The heat dissipated, replaced by a soothing breeze that swept over him. Shiva closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks, not from pain but from relief. His parents' faces lingered in his mind, their love a beacon that had carried him through the impossible.
When he finally opened his eyes, the Naga Baba was standing before him, his expression unreadable but his gaze filled with quiet pride. He held a glowing artifact in his hands—a small, intricately carved disc radiating golden light.
"You have passed, Shiva," the Baba said simply. "And in doing so, you have earned the Saptomi, the key to unlocking the truth you seek."
Shiva's breath hitched as he looked at the artifact. The carvings on its surface matched the symbols that had haunted his dreams for years. His trembling hands reached out, and the Baba placed the Saptomi into his palms. The moment it touched his skin, a surge of energy coursed through him, bringing with it a flood of visions—his parents, the ruins, the fire, and fragments of a path he had yet to walk.
"This is not just a key," the Baba continued, his voice heavy with meaning. "It is a guide. The Saptomi will lead you to the answers you seek, but it will also demand more from you than you can yet imagine. Be prepared, Shiva. The journey ahead is as perilous as it is enlightening."
Shiva clutched the artifact tightly, its warmth seeping into his soul. Though his body ached and his mind swirled with unanswered questions, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. For the first time since his parents' disappearance, he felt like he was one step closer to understanding the truth. He nodded, determination hardening his gaze.
"I will not fail," he said, his voice steady despite the rawness in his throat. "No matter what lies ahead, I will find them—and the truth."
The Baba inclined his head, a faint smile touching his lips. "Then may your path be illuminated, Shiva. The Saptomi has chosen you for a reason. Trust in it, and trust in yourself."
Shiva tightened his grip on the artifact, feeling its ancient energy pulse through his veins. The Baba's words echoed in his mind as he turned away from the flickering firelight, stepping out into the cold night. The sky above was vast and endless, dotted with a million stars, as if they too were watching his journey unfold.
The dense forest before him was shrouded in mist, its towering trees whispering secrets to the wind. Every step he took felt deliberate, purposeful, as though the Saptomi itself was guiding his path. The shadows shifted, playing tricks on his weary mind, but he pressed forward, his resolve unshaken.
Then, a sudden rustle in the undergrowth made him halt. His heart pounded as he scanned the darkness, gripping the artifact tighter. A pair of glowing eyes emerged from the gloom, followed by a sleek, black panther. It moved with silent grace, its gaze locked onto Shiva with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
For a moment, neither moved. Then, as if sensing no hostility from Shiva, the panther let out a low rumbling sound—a greeting rather than a threat. It stepped closer, circling him before stopping just a few feet away.
Shiva took a slow breath. "Are you... a guardian?" he murmured, unsure if he expected an answer.
The panther blinked slowly, then turned its head, as if beckoning him to follow. Without hesitation, Shiva stepped forward, trusting the silent guide.
Hours passed in a blur as they traversed the dense forest, the air growing heavier with an unseen presence. The trees gave way to an ancient temple, half-consumed by nature yet still pulsing with a quiet power. Vines clung to the weathered stone, and inscriptions glowed faintly under the moonlight.
Shiva's breath caught in his throat. This was it. The place he had seen in his visions, the place where the truth lay hidden.
He stepped toward the entrance, the artifact in his palm growing warmer with each step. As he crossed the threshold, a whisper curled around him, carried by the wind—a voice both familiar and distant.
"The past awaits you, Shiva. Are you ready to face it?"
With a determined nod, he stepped forward into the unknown.
Then, Shiva saw it—an extreme power, both gentle like a mother's touch yet overwhelmingly unstoppable. As he held the artifact, an indescribable force began to emerge from the Saptomi, enveloping his body. The warmth intensified, turning into an unbearable heat, and suddenly, his hardened skin—coated with the remnants of lava—began to crackle and split apart.
