Darkness did not frighten him.
It was familiar—comfortingly quiet, free of hunger, pain, and expectation. If this was death, he found it strangely peaceful.
Then came sound.
Not noise. Not chaos.
A single, deep vibration—like the universe breathing.
He became aware of himself slowly. Not of a body, but of existence. Thought came first, then awareness, then a subtle realization:
I am still here.
He opened his eyes.
There was no ground beneath his feet, yet he stood. No sky above his head, yet stars surrounded him. Ash-gray mist stretched endlessly in every direction, swirling like it was alive.
Far ahead, something immense loomed.
A mountain.
Not a mountain made of stone alone, but of presence. It felt ancient, unmovable, eternal. Every step he took toward it felt both heavy and effortless, as if the space itself was guiding him forward.
With each step, memories surfaced—his life, his choices, moments of quiet kindness no one ever witnessed.
There was no judgment in the air.
Only observation.
At the foot of the mountain stood a figure.
Tall. Still. Wrapped in silence.
Ash covered his skin, yet his presence burned brighter than fire. His hair was matted, flowing freely, adorned with a crescent moon that glowed softly. A serpent rested around his neck, unmoving, peaceful.
Blue marked his throat.
The man's eyes opened.
And the universe acknowledged him.
He felt it instinctively, a truth that bypassed logic.
Mahadev.
Shiva.
The destroyer who preserved balance by ending what no longer served.
Before he could process the enormity of it, another presence arrived.
Warmth spread through the space like dawn breaking after an endless night. Strength and compassion intertwined seamlessly, neither overpowering the other.
A woman stepped beside Mahadev.
Her beauty was not the kind that stunned—it was the kind that reassured. Her gaze alone carried the comfort of forgiveness and the authority of a queen.
Devi Parvati.
Without understanding why, he dropped to his knees.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
"So," Mahadev said, voice calm and resonant, "you finally arrived."
The man swallowed. His voice came out hoarse despite having no throat.
"…I'm dead."
"Yes," Mahadev replied simply.
"…That figures."
Parvati smiled softly and stepped forward. "You are remarkably calm."
He let out a weak laugh. "I spent my whole life expecting nothing. Guess that prepared me for this too."
Mahadev's lips curved slightly. "A useful trait."
The man hesitated, then asked the question that had been clawing at him since he woke.
"Why am I here?"
Mahadev studied him carefully, as though weighing something invisible.
"Because," he said, "your life ended exactly as it should have."
Parvati placed a hand over her heart. "You lived without privilege, without guidance, and without reward. Yet you chose righteousness when no one was watching."
He frowned. "I didn't do anything special."
Mahadev chuckled. "Most people who do something special say that."
Silence stretched between them, heavy yet comfortable.
Then Mahadev spoke again.
"You were not born by accident."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
"What do you mean?" he asked quietly.
Parvati raised her hand and gently touched his forehead.
The world shattered.
Images flooded his mind—cosmic flames, endless voids, divine energies colliding and harmonizing. He saw himself not as a helpless infant, but as a being of immense potential, sealed away, wrapped in layers of fate and restriction.
He saw Mahadev and Parvati standing together, forming something with intent rather than desire.
A soul.
Hidden.
Protected.
Sent away.
He staggered backward, clutching his head.
"I… I was—"
"Our son," Parvati said softly.
The words settled like thunder wrapped in silk.
He stared at them, disbelief warring with instinctual certainty.
"That's not possible," he whispered. "I grew up alone. I suffered. I—"
"Yes," Mahadev interrupted. "Deliberately."
Parvati shot him a sharp look.
Mahadev shrugged. "Necessary."
She turned back to him, her gaze gentle but firm. "You were sent to live as a human so you would understand them. Not rule them. Not judge them. Understand them."
His chest tightened.
"All that pain… was planned?"
Mahadev tilted his head. "Pain is not punishment. It is instruction."
He clenched his fists. "Then why not intervene? Why watch?"
Parvati stepped closer and embraced him.
For the first time in any existence, he felt unconditional warmth.
"Because if we had," she whispered, "you would have obeyed dharma out of faith in gods. We wanted you to choose it out of conviction."
Tears he didn't know he still possessed fell silently.
Mahadev cleared his throat. "Now, the universe approaches imbalance."
The words carried weight beyond sound.
"Vishnu will descend as Krishna," Mahadev continued. "But this age requires more than guidance."
Parvati looked directly into his eyes.
"It requires balance."
His breath caught. "You want me to—"
"You will be reborn as Krishna," Mahadev said calmly. "Not merely as Vishnu's avatar, but as our son carrying awareness beyond form."
The man stared, stunned.
"…Isn't that dangerous?"
Mahadev smiled.
"Extremely."
The space trembled slightly as something unseen activated.
Faint symbols of light flickered in the distance—unformed, unreadable.
Parvati kissed his forehead.
"You will retain awareness of the world. When dharma is crossed, you will know."
Mahadev placed a hand on his shoulder, grip firm and reassuring.
"You will laugh. You will love. And when necessary, you will correct even fate itself."
Light began to gather around him, pulling gently.
One last thought crossed his mind.
"So… no more being alone?"
Parvati smiled through unshed tears.
"Never again."
As the light consumed him, Mahadev's voice echoed like a promise.
"Go, my son. Be Krishna. And do not let the world forget balance again."
The universe folded inward.
And rebirth began.
--chapter 2 ended--