|| ..Explore.... ||
|| ...Explore... ||
|| ....Explore.. ||
He has finally, Awakened. This awakening was predicted by Tarun, a sage in the Himalayas who's about a hundred and fifty years old.
No. This wasn't a normal Awakening. This was divine. Like something strange. Nothing like an ordinary Awakening.
The wind shifted directions... in a slow, reverent bow. The mountain peaks that had slept for centuries stirred with unease, their snows whispering down in silver avalanches that sounded like sighs from ancient gods. Somewhere deep in the heart of the Himalayas, the sun hesitated before crossing the horizon.
Tarun had been waiting for this day. For a hundred and fifty years, he had waited in silence, in storm, in solitude. His eyes, milky with age, had seen generations come and go, kingdoms rise and crumble, but his body refused to surrender to time. He had been told long ago, that his purpose would arrive as a calm after the storm wrapped in flesh. And now, the storm had arrived.
He felt it before he saw it.
A trembling beneath the rock like something alive was breathing beneath the earth's crust. It was faint at first, then grew stronger.
He rose from his mat, his old robe dragging across the cold stone floor of his cave.
He stepped outside.
The dawn had frozen mid-birth... the world caught in an impossible pause. Clouds hung motionless, birds suspended mid-flight, snowflakes halted in air like scattered shards of crystal glass. Even the rivers below, usually roaring like wild beasts, now moved in syrupy slowness, whispering secrets they were never meant to share.
Then came the sound.
A low, melodic thrum. It carried the weight of a thousand storms. It spoke through every crevice and crack of the mountains. It was something older.
Tarun fell to his knees. He knew.
"He has awakened," he murmured, voice shaking. "He remembers."
In the small village at the base of the mountains, no one understood what had happened. The power lines had flickered at dawn, then gone dead. Every clock had stopped at the same time... that time being 3:33 AM. The sky had turned a shade of gray so deep it looked like the color of thought. Children cried without knowing why. The animals refused to move. And the oldest among them... those who still believed in the prophecy, whispered the old name. "Ravi"
But it wasn't a name... It was a title... A warning.
Tarun's cave lay above the Veiled Valley, a place where compasses spun endlessly... The valley had long been sealed off by fog and folklore. It was said that no one who entered it returned the same. Tarun had made his home there decades ago… waiting.
Now, as the stillness began to shift, he saw the fog part. Something was unfolding.
Light shimmered first, bending around a silhouette that pulsed with rhythm… not the rhythm of a heartbeat… but of something greater, something cosmic. He could see outlines forming… a man's shape, tall, almost serene, though his skin shimmered with faint fractal patterns that looked like galaxies collapsing in reverse.
The air vibrated… Snow began to fall upwards.
When the figure finally stepped forward, the mountains bowed. Tarun could feel it in his spine. That pull of gravity… that bending of reality itself.
He spoke, though his voice came out trembling: "Do you… remember who you are?"
The figure blinked like a god testing the concept of vision. His eyes were not human... they looked like reflections in deep water, shifting with faint images… a thousand lives… a thousand deaths.
"I remember enough," the voice replied. It wasn't loud, but it carried through the peaks... through the clouds... through the frozen world below.
Tarun swallowed hard. "Then you know… what comes next?"
The figure's expression didn't change, but the light around him dimmed, as though it grieved. "I know," he said quietly. "The unmaking begins."
Down in the villages, strange things were happening. The snow was melting, though the air was still cold. People began to see figures in mirrors that weren't their reflections. The monks of Khetra Monastery began chanting without knowing why, ancient hymns their ancestors had once used to calm the earth during divine storms.
The world was waking with Him.
Tarun stepped closer, his wrinkled hands trembling. "You were sealed for a reason," he said softly, almost pleading. "If you return, the balance will–"
"The balance," the being interrupted, "was never meant to last. You know that, Tarun."
There was no anger in the voice, no arrogance, only sorrow. Deep... ancient sorrow.
"I slept so that humanity could dream," the being continued, "but they forgot the dream. They forgot me."
The ground began to shake gently, like a heartbeat spreading across continents.
"I will remind them."
Tarun wanted to speak, to protest, to beg, but the words caught in his throat. For a moment, he saw flashes in his mind: cities burning, oceans rising, stars falling from the sky, but not as destruction, no. It was somewhat renewal. It was like cleansing.
And deep down... beneath all his wisdom... all his fear, Tarun understood: this was not like evil, this was inevitability.
The world had slept too long under its own illusions.
He lowered his head, tears cutting through the dust on his face. "Then let it begin."
The being looked toward the horizon, where the frozen dawn waited.
And with a whisper that cracked the stillness of the earth itself, he said:
"Let there be remembrance."
The world exhaled. The dawn unfroze. The light came flooding back, but it was not the same sun.
It was the first sunrise of a new age.
Chapter 3, The End.