Chapter 45: When Gods Turn Their Heads

High above the mortal realms, where thought bends into form and devotion becomes architecture, the Celestial Court stirred.

The gods who ruled through ritual, law, and fear—who had not felt true resistance in ages—sensed it now.

Not as war.

As silence.

Too many prayers unanswered.

Too many offerings withheld.

Too many temples where the incense burned—but the faith behind it had vanished.

At the center of the court, Vaikuntharaja sat on his throne of woven mantra threads, golden bones, and stolen belief.

He was still.

But his eyes—all thousand of them—turned.

Toward Shraddhalok.

Toward the crack in the system.

Toward the boy without a god.

"He moves through my structure like breath through a lie," he said.

A lesser god approached, trembling. "Shall we destroy the city? Strike them down?"

Vaikuntharaja shook his head.

"No."

"This is no rebellion. This is... infection."

"Send the Archons."

"Send the Dreambreakers."

"But do not kill him."

"I want him broken."

Far below, Aarav stood at the gates of Shraddhalok, watching the sky ripple.

He didn't know what was coming.

But he knew it had noticed him.

And he smiled.

Because gods only turn their heads when something threatens their throne.