The desert had gone quiet. Near an old open temple, three camels rested beside broken pillars and cracked stone floors. The temple had no roof anymore, only a few standing columns remained, their carvings worn away by years of sand and wind. At the center stood a small stone platform where a Shiv lingam rested, half buried in dust.
Under a dry withered tree, Dia sat down heavily, her lips dry and throat burning. Aatreya walked over and tossed her a leather water bag. She caught it without thanks, pulled the cap open, and gulped quickly, some spilling down her chin. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and breathed out. "Finally…"
Aatreya turned toward Dhira and held out another water bag. Dhira didn't take it at first, so Aatreya placed it beside him. Dhira stood inside the open temple, staring at the dust-covered Shiv lingam, completely still, his eyes unmoving even as the wind pushed sand across the floor.
Dia noticed the look in his eyes. It wasn't anger, nor calm, but something else she hadn't seen before. He spoke, still staring at the lingam. "So… What's your plan for killing a god?"
Silence fell. Dia stopped moving, her eyes shifting toward Aatreya. Dhira added quietly, "Or do you just want a sick man throwing rocks at one?" No one answered.
The desert wind passed through the temple again. Dia sat down against a pillar. Several long moments passed before Aatreya said calmly, "You'll find out when you get there."
Dia blinked. "That's it?" Aatreya said nothing more. Later they continued traveling, the camels moving slowly through the desert. Aatreya rode ahead while Dhira and Dia followed behind. For a while no one spoke. Then Dia nudged her camel forward until she rode beside Dhira.
She glanced sideways at him.
"So…" No response. "Which god did you offend to end up like this?" Dhira kept looking ahead. Dia continued guessing.
"Was it Shiva?" She shook her head herself. "No… he doesn't get angry that easily."
Dhira still didn't react.
"Indra maybe?" She squinted thoughtfully.
"I heard he has a pretty bad temper." She leaned closer. "Or was it—" Dhira cut her off. "Don't casually say gods' names." She blinked. "They might hear you." He looked straight ahead. "And hear us talking about killing them."
That shut her up for a moment. Then she spoke again, lowering her voice. "Okay… which one was it?" She leaned closer.
"You can say it slowly." Dhira replied without looking at her. "They can hear that too." Dia frowned. "Then mispronounce it." Dhira sighed slightly. "It doesn't work that way. Gods can hear everything."
This time Aatreya spoke from ahead. "Not all of them." Both turned slightly toward him. He continued calmly while riding.
"Some gods are too busy with their own affairs. Some simply don't care what mortals say. And some… don't even have the ability."
Dia tilted her head. "So which one cursed him?" Aatreya answered. "Loki." Dia waited, then frowned. "…Who?" Aatreya continued, "Goddess of curse and fire."
Dia blinked. "I've never heard that name before." Aatreya nodded slightly. "She's an old god from Asgard. Sister of Odin. Aunt of Thor. Mother of Hella."
Dia's eyebrows slowly rose. Aatreya continued in the same calm tone. "Her magic and curses make her dangerous, but what sets her apart is her cunning mind. You should never trust a single word coming from her mouth." Hearing this, Dia asked, "She is feared by all. Mortals. And gods alike."
He looked toward the horizon. "She is not the kind of god a mortal should anger." Dia swallowed. "She's the kind of goddess…" Aatreya added quietly, "…who can sense when her name is spoken." Dia instantly stopped talking, her mouth shut mid-question. Her imagination betrayed her.
For a brief second she pictured an old witch-like figure standing in a burning village, flames rising behind her, laughing maniacally watching everything. Dia shivered. Goosebumps ran down her arms. She looked around the empty desert nervously and didn't say another word.
Flashback.
The dining hall of Daansara was loud. Soldiers filled the long tables, metal plates clanging, laughter and arguments mixing with the smell of roasted meat and spices. In one corner four people sat at a smaller table away from the rest.
