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

But as two forces moving in the same direction.

The ruined jungle thinned into cracked stone—an ancient temple courtyard swallowed by roots and time. Statues lay decapitated. Altars bled moss. The stone was carved with forgotten script.

"This is it," he said. "The place they sealed after the purges."

Luv scanned the ruins. "What is it?"

Astha pointed to a black door half-buried in ivy. Its frame shimmered faintly with golden mantras still holding their shape after centuries.

"A Vault," Astha murmured. "The kind gods bury when they want a name to be erased completely."

He stepped forward. Smritidhaara hissed, unraveling from his forearm like a serpent of burning memory.

Luv's fingers crackled with faint thunder, just in case. "What's inside?"

A deep pulse of flame echoed from his chest — and in a flash of light, a weapon materialized in his hand.

A divine blade forged from shattered god-bones and tempered in the fires of Deva-purge. Long, black-edged, with a red-white pulsating core along the spine of the blade. The weapon wasn't carried — it was summoned from his spirit, a symbol of his wrath forged in divine trauma.

Luv stared, both impressed and cautious. "That's… not a normal sword."

"It's not a sword," Astha said. "It's a curse that remembers how to cut."

As they stepped toward the vault, Astha's mind flashed—

…a burning village, skies cracking apart…

…divine beings descending like stars…

…and a voice screaming from behind rubble, "Run, Aryan! RUN!"

…his brother swallowed by white light—never found again.

Luv glanced sideways. "What did they take from you?"

Because the door before them pulsed — as if hearing the name he didn't say aloud.

The divine script glowed violently.

But a massive chained beast — coiled in darkness, its form skeletal and semi-divine, with thirteen hands and no face.

"Naag-Vetala," Astha growled. "A mythic executioner. They kept him here, forgotten, because even the gods feared his memory."

Luv stepped forward, lightning coiling around his forearms.

"We unsealed it. Guess we fight now."

And so the flame and the storm stood shoulder to shoulder — their weapons raised, their eyes sharp, and their hate aligned.

Chapter 4 – The Vault of the Unnamed