The days bled into one another as Shree Yan traveled through the desolate landscape, the echoes of his mother's death never leaving him. The village was now nothing but a smoldering memory, and his soul—once filled with the warmth of love and family—had turned to ice. His purpose was clear: immortality. The power to exact vengeance and reshape the world in his own image. But with each step deeper into the wilderness, the weight of his decision grew heavier, though he no longer cared.
He had come to a place where even the sun seemed reluctant to shine. The air was thick, as though the very earth itself bore the scars of forgotten wars and ancient sorrows. Here, in the depths of the mountains, Vishnu Pradhan had led him to the temple where the Prithvi Sadhana would be initiated.
Shree Yan stood before the stone altar, its surface worn by time and weather. The air smelled of earth—stale and ancient—yet there was an undeniable power in the silence. He could hear the rumbling of the earth beneath his feet, a rhythm that resonated with his own heartbeat. It called to him.
"Here," Vishnu Pradhan's voice broke the stillness, "the earth will answer your call. But first, you must bind yourself to it. The power you seek demands sacrifice."
Shree Yan's crimson eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to challenge the very air. "I have already sacrificed everything. What more is there to give?"
Vishnu's gaze softened, as if seeing through the boy's hardened exterior. "You have not yet learned the cost of true power. Immortality is not a gift—it is a curse. The earth will give you strength, but it will also take what it pleases."
Without waiting for a reply, Vishnu unrolled the scroll, revealing intricate symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. "The Prithvi Sadhana binds your soul to the very earth itself. It will grant you control over the land, the power to shape mountains, and command the earth beneath you. But it will never release its hold."
Shree Yan stared at the scroll, his mind already made up. What was one more chain to someone who had already been bound by fate?
He knelt before the altar, placing his hands on the cold stone. The air thickened around him as the ground trembled. The ancient chants of Vishnu echoed in the air, their meaning lost in time, but their power undeniable.
As Shree Yan chanted the words, a dark, earthy energy surged through him, crawling up his limbs and into his chest. His breath caught as he felt the earth itself enveloping his body, its weight pressing down on him like the crushing weight of an entire mountain. His eyes burned, and for a moment, he felt as if he were being torn apart from the inside.
The pain was unbearable. But it was