The slopes of Kailasa fell away behind them.
Snow gave way to pale stone, and pale stone to drifting clouds, as Sati, Ganesh, and Aneet descended from the stillness of Shiva's abode. Each step felt heavier than the last, not from the climb, but from the silence they carried with them.
Above, Kailasa stood unmoving — and within it, Shiva remained seated, the world already turning without him.
Sati walked ahead, her steps firm, yet her hands clasped tightly before her. The glow that always seemed to surround her was quieter now, as if her light had turned inward.
Ganesh followed close behind.
He could feel it.
This was not just a journey across realms.
It was a crossing of the heart.
Aneet walked at Sati's side, her presence calm, matching Sati's pace without pressing her.
For a long while, none of them spoke.
Only the whisper of wind and the distant echo of worlds below filled the air.
At last, Sati broke the silence.
"My father was once a man of great discipline," she said softly. "He taught that order is the spine of creation. That without it, everything collapses."
She paused, her gaze fixed ahead.
"But somewhere along the way, he began to believe that order came from him… not through him."
Ganesh said gently, "That is how pride often grows — when service becomes ownership."
Sati nodded. "He still believes he serves dharma. That is what makes this harder."
Aneet looked at her. "And that is why your words may wound him more than any weapon."
Sati gave a faint, sad smile. "If he still hears me as his daughter… perhaps he will remember."
Ganesh did not answer.
He had seen enough ages to know how rarely pride listened, even to love.
As they descended further, the mists parted, revealing the wide stretches of the higher realms below — floating valleys, rivers of light, and paths that wound between worlds like glowing threads.
Ahead, far in the distance, a brilliant glow rose toward the heavens.
Daksha's realm.
Even from here, they could see it.
A vast city of gold and crystal, crowned by towering pillars and banners that shimmered like fire. At its heart rose the great yajna grounds, already blazing with sacred flames that sent columns of light into the sky.
Ganesh felt the pull immediately.
"That place burns with intention," he said. "Every thought there is being shaped into ritual."
Aneet frowned slightly. "And intention, when sharpened by pride, cuts deep."
Sati looked at the glowing horizon.
"He wants the world to see him," she said. "To know that he stands among the greatest."
Ganesh replied quietly, "But in trying to stand above, he forgets what holds him up."
As they walked, the air around them began to shift.
A gentle warmth replaced the cold of Kailasa, and the light grew richer, heavier, like a gathering dawn.
They soon reached a wide plateau where several paths converged.
There, they found others walking the same way.
The Saptarishi.
Vashistha stood at the center, leaning on his staff, his gaze steady.
Vishwamitra walked nearby, eyes sharp and restless.
Atri, Bharadvaja, Gautama, Jamadagni, and Kashyapa moved with quiet purpose.
When they saw Sati, they paused.
Vashistha bowed deeply. "Devi."
Sati inclined her head respectfully. "Revered ones."
Vishwamitra looked at Ganesh. "So, you walk with her."
"Yes," Ganesh replied. "As you walk toward the same fire."
Atri sighed softly. "We hoped you might turn back."
Sati met his gaze. "So did I. But some hopes fade when duty calls."
Kashyapa spoke, his voice deep. "Daksha has invited us. And yet… he has not invited the one who embodies what sacrifice truly is."
Ganesh said, "And still you go."
Gautama nodded. "Yes. Because silence in the face of wrong is its own kind of agreement."
Aneet added, "But words spoken in pride are rarely undone."
Vashistha looked at her carefully. "You carry a rare stillness, child. Stay close to her when the fire rises."
"I will," Aneet said simply.
Jamadagni's eyes narrowed. "This yajna will not end as Daksha imagines."
Vishwamitra added, "Pride builds altars higher than truth. And those altars always fall."
Sati took a slow breath. "Then walk with me, revered ones. If my father must be confronted, let it be before witnesses of wisdom."
The sages nodded.
Together, they turned toward the glowing horizon.
