Chapter 15: The Lotus and the Leech

B.S. 2082 Baisakh 8 – Mustang's Sky Caves, The Threshold of Time

The child-acolyte led them north, his golden threads knitting a path through the Annapurna's snowblind passes. At his touch, avalanches stilled and crevasses sealed, the mountains obeying Kala-Chakra's arbiter. By dawn, they stood at the Sky Caves' maw—a jagged fissure weeping black resin, its walls plastered with funerary masks from forgotten eras.

"The Bon-po called this place Sidpa Bardo—the between-state," Meera said, her breath frosting. "Souls get trapped here, halfway to rebirth."

Anika's fireflies swarmed uneasily. Rani Lakshmi's voice hissed through them: "The air tastes of rot. The tree's corpse is near."

The child pointed to a mural flaking off the cave wall: a cosmic tree strangled by serpents, its roots birthing deformed gods. "The original Kalpavriksha. Its rot birthed the Fourteen Worlds. Alessandro seeks to repeat the mistake."

Jay clutched the Amrita lotus in its lead casket. Its petals had begun to wilt, leaching black veins into his palm.

Deep within the caves, bone trumpets wailed. A Bon shaman awaited, his face hidden behind a copper mask cast in the likeness of a snarling snow leopard. At his feet lay offerings: rancid butter, human molars, and a still-beating goat heart.

"You carry death," the shaman intoned, his voice echoing from the masks lining the ceiling. "The Nyen spirits demand tribute."

Anika stepped forward, fireflies illuminating the shaman's altar. "We're here for the Kalpavriksha's remains. Not your ghosts."

The shaman laughed, snapping the goat's aorta. Blood sizzled into smoke, forming a spirit map of the caves. "The tree's corpse is a wound. To walk its halls, you must wear the Nyen's skin."

He tossed them three masks:

Garuda (Jay) – "For the heir who fears his wings."

Kinnari (Anika) – "For the gardener who hates her roots."

Rakshasa (Meera) – "For the queen who mourns her crown."

The child-acolyte frowned. "Masks are lies. But lies with power."

The masks fused to their faces. Jay's Garuda beak sharpened his senses into agony—he heard the sapling's roots fracturing continents, smelled Meera's decaying resolve, tasted Anika's fireflies dying.

The Kalpavriksha's corpse sprawled ahead, its trunk a necrotic pillar oozing black sap. Vedant awaited, his Saraswati armor replaced by Puri sigils burned into his flesh. Alessandro's hologram flickered above him, feeding Vedant drops of Amrita from a human skull chalice.

"The Council's dog returns," Vedant sneered. "How's my sister? Still useless?"

Meera's Rakshasa mask snarled, its fangs elongating. "I'll carve that smug face into your entrails."

Alessandro's hologram chuckled. "The tree's rot is perfection. It consumes time itself. Behold."

He tossed the chalice. Amrita splashed the rot, birthing a timequake.

The cave shattered into eras:

Past: A younger Vedant burning Meera's Dashnami scrolls, branding her a traitor.

Present: The child-acolyte weaving golden threads into a noose around the sapling.

Future: The Garuda mask consuming Jay, his bones hollowing into a weapon.

Anika's Kinnari mask sang, shattering the visions. "Focus! The rot's core is ahead!"

They fought through temporal debris:

Bon warriors resurrected as shambling corpses, their chants warped into screams.

Alessandro's clones harvesting sap to feed the Puri's Kalpavriksha.

The child, now a towering entity, pruning timelines with detached precision.

At the rot's core, the original Kalpavriksha's heartwood pulsed—a grotesque orb of fungus and fractured light. Vedant guarded it, his body bloated with stolen Amrita.

"Join us, sister," he rasped, Puri sigils glowing like embers. "The Dashnami are dust. We'll be gods."

Meera's mask cracked. "You're already dead."

Jay plunged the Amrita lotus into the heartwood.

The cave screamed.

The lotus's roots burrowed into the rot, leaching corruption into its petals. Vedant's body deflated, his Puri sigils dimming to scars. Alessandro's hologram guttered.

"You… fool,*" Vedant coughed, clutching Meera's ankle. "The rot… it's in the lotus now. You've poisoned your own hope."

The child-acolyte materialized, his threads cocooning the lotus. "The corruption is contained. For now."

Alessandro's laugh echoed as the heartwood collapsed. "You bought a century at most. The **real Kalpavriksha feasts."

At dawn, they emerged. The Garuda mask wouldn't unclench from Jay's face. Anika's Kinnari song had turned to a mournful wail. Meera cradled Vedant's corpse, her Rakshasa fangs retracted.

The child-acolyte studied the blackened lotus. "Next, the Pashupatinath Tirtha. Where time drowns."

Jay's Shankha mark itched. The mask whispered: "You could have let Vedant live."

He hadn't.