The world was not ending.It was simply forgetting.
Cities still stood — glowing with neon prayers and artificial dawns — but the gods who once ruled the skies had retreated into silence.Temples became data-servers. Shrines became archives of forgotten code.Faith had turned to memory… and memory was dying.
Yet, deep beneath the ruins of Bharat-Loka, one pulse still echoed — an ancient heartbeat that refused to fade.It was the rhythm of the Divyaastras — divine weapons forged by the gods, sleeping beneath the earth, waiting for a human heart pure enough to awaken them.
And far from those buried temples walked two souls bound by fate —one chosen by the light, one cursed by the same.
Arjun Varad, the wanderer who believed mercy could still heal the world.Raghav, the protector who once stood for justice… until injustice turned him into something else.
When the wind began to whisper again, it carried a prophecy across broken lands:
“When mercy faces vengeance, the heavens shall rise or fall.”
And so the gods watched once more —as the Divyaastra stirred in slumber,as mortals prepared for a war that would decide whether light still deserved to exist.