The Silent Whisper of Betrayal

Shree Yan's path was now set in stone. The Prithvi Sadhana had granted him dominion over the earth, but it was the Tamas Vidhana that would sharpen his power. As he ventured deeper into the mountains, far from the reach of the Gautam Kingdom, the darkness inside him began to stir. It called to him with a hunger, like the shadows that crept beneath the moonlight.

The ritual for the Tamas Vidhana was not one of physical pain, like the first. No, this was different. It required a deeper sacrifice—a sacrifice of trust, of humanity itself. In a hollow cave, surrounded by the stillness of the wilderness, Shree Yan stood alone, his senses heightened by the very shadows he sought to control. The darkness curled around him like a cloak, wrapping him in its cold embrace.

Vishnu had told him the truth, though Shree Yan hadn't listened—there was no escaping the price. To wield shadows was to become one with them. His emotions began to flicker and fade, replaced by a cold detachment that spread like ink in water. The boy who had once wept for his mother's death now felt no more than the flicker of an ember in a storm.

He stood in the center of the cave, his mind focused, the chant of the Tamas Vidhana flowing from his lips like poison, a melody of power and darkness. Slowly, the shadows around him deepened, thickening, swirling with a life of their own.

For the first time, Shree Yan felt something—something beyond control. It was not the power of the earth, not the violence of vengeance that filled him, but a whisper. Soft, insistent, familiar.

"You are not alone," it whispered.

The voice was nothing like Vishnu's or any human being. It was ancient, like a forgotten god, a spirit trapped between worlds. The shadows thickened, their movement becoming erratic, as if they were listening to the voice too.

"You are destined for greater things," the voice continued, its tone low and seductive. "The Kalpa Vikalpa awaits you—the power to reshape time itself. You will become not only immortal but above time. Nothing will escape your grasp."

Shree Yan's heart stilled. He had thought the cultivation of the earth and shadows was his only path, but the voice spoke of something deeper. The temptation was strong—his desire to become immortal was nothing compared to the idea of controlling time itself. To make everything his, to rewrite fate, and make the Gautam Kingdom bend to his will.

He reached into the shadows, allowing the voice to guide his thoughts, but before he could dive deeper into the seductive promise, a sudden, sharp pain pierced his chest—a searing reminder of what he had left behind.

His mother's face flashed in his mind—her lifeless eyes, her warm hands gone cold.

The shadows recoiled as if they were repelled by his pain. The voice faltered, uncertain. The power he sought, the darkness he embraced, was beginning to fight with the remnants of his humanity. For a brief moment, Shree Yan felt something—a flicker of regret, a sense of loss. But it was fleeting. It vanished as quickly as it had come, swallowed by the shadows.

Shree Yan's breath steadied, and the shadows obediently returned, wrapping themselves around him in a comforting embrace. He pushed the fleeting moment aside. He could not afford to waver now. Not when he was so close. Not when the Kalpa Vikalpa could be his.

But that moment of hesitation had been enough. It left a crack in his resolve, a crack that someone would surely notice.

The next morning, as Shree Yan prepared to leave the cave and continue his journey, a familiar presence emerged from the shadows. A figure stepped into the light—Kiran Gopal, the monk who had once guided him in the early days of his journey.

Shree Yan's heart skipped a beat. He had not expected to see Kiran again so soon, not after the way their paths had diverged. Kiran's robes were still as pristine as ever, but his eyes were filled with an unsettling mix of pity and concern.

"You walk a dangerous path, Shree Yan," Kiran said, his voice soft yet firm. "I thought I had taught you better than this. You cannot control the darkness. It will consume you, as it has consumed so many before you."

Shree Yan's crimson eyes flashed. "I control my destiny. Not the darkness, not the shadows. This is my choice."

Kiran stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "And at what cost? The man you were is already lost, Shree Yan. Do you not see that?"

For the first time since leaving his village, Shree Yan felt a flicker of something in his chest—a pulse of discomfort. But it was fleeting. He quickly suppressed it.

"I've already lost everything," he muttered, turning away. "There is nothing left but power."

Kiran's face softened with sorrow. "You don't understand. Power will never fill the hole inside you. You seek immortality, but what will it matter when you are alone, with nothing left but your regrets?"

Shree Yan's fist clenched, his eyes narrowing. "Then I will make sure I have no regrets."

But Kiran was not finished. "You can still turn back, Shree Yan. You don't have to walk this path."

Shree Yan's voice was cold, distant, as though the very emotion had been drained from it. "There is no turning back."

Kiran's eyes, filled with a mixture of sorrow and resolution, said everything before he spoke. "Then I cannot follow you any longer."

And just like that, the monk turned and left, disappearing into the distance, his figure vanishing into the shadows that Shree Yan had already mastered.

As Shree Yan watched Kiran's retreating form, something twisted inside him. Was it the beginning of doubt, or the first whisper of betrayal? He could not tell. But he would not allow it to stop him.

The Gautam Kingdom would pay. And nothing—no one—would stand in his way.