As they drew closer, the air grew thick with sacred smoke and the scent of offerings. The sky above Daksha's realm shimmered with layers of light, shaped by mantras that echoed endlessly.
From every direction, devas, rishis, and celestial beings were arriving — Indra with his retinue, Agni blazing brightly, Vayu moving like a restless wind, Varuna flowing like living water, and countless others.
All were welcomed.
All were honored.
All… except one.
Ganesh felt it like a hollow space.
"His absence is louder than any insult," he said.
Aneet nodded. "Daksha wants the world to see who he believes matters."
Sati clenched her fists slightly. "And who does not."
They reached the outer gates of the yajna grounds.
Massive pillars carved with symbols of creation and order rose high into the sky. Between them burned great sacred fires, tended by priests chanting mantras that made the very air vibrate.
Trumpets sounded as new arrivals were announced.
"Lord Indra of Svarga!"
"Agni, bearer of offerings!"
"Varuna, guardian of waters!"
"Vashistha, the great sage!"
"Vishwamitra, born of fire!"
Each name echoed with honor.
When Sati stepped forward, a hush passed through the gathered crowd.
Whispers spread.
"Daksha's daughter."
"The consort of Shiva."
"Why has she come alone?"
Sati lifted her chin and walked through the gates.
Ganesh and Aneet followed closely, the Saptarishi beside them.
No name was announced for Shiva.
No place prepared.
Ganesh felt a quiet fire rise within him.
"This is not forgetfulness," he equivalent. "This is display."
Aneet said softly, "And displays invite answers."
Inside, the yajna grounds were vast.
At the center stood a towering altar, flames roaring high, fed by endless offerings. Around it, rows of seats rose like terraces, filled with devas and sages, all watching as priests moved with practiced precision.
At the highest seat, adorned with gold and gems, sat Daksha.
He was radiant, strong, his presence commanding, clad in regal robes, his eyes shining with pride and certainty. Around him stood his attendants and loyal followers, all echoing his authority.
When Daksha saw Sati enter, his expression flickered — surprise, then displeasure.
She walked straight toward him, stopping before his throne.
"Father," she said, her voice steady but heavy with emotion. "You prepare the greatest sacrifice of this age. And yet, you have chosen to forget my husband."
A murmur ran through the assembly.
Daksha's jaw tightened.
"I have forgotten nothing," he replied coldly. "I have chosen."
Ganesh felt the air tighten like drawn steel.
Daksha continued, his voice loud enough for all to hear.
"This yajna is for those who uphold order through action and ritual. Not for one who sits in ashes, ignoring the world, refusing the ways that bind us together."
A sharp breath escaped Sati.
"You speak of Shiva," she said, pain cutting through her voice, "as if stillness were neglect, and detachment were disdain."
Daksha stood.
"And I speak of him as he shows himself!" he declared. "Unwilling to bow to law, unwilling to honor tradition, unwilling to take his place among those who build the world instead of standing apart from it!"
The crowd stirred uneasily.
Ganesh stepped forward slightly, but Aneet placed a gentle hand on his arm.
"Not yet," she whispered.
Sati's eyes shone, but her voice did not break.
"He is the ground on which all your rituals stand," she said. "Without him, your fire has no meaning."
Daksha laughed harshly.
"Then let him come and claim his meaning!" he said. "If he dares."
The words rang across the yajna grounds like a challenge hurled at the sky.
Ganesh felt the fire within him flare dangerously.
"This is no longer pride," he murmured. "This is provocation."
Aneet closed her eyes briefly. "And provocation always seeks a storm."
The Saptarishi exchanged troubled glances.
Vashistha stepped forward. "Daksha, enough. A sacrifice that begins in insult cannot end in blessing."
Daksha waved him off. "Even sages forget their place when sentiment clouds wisdom."
The flames leapt higher.
The air trembled.
And Sati stood between her father and the truth of her heart, the world holding its breath around her.
Ganesh felt it then, clear as lightning:
This was only the beginning.
What followed would not be mended by words.