The golden radiance deepened.
From within it emerged a presence vast yet gentle.
Blue like the deepest ocean.
Serene like eternity.
Eyes containing galaxies and compassion without limit.
Four-armed. Crowned. Holding conch, discus, mace, and lotus.
He knew without being told.
"Vishnu…"
The name resonated across dimensions.
The Preserver.
The Sustainer of cosmic balance.
He felt small.
Not insignificant — but small.
"Why?" he asked immediately. No reverence. No hesitation.
The divine gaze did not waver.
"My child," the voice was neither loud nor soft. It simply was. "You carry anger."
"Yes," he answered. "I do."
"Good."
That startled him.
"Anger born of ego destroys. Anger born of injustice transforms."
He clenched.
"Then why didn't you transform it? Why didn't you intervene? You are God."
A ripple of something like sorrow passed through the cosmos.
"There are laws," Vishnu said. "Even I abide by them."
He frowned. "You… abide by laws?"
"Yes."
The radiance pulsed.
"Creation is bound by Dharma — cosmic order. If I intervened at every injustice, free will would collapse. Growth would end. Karma would lose meaning."
He resisted the explanation.
"So children suffer so that balance remains intact?"
"No," Vishnu said gently. "Children suffer because humanity misuses free will. I preserve the field. I do not control every move within it."
The words stung.
"Then what is prayer for?"
"To strengthen the one who prays. Not to override consequence."
Silence fell.
"Your life," Vishnu continued, "was not meaningless. Every word you wrote shifted thought. Every shift of thought altered karma's trajectory."
"But I died."
"Yes."
The acceptance was calm.
"Death is not failure. It is transition."
He felt frustration rise again.
"Easy for a God to say."
A faint smile touched the divine lips.
"You think divinity is absence of pain? I have watched countless cycles of creation and destruction. Preservation does not mean prevention of all suffering. It means ensuring suffering is not eternal."
The statement lingered.
"You were not alone," Vishnu said.
"You felt alone."
That pierced deeper than accusation.
"As an orphan, you forged compassion. Without that pain, you would not have written with such fire."
"So suffering was necessary?"
"No suffering is desirable," Vishnu corrected. "But suffering can refine."
He absorbed that slowly.
"You ask why I did not intervene," Vishnu continued. "Because you were the intervention."
The statement struck like thunder.
"You were born in darkness and chose light. That choice carries more power than divine command."
His anger cooled slightly.
"But betrayal?"
"Free will."
"And my death?"
"Karma's web is vast. The one who orchestrated it has not escaped consequence."
A silence heavy with unseen justice filled the space.
"You cannot see the full tapestry from one lifetime," Vishnu said. "I can."
He felt something unfamiliar.
Not anger.
Understanding.
Not complete.
But growing.
"So what now?" he asked quietly.
The golden light intensified.
"Now," Vishnu said, "you choose again."