"You two were there, in Aghorvan and in the temple. What did you see?" Dhanudanda's voice cut across the room like a blade, sharp and demanding.
Raghav and Rudra exchanged a glance. It was Rudra who nodded first, silently nudging his twin to speak.
"There was nothing but ruins," Raghav began. "At the center of the temple, there was a podium, isolated in darkness. Sarthak tried to touch it—but he couldn't. The moment his fingers brushed the surface, they burned. Not scorched by fire, but seared by something unseen. Then he tried with a dagger. That too burned. As if the podium wasn't just resisting him—it was rejecting him."
A silence fell, dense and weighty.
"Are you absolutely sure that's what you saw?" Parashar asked, his voice firm, though not accusatory. "You were in the middle of battle. It's easy to mistake—"
"We are sure," Rudra interrupted, tone clear and steady. "We weren't hallucinating. The rest of the temple was shattered, but that podium—untouched, ancient, and... guarded by something invisible."
Kritipal folded his arms. "Even if that's true, we don't know what the podium held. It could be anything. We can't jump to conclusions that Sarthak is after some mythical treasure. It could be a typical power grab—a territorial dispute."
"That's a possibility," Parashar agreed. "We shouldn't leap from symbols to stories."
"Then why has Rankriti never gone there?" Raghav's voice rose slightly. "She's visited Jangal Mandala several times. She even stationed Sarthak to rule Anantgadh. But she avoided Aghorvan—always. Not only that, she warned Sarthak not to touch it. Then he defied her and went straight for it. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
"Because Rankriti knows what's inside," Rudra said. "She's either afraid of it, or she's guarding it. There's no other explanation. A warrior like her doesn't shy from confrontation. If she's avoiding Aghorvan, it's deliberate. She knows what's hidden."
Kritipal rubbed his jaw. "Maybe she tried to touch the podium and failed. Maybe she was burned too. Maybe she can't claim it."
"Rankriti? Burned?" Dhanudanda scoffed. "She's the one who burns others."
"It's possible," Kritipal snapped back. "We don't know how that power works. But someone else did take something from that temple years ago. How did they succeed where Sarthak failed?"
Savignya, silent till now, raised her voice once more. "Because the power within the temple isn't meant for everyone. There are rules. You can't just take it by force. From what I know, you can only read the Puranas—the true Puranas—if you are a Sadhu or a Sadhvi. The term is Sadhaka. You need knowledge, purity of intent, and immense training to even comprehend what's written."
"Here we go again," Kritipal muttered. "First magic, then chosen wielders, and now Sadhakas. What's next? Asuras and Devas descending from the clouds? Are you sure you're not repeating bedtime stories from our childhood, Savignya?"
Savignya didn't respond. She just looked at him.
"If you don't believe her, leave," Dhanudanda said coldly. "No one's forcing you to listen."
"I wasn't speaking to you," Kritipal snapped. "Your opinion is neither needed nor requested."
"Enough," Parashar cut in. "This is not the time to squabble. Savignya, please continue."
Savignya nodded. Her eyes carried the weight of stories older than memory.
"Like I said, I cannot offer proof. But this is what I've come to believe through years of whispers and fragments passed through tongues afraid to speak them aloud. The Puranas are not just texts—they are sources. They aren't meant for all. Not even the most powerful beings can wield them. Not Devas, not Asuras. Only a rare few—Sadhakas—can. That's why they were hidden. Buried beneath temples, guarded by veils of belief, myth, and terror."
A heavy silence returned.
Then Parashar turned toward the corner of the room. "Ashvapati. You haven't said a word. What do you think?"
The legend looked up slowly. His eyes were still, dark, and unreadable. "I don't believe in saviors or divine design. But... based on the twins' account, and the political shifts we're witnessing, I think there's some truth to this. Perhaps not the full story—but something lies in that ruin. And just so you know—Asuras and Devas do exist. I've seen them. Once. Long ago, when I was a child."
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
Even Savignya looked surprised. "You saw one?"
Ashvapati gave a single nod. "They don't parade their forms. They walk among us rarely, quietly."
Dhanudanda smirked and turned to Kritipal. "Well? What do you say now? Still need proof?"
Kritipal shrugged. "I believe only what I see. And right now, I see a lot of people chasing ghosts."
"Then stay blind," Rudra muttered.
Parashar stood. "Enough. We need to move beyond conjecture. Whether this is a myth or a hidden truth, the stakes are real. If Sarthak is after this power, and if he succeeds—he could challenge Rankriti. That's war. A war we must be ready for."
He looked at Raghav, Rudra, and Ashvapati. "You've already started gathering intel. Good. Keep your network wide. Track every move Sarthak makes. We must understand his true aim."
"We're already on it," Rudra replied with a grin.
Raghav nodded. "Chorpatta is running at full speed."
Parashar turned to the rest of the assembly. "The rest of you—prepare your men. If Rankriti calls, we stand by her."
Everyone murmured their agreement. Even Kritipal, now silent, didn't object.
They had no choice.
Even if they didn't believe in old stories, they believed in war. And war was coming.
The council meeting began to dissolve slowly, with groups discussing tactics, alliances, routes of retreat, and hidden reserves. Yet despite the urgency, many lingered. Minds were turning—not toward Sarthak or Rankriti—but toward the podium in the ruins of Aghorvan.
Was it truly a source of forgotten wisdom?
A trap?
Or something far older?