Mysoap5

When the gods erased his homeland from existence, Astha emerged as the sole survivor—scarred, flame-bound, and remembered only by the ash beneath his feet. Branded by divinity’s cruelty and haunted by a forgotten past, he now walks the ruins of a sacred world with a single purpose: to burn down the heavens that dared to rewrite fate.

Bound to him is Smritidhaara, a cursed chain-sickle forged from the memories of the erased—an extension of Astha’s rage and sorrow. But when he crosses paths with Luv, a thunderborn exile from the celestial realm, their fates intertwine in a war neither of them yet understand.

As buried truths awaken and mythic beasts rise from divine prisons, Astha and Luv must confront ancient gods, dead empires, and a reality that refuses to stay sealed. With every step, the fire grows. The thunder sharpens.

And the gods begin to remember what they tried so hard to forget.

This is not a story of heroes.
It is the beginning of a reckoning.

Ashes of Deva : Rise of the White Flame

Swarnalok shimmered in the sky like a dream that no longer belonged to mortals.

Floating above the mortal world, its golden bridges stretched across clouds shaped by prayer, and its marble palaces reflected a sun that never set — a heaven forged from divinity, and polished by arrogance.

But even there, lightning still cracked in solitude.

Deep in one of Swarnalok's lesser sanctums — hidden beneath the Temple of Varuna — stood a young man.

He knelt bare-chested on jagged stone, his wrists bound by lightning-threaded chains, divine inscriptions running across his arms and chest like ancient circuitry. Golden eyes stared downward beneath loose strands of jet-black, shoulder-length hair. His sand-hued skin gleamed with sweat, but not submission.

Around him floated six priests — faceless, robed, silent.

"He resists the mantra of silence."

"His heart is not empty enough for godhood."

Luv's voice was calm, smooth as rolling thunder.

"I was born from the clouds," he whispered, "not to kneel beneath them."

The priests raised their arms in unison.

Mantras ignited across the room. The air thickened with divine pressure.

Luv's chains flared — designed to erase will, memory, and rebellion.

But the storm inside him had grown tired of silence.

And then lightning erupted from his spine like a beast untethered.

The mantra-chains shattered. Symbols across his body glowed gold-white.

The priests were flung back like paper in a hurricane.

"You call it blasphemy…" Luv said, rising to his full height.

That night, Luv stood at the edge of Swarnalok's cloud-line, staring down at the broken mortal world far below.

He touched the divine mark behind his neck — the sigil he was born with. A fate scripted by others. A lie wrapped in gold.

"I'll give them a storm with memory."

Thunder cracked — not from fury, but from freedom.

And the golden-eyed exile fell toward earth.

Somewhere down there, far beneath fractured temples and whispering ashes…

And Luv was done pretending to serve the skies that forgot how to burn.

Chapter 2 – Thunder Without Worship