. "You… you can tell that?"
The sage turned his eyes toward the sunlight bleeding through the leaves which was warm, fractured, alive. "Of course. The sun speaks to those who've walked through shadow. You carry both on your skin — light and darkness.... You're not a normal child, are you?"
The boy stayed silent, and the wind moved again, whispering through the nearby trees, there leaves chiming faintly, as if answering for him.
To be continued...