Everyone left the meeting deep in thought, burdened by the weight of what they had heard. Power beyond comprehension, the Puranas, the existence of Devas and Asuras—ideas that belonged to bedtime tales and forgotten folklore had suddenly returned, cloaked in uncertainty. No one said much, but something had shifted. Each person carried questions now, silent and unresolved.
Were the stories they'd heard as children real? Could the legends of the Puranas be more than myths? No one had answers—except, perhaps, Savignya. She believed. That alone set her apart. But even she admitted she didn't know the full truth. The stories she clung to could prove to be lies. Or worse, they could be real.
Riding back from the Yamsabha, the trio's minds were filled with unspoken thoughts. Raghav finally broke the silence.
"Did you really see Asuras and Devas?" he asked.
"Yes," Ashvapati replied, eyes fixed forward, guiding his horse steadily along the path.
"Who exactly were they? Asuras or Devas? What were they like?" Raghav pressed.
"I don't know who they were," Ashvapati answered plainly.
Rudra turned his head sharply. "What?! You just left the Yamsabha with everyone questioning everything they believed. And now you're saying you don't know?"
"I was a child. It was over twenty-five years ago. I don't remember everything," Ashvapati said.
Raghav looked at him, confused. "Wait, twenty-five years ago you were a child? How old are you?"
Ashvapati glanced at him, a faint smile touching his face. He said nothing and urged his horse forward, leaving the twins behind.
Rudra leaned closer to Raghav. "Why do these people always keep us hanging with questions? Why can't they answer straight?"
"I've been asking the same thing," Raghav replied. "How old do you think he is?"
"I thought he was at least fifty. But I've never seen an Ashvarath before, so who knows?" Rudra said.
"He said he was a child twenty-five years ago. That makes him around thirty-five now."
"That's too young for him. The way he speaks, the way he advises... he sounds like someone much older."
Before they could say more, Ashvapati called back, his voice calm but firm. "You two seem very interested in my age. Do you think that curiosity is useful for survival?"
The twins straightened up and said nothing more. They followed him quietly, though their minds continued to whirl. Was Ashvapati older than he looked? Had he seen something others hadn't? None of their questions had clear answers.
But they weren't alone in their confusion. Throughout the day, the questions from the Yamsabha stayed with everyone. The commanders, the advisors, even the ones who had scoffed at Savignya's words—none of them were at ease. One by one, they reached out to their record keepers and scholars. None showed open interest, but the search had begun.
Kritipal, despite his defiance in the meeting, summoned two of his best scribes late in the evening. He claimed he was checking for past wars in Jangal Mandala, but the truth was different. He was looking for mentions of the Puranas. For ruins. For anything about Devas and Asuras.
Parashar, too, had his aides bring him old scrolls. He didn't read them right away. He just sat with them in his chamber, running his fingers along the worn-out edges, lost in thought.
Even Dhanudanda, usually direct and disinterested in legends, asked a priest if Aghorvan was ever mentioned in the ancient chants.
They all said it wasn't real. That they didn't believe. But none of them could ignore the itch of curiosity.
Back in the barracks, the twins spoke softly before sleep.
"Do you believe any of this?" Rudra asked.
Raghav thought for a while. "I don't know. I saw the podium. I saw what it did to Sarthak. It felt... different. I don't think that was something ordinary."
Rudra nodded. "Same. I don't know what to call it, but it wasn't just stone."
"And Savignya... she said only a Sadhaka could read the Puranas. What if it's true? What if that's why no one can touch it?"
Rudra didn't reply. He turned toward the ceiling, thoughts churning.
Outside, the night spread over the Mandala, quiet but restless. Somewhere, the truth was buried—beneath stone, beneath belief, beneath silence. And though no one said it out loud, everyone had begun to dig.