Raavi grabbed food like he was in a fight with it. Big bites, fast chewing, no patience. Across from him Jigya ate almost the same way, slightly less chaotic but not by much. Vijay ate quietly in the middle, slow and normal, his eyes moving between the others with the practiced calm of someone who had long accepted his situation. Then there was Rajraj, spine straight, spoon held carefully, small deliberate bites, as though the dining hall of a warrior kingdom was somehow beneath the standard he expected of himself.
Raavi watched him for a moment, cheeks full. "Why you eating like that?"
Rajraj slowly lifted his eyes, took in the sight of food threatening to fall from Raavi's open mouth, and looked away. "Savage," he muttered, returning to his plate.
Jigya heard it. She looked up mid-chew. "What did you say?" A few crumbs left her mouth and landed on Rajraj's plate. He froze. Stared at them. His appetite visibly left his body. "Why did I agree to eat with you people."
Jigya leaned forward again, still chewing. "Mmm? What did you say?" This time a small piece of food struck his cheek. Silence settled over their corner of the table.
Rajraj wiped his face slowly with his napkin. Then snapped. "Don't you people have any manners? Why are you talking while eating?" He pointed between them.
Raavi leaned back and smirked. "Oh look at that. Like we're dining with some big royalty." He tilted his head. "Right, Lord Dusty Fur?"
Rajraj grabbed him by the collar instantly. "Don't call me that." Raavi grabbed his wrist. "Then stop acting like one." Their stools scraped back, food spilling across the table.
Jigya watched for two seconds then shrugged. "Yeah honestly he does act like that."
Rajraj turned toward her. "You too?!" She stood up. "Oh don't cry about it." Raavi laughed. Rajraj lunged again and now all three were pushing and shouting, a bowl tipping over, soup spreading across the table.
Vijay sat completely still, spoon in hand, watching. Then he sighed. "Every meal." He pushed his stool back and stood. "I'm going to look for Dhira." Behind him the noise continued without pause. "LET GO OF ME." "YOU LET GO." "STOP PULLING MY HAIR." He walked away without turning back leaving behind this place of right and wrong.
The palace halls were quieter. Stone floors, tall pillars, sunlight coming through carved windows at long angles. Guards and servants greeted him as he passed.
"Senapati." He nodded to each and asked a passing guard if he had seen Dhira. The man pointed toward the outer courtyard. Another servant confirmed it. Vijay already knew, this was just proof.
He stepped outside the palace gates and moved through the capital streets until the market thinned and he heard the crowd before he saw it. A group of children, parents and young women spasciously young woman had gathered and were cheering at something. He squeezed through and found Dhira in the center of an open training ring, bare chested, swinging his silver mace in a precise repeating sequence. Left to right in a wide arc, right to left, then top to bottom, rotating through all directions without pause. Sweat poured off him steadily. The children watched their hero. The young women watched something else entirely.
Vijay stood at the edge and sighed quietly. His brother was a showman. He had always known it. He moved to where the guards were standing and had one of them relay the message. Dhira stopped mid-swing, spotted Vijay, waved him in with a grin. The crowd got excited. Vijay waved him out instead. "There's an important matter to attend to."
The crowd booed. Dhira raised a hand and they quieted. "It must be something serious, perhaps related to the kingdom. You should all head home." Protests followed. He smiled warmly. "Don't be sad. I train here every day at the same time. You'll see me tomorrow." The crowd cheered and began to thin, children leaving with parents, the young women departing somewhat more slowly.
When the crowd had cleared enough Dhira walked over and wrapped both arms around his brother. Vijay stepped back immediately. "Don't hug me with that sweaty body of yours." He pulled a small vial from his side and tossed it over. Dhira caught it and drank it without looking at it. The sweat vanished instantly and a faint floral smell surrounded him.
"Is it really necessary to train in a public ring every day when you have your own ground at home?" Dhira ignored the tone entirely. "What's that spell called?"
Vijay's expression flattened. "It's a potion. Not a spell. How many times." He paused.
