Chapter 45 – Dream of Chhinnamasta
"Power does not come from conquering fear. It comes from offering yourself to it."
Yash hadn't slept in days.
Not properly.
Not peacefully.
And when he finally collapsed — bloodied, starved, half-conscious — the dream came.
But it wasn't a memory.
It wasn't a message.
It was a ritual.
The world around him shifted to red.
No sky.
Only flame.
He stood in a battlefield of shadows — corpses without faces, hands reaching toward him, begging, accusing, praying.
And there she stood.
Chhinnamasta.
Naked, headless, divine.
Blood sprayed from her neck into the mouths of two waiting companions.
Her eyes glowed from the severed head she held in her palm.
Yet, she smiled.
Not cruelly.
Not kindly.
Just… truthfully.
"You seek power, child?"
"You seek meaning?"
"Then offer your head. Let the burden fall."
Yash dropped to his knees.
Not out of reverence.
But because he had no more strength to argue.
"I don't want to live," he whispered.
"But I promised I would."
She walked toward him.
The earth trembled beneath her bare feet.
With one hand, she reached for him — and with the other, offered him his own reflection, dying over and over again.
"Guilt is your chain. Break it."
"Let your pain be food for gods."
In a single breath, he screamed.
And his second form — Time — cracked like glass.
Something deeper stirred.
A third mark burned across his chest, shaped like a serpent biting its own tail.
His third divine form had awakened:
Transformation. Through Sacrifice. Through Guilt.
The dream ended.
He awoke in the ruins of the temple — shaking, but awake.
The others found him surrounded by black ash, eyes glowing faintly.
Yash Roy was no longer just a Vira of Destruction and Time.
He was now the bearer of Chhinnamasta's gift.