Chapter 4: Thorns of Truth

B.S. 2082 Baisakh 1 – Van Lokha, Shiva's Abandoned Forge

The Warden's thorns pressed against my throat, drawing beads of blood that floated upward, defying gravity. Its moonlight body shimmered, each flicker revealing glimpses of faces trapped within—mortals who'd dared claim Van Lokha's secrets.

"A Giri kneels here," it intoned, voice echoing from the roots beneath my feet. "But is he worthy?"

Anika stood frozen, her vine-hair ensnared by creeping brambles. "Don't answer," she hissed. "It's a question, not a query."

The thorns dug deeper. "Choose your trial, Last Giri:

Pierce the heart of your sorrow…

…or grasp the shadow of your power."

Two paths materialized:

A doorway woven from Durga Giri's funeral shawl, stinking of pyre smoke.

A bridge of molten gold spanning a chasm where liquid starlight roared.

I opened my mouth—

"Ah," the Warden interrupted. "You misunderstand. This is no choice. It is a test of essence."

The world inverted.

Trial of Sorrow – B.S. 2075, Giri Village Revisited

I stood at Grandma Durga's deathbed, her labored breaths synced to the ticking of the antique wall clock she'd polished daily. The room smelled of camphor and impending rain.

"Jay…" she wheezed, her Shankha-marked hand trembling toward mine. "The gufa… don't let them…"

This wasn't memory. This was worse.

I knew what came next: her final rattle, the way Mother would collapse onto the mud floor, the Dashnami agents watching from the peepal tree. But this time, I could move.

"Don't speak," I pleaded, clutching her hand. My Shankha mark glowed, tendrils of light stitching her fraying breath. "I can fix this."

Her eyes cleared—a cruel trick of the trial. "Foolish boy. Death isn't a wire to re-solder."

The room darkened. Shadows pooled into the Asura, its tentacles cradling Grandma's corpse. "You crave eternity to outrun loss," it mocked. "But immortality multiplies grief. You'll watch universes die."

I lunged, but the vision dissolved.

Trial of Power – The Bridge of Molten Stars

Heat blistered my skin. The golden bridge swayed over an abyss where constellations drowned in liquid light. At the center floated a clay pot—Amrita Kalash, the nectar of immortality.

"Touch it," Anika shouted from the cliff's edge, her voice fraying. "It's an illusion, but the burns are real!"

The bridge narrowed with each step. Halfway, the Asura's voice slithered into my skull: "Take it. End the trial. Save your village."

The pot pulsed, its contents singing a hymn older than language. My fingertips brushed the rim—

—and time stuttered.

A vision: me, millennia hence, floating in cosmic void, surrounded by the corpses of galaxies I'd failed to save. Alone. Unending.

I recoiled. The bridge shattered.

I awoke pinned to the floor of a cavern lit by floating anvils. Shiva's forge—abandoned but alive. Hammers swung without hands, beating celestial iron into weapons that wept.

The Warden loomed, its thorns now threaded with my blood. "You fear immortality's cost yet covet its power. A contradiction."

Anika struggled against root bindings. "He's human, not some polished mantra!"

"Precisely." The Warden's voice softened. "The unworthy seek perfection. The worthy embrace paradox."

It retracted its thorns. My wounds healed, leaving scars shaped like Om symbols.

"The Door remains closed to you, Jay Giri. But Shiva's forge…" It gestured to a massive archway etched with 14 Lokhas, one scorched black. "…holds older paths. Tread them, and you may yet become more than mortal."

Anika broke free, her vine-hair regrown but frayed. "We need to leave. The Puri will trace the forge's awakening."

As we fled, I glanced back. The scorched archway's inscription flickered:

Rudra Lokha – Realm of Chaos

Sealed by Order of Dashnami, B.S. 1562

Beyond the forge, Van Lokha's meadows lay ravaged. Alessandro's hunger had left canyons of dead flora.

Anika knelt, pressing her palms to the soil. "I can't regrow this. The damage is… Puri-tainted."

"You knew," I said quietly. "About the Dashnami letting my village burn. The non-interference."

She stiffened. "We had orders."

"From who?"

A jasmine bloom fell from her hair, unfolding into a paper-thin scroll. Dashnami Council Seal – Priority Directive B.S. 2082:

Allow Puri Collective to engage Giri heir. Assess viability for Ascension Protocol.

"They used me as bait," I realized.

"They used everyone." Anika crushed the scroll. "But I've got my own orders now."

Her vine-hair lashed out, carving a Tirtha portal into the air. Through it, I saw Kathmandu's burning streets—Puri cultists hurling Vidya-fire at the Swayambhunath Stupa.

"The Council won't act," she said. "So we do. You do."