"And it doesn't have a name. I made it. Haven't tested it yet." Dhira looked at him with a deadpan expression and said nothing, which was its own kind of complaint.
"What's the important matter?"
"The king wants to see you."
Dhira waited. Vijay said nothing further. "That's it?"
"He'll tell you the details himself."
Dhira shrugged and nodded. "He better have a good reason."
They walked back through the main market. Dhira could have taken a quieter road. He chose not to. People noticed him within moments. His name moved through the crowd, a woman offering sweets, kids running alongside chanting, one boy copying his walk, another swinging an invisible mace. Vijay rubbed the back of his neck. "This is exactly why I prefer the quiet route."
Dhira grabbed a fruit from an offered stall and bit into it. "Relax." A child shouted for him to show his punch. He raised his fist playfully and the kids erupted. Vijay sighed.
Then Dhira noticed something tucked behind his brother's back and pulled it free without asking. "Hey," Vijay said, reaching for it. Dhira flipped through it, ignoring him. "What is this, filled with parchment?" Vijay snatched it back and smoothed a folded corner carefully. "It's delicate." He rubbed the crease. "It's delicate but what is it? Why do you write so much in it?"
Vijay accepted defeat early. "It's called a book. I'm working on it."
"What's a book? Is it your new magic?"
"It's not magic. It's a collection of parchment where I store knowledge."
Dhira nodded. "So it's magic."
Vijay looked at him. Took a breath. "No. It's not. It's like those Indian scripts we read as children, but in a single place, without requiring stone or temple walls."
"Oh, a scripture. Why didn't you say so. But why does it look so messy, not nearly as refined as those."
"It's for personal use. I'll give it to whoever is worthy of it."
Dhira raised an eyebrow. "Worthy? How long do you think that thing will last? A century from now it'll be dust and no one will know what was in it. It'll become legend at best." He placed a hand on Vijay's shoulder. "Give up these illusory things. Carve your words in stone. Stone stays. Stone is remembered. Otherwise no one will even believe you existed." Vijay looked at his hand on his shoulder then looked away. "I don't want to argue with you," he said, meaning it completely.
They reached the palace gate shortly after and found something unusual waiting there.
A young woman stood near the guards. Dust covered her face but couldn't hide that she had once been beautiful and recently been through something that beauty couldn't help. She was begging to be let inside. The guards kept their distance and their distance said something they weren't putting into words.
Vijay was about to step forward. Dhira spoke first. "What's happening here." His voice carried easily and both guards straightened immediately.
The woman turned and saw him. Hope moved across her face fast. "Lord Dhira." She came toward him unsteadily. "Please help me. They're killing my husband." Dhira stopped. "He fought beside you. His name is Saveen."
The name meant nothing to him. He could see it meant something to Vijay, whose expression had shifted slightly. Dhira acted anyway. "Yes. Saveen." He nodded as though remembering. "What happened?" He steadied her gently.
She wiped her face and spoke through the trembling of someone who had been holding it together for too long. Her husband had fallen sick after the last war. They had tried everyone, doctors, priests, wandering healers, no one could help. He kept worsening. Then the king had invoked the old law. Anyone carrying plague was to be banished beyond the walls. Now he wandered outside the city like a beggar. "Please," she said again. "He served you. He served this kingdom."
She broke down entirely.
Dhira placed a hand on her head. "It's alright." He looked at the guards. One stepped forward reluctantly. Saveen had carried plague. The doctor who first treated him had died days later. The disease was contagious. The old law gave the king no choice.
Dhira said nothing for a moment. Something shifted in his expression, small and controlled. His hand around the woman's hand stiffened briefly, the instinct to pull away visible for just a second before he pushed it down. He released a slow breath. "I'll speak to the king. You don't need to worry. I promise."
The woman nodded desperately, holding the word like it was something solid.
Dhira turned and walked through the palace gates without slowing. Vijay followed behind him. But this time his face carried something that hadn't been there before.
Flashback ends.