The forest felt older than the world itself.
As Shiva followed Shyam Baba through the thick undergrowth, the air grew denser — full of whispers and unseen eyes. Sunlight bled through the canopy in streaks of gold, touching moss-covered stones and roots that looked like veins of a slumbering giant. The only sounds were the crunch of dried leaves beneath their feet and the faint hum of energy that followed Shiva everywhere now.
They walked for what felt like hours, until the trees parted into a small clearing. A circle of stones surrounded a shallow pond, its surface still and dark as a mirror. Mist hovered just above it, glowing faintly in the dawn light.
Baba stopped at the edge of the clearing and turned to Shiva.
His eyes, calm yet unyielding, fixed on him.
"Tell me," he said softly. "How do you feel now?"
Shiva looked down. His right hand, with the faint glow of the Ashen Ram tattoo, still pulsed weakly. His left hand — marked by the Azure Deer — shimmered faintly whenever the wind passed over it.
He took a slow breath. "I feel… ashamed," he said finally. "But also lighter. Like something in me broke — and what's left is waiting to be rebuilt."
Baba nodded slowly. "And are you ready now?"
He took a step closer, his presence suddenly immense despite his frail frame. "Ready to listen? Truly listen — not as the one who acts from pain, but as the one who understands patience?"
Shiva met his gaze. The silence between them stretched like a test.
Then he bowed his head. "Yes, Baba. I'll listen. Obediently this time."
The old man's expression softened, a faint smile forming beneath his white beard. "Good. Then today, you will learn the first step toward mastering your bonds."
He motioned for Shiva to sit by the pond. Shiva obeyed, crossing his legs, palms resting on his knees. The air around him thrummed softly — a familiar vibration that came whenever he entered meditation.
"Focus on what lives inside you," Baba said. "The two that share your breath. The ram and the deer — fire and wind. They are not spirits to be commanded. They are allies who trusted you enough to reside within your body. Speak to them. Feel them. Ask them to emerge."
Shiva closed his eyes.
Darkness folded around him, the world outside fading until all he could hear was the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Beneath that, two faint pulses echoed — one strong and steady, the other light and quick.
The Ram… the Deer.
He reached out with his thoughts.
"Come," he whispered inwardly. "I need to see you. Not as shadows, but as you truly are."
Nothing happened.
He tried again, focusing on the heat in his right hand — the symbol of the Ashen Ram. A faint warmth spread through his palm, climbing up his arm. The tattoo began to glow, lines of molten green tracing the shape of curling horns.
Still, no shape appeared.
He tried a third time. A fifth. A seventh. Sweat dripped down his brow. His breath came heavier, his mind shaking under the strain of holding two energies that didn't belong to a single man.
And then — on the tenth attempt, the air in front of him shimmered.
The ground cracked faintly as hooves struck the earth. Smoke curled upward in elegant spirals. From that haze emerged the Ashen Ram, its horns burning with greenish fire, its eyes calm and ancient. It let out a low, rumbling exhale — the sound of distant thunder.
Shiva's eyes widened. "You… came."
The ram lowered its head, brushing lightly against his arm in silent acknowledgment. The warmth that flooded him was more than physical — it was trust, wordless and profound.
Shyam Baba smiled faintly but didn't interrupt.
"Now the other," he said. "Balance the fire with breath."
Shiva nodded, though fatigue had begun to bite into him. His left hand trembled as he focused on the second pulse — the quiet whisper that always followed the ram's roar. The Azure Deer. Swift. Fleeting. Hard to grasp.
He slowed his breathing, syncing it with the rhythm of wind moving through leaves.
One breath in. One out.
Again.
And again.
On the twelfth try, a shimmer of blue light burst beside him. The Azure Deer stepped out of thin air, delicate and graceful, its body patterned with veins of light like flowing streams. The air around it felt cooler, lighter — every movement leaving behind faint ripples like mist over a lake.
Both beasts stood now — one of fire, one of wind — facing each other beside their human link.
Shiva looked between them, awe softening his features. "They're real… truly real."
Shyam Baba nodded slowly. "They always were. You simply needed to believe long enough to call them forth."
The ram pawed the ground once, releasing a faint spark. The deer tilted its head, scattering motes of wind-light. Together, their presence made the air hum with an ancient balance — Agni and Vāyu, creation and motion intertwined.
"Now," Baba said quietly, stepping closer, "you must learn to wield their gifts."
He pointed to a small patch of dry earth in front of Shiva.
"Call forth fire — but not from rage. From will. Let the Ram lend you its flame."
Shiva nodded and extended his right palm. The tattoo on his hand flared brighter. Heat swirled, condensing into a faint spark. He concentrated harder — until a small flame bloomed above his skin.
It wavered, then grew steadier — a living ember suspended in air.
Baba raised a hand. "Good. Now — still your mind. Remember the Deer. Let the wind answer the fire. Quench it without killing it."
Shiva closed his eyes again, shifting his focus to his left hand. The tattoo of the Azure Deer glowed like blue lightning beneath his skin. A cool breeze stirred, gentle at first, then firm — circling the flame, wrapping around it like a tender cage.
The fire sputtered… flickered… and then vanished.
Silence.
Shiva exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling. Sweat glistened on his brow, but his eyes burned with renewed determination.
Baba nodded with quiet pride. "You have done well."
The ram and the deer watched him — their eyes reflecting his inner fire. Slowly, they began to fade, dissolving back into streams of green and blue light that flowed into his hands once more. The tattoos pulsed once, brighter than ever, then settled.
Baba turned, gripping his staff. "When you can summon flame and wind, you have learned balance. And when balance comes, so does creation."
He looked at Shiva, his expression unreadable. "Tomorrow, I will take you to the forge of the ancients — where a true Sādhaka's hammer is born."
Shiva bowed his head. "Yes, Baba."
The wind whispered through the trees as the sun dipped behind the horizon, painting the clearing in gold and shadow. The pond reflected both fire and sky — just as Shiva now carried both within him.
For the first time since his death, he felt whole again.
End of Chapter 20 — "The Fire and the Breath"