A searing pain shot through him, not just physical but spiritual, as though his very essence was being tested once more. The power surged, wrapping around him like liquid fire, forcing him to endure the agony of transformation. His vision blurred, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but through it all, a deeper understanding awakened within him.
This was no ordinary energy. This was something ancient, something that sought to reshape him, to mold him into something greater. Shiva clenched his teeth, bracing himself for whatever came next.
The searing agony overwhelmed him, waves of pain crashing through his body like an unrelenting storm. His vision flickered, shadows and light blending into a dizzying haze. His thoughts, once sharp, now frayed at the edges, slipping away like sand through his fingers. The world around him distorted, sounds echoing as if from a great distance, his consciousness teetering on the brink of oblivion.
At that moment, as his vision failed him, an ethereal force of time and space enveloped his being. Swirling tendrils of light and shadow wrapped around him, pulling him into a distant, glorious ancient past—one long lost and hidden from the eyes of the world.
In an ancient mansion, two men paced outside a grand chamber, their breaths uneven with anticipation. The younger, around twenty-five, had sharp eyes filled with nervous excitement, his lean frame draped in a brown dhoti. Beside him, the elder man, adorned in a yellow dhoti and pancha, had a calm but knowing expression, his white beard betraying the wisdom of his years. Both bore malas of gold and silver, embedded with shimmering diamonds, symbols of their noble lineage.
The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and burning lamps, their flickering light casting elongated shadows across the intricately carved walls. The soft murmurs of priests chanting sacred verses echoed through the vast halls, blending with the faint cries from within the chamber.
The younger man, Lokendra, clenched his fists. "It has been hours. I cannot bear this waiting any longer, father. What if—"
The elder placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Patience, my son. The gods have blessed this union, and the heavens will watch over mother and child alike. Trust in the divine."
Lokendra exhaled sharply, his mind racing. The uncertainty gnawed at him, yet his father's words carried the weight of assurance. The door creaked slightly, and both men turned sharply, hope flashing in their eyes. A muffled cry echoed from within the chamber, followed by the hurried whispers of midwives. The air grew heavier with expectation.
The elder man, his face calm yet intent, murmured a silent prayer, his fingers moving over the beads of his mala. Lokendra swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. Seconds stretched into eternity before the door finally swung open, revealing an elderly midwife. Her face bore the weight of long experience, yet her lips curled into a soft smile.
"A son has been born," she announced.
For a moment, time itself seemed to pause. Lokendra's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening with unspoken emotion. His father placed a firm, steadying hand on his shoulder, pride gleaming in his wise gaze.
His father turned to him with a broad smile, his eyes gleaming with joy. Placing a reassuring hand on Lokendra's shoulder, he said cheerfully, "Rejoice, my son! You are now a father. The gods have blessed us with a grandson. He will bring honor to our lineage."
Lokendra took a deep breath, steadying himself before stepping into the dimly lit chamber. His wife lay on a silk-covered cot, her face weary but glowing with a quiet strength. In her arms, wrapped in soft linen, was their newborn son. The baby's tiny fingers twitched as he let out a soft whimper.
Tears welled in Lokendra's eyes as he knelt beside his wife. "He is perfect," he whispered, gently brushing a finger across the infant's delicate cheek. "Our son. Our future."
His wife smiled weakly. "He carries the fire of our ancestors," she murmured. "And he will shine even brighter than them."
An Elderly man stepped forward, placing his hand over the child's forehead in blessing. "A great destiny awaits him," he said solemnly. "May he walk the path of righteousness and lead our people with wisdom and strength."
Outside, the night sky shimmered, as if the cosmos itself had acknowledged the birth of a child whose fate would shape the world.
Yet, what the people did not know was that this child, whom they welcomed with joy, carried within him the soul of an adult—Shiva. The Saptomi had woven an unfathomable destiny, embedding his spirit into this newborn form. Hidden within the fragile body of the infant was the wisdom, pain, and power of the warrior who had traversed time and test itself. His journey was not over; it had merely begun anew.