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 something in the air felt like it wanted to.

Astha stood with the golden tablet in one hand, its divine script burning softly against his palm. Luv crouched beside the crater where Naag-Vetala had perished, watching the smoldering glyphs fade into ash.

"Herald of the Hollow," Luv muttered. "That sound like a god to you?"

"No," Astha replied quietly. "It sounds worse."

A sharp wind tore through the jungle ruins. It wasn't natural—it carried with it a presence, like breath from something colossal… something watching.

Suddenly, the glyphs began to reform.

—a black spiral etched with horns and broken eyes.

"I've seen this before… drawn in blood. On a ruined altar. Before I lost my brother."

Luv stood. "So this herald… is part of that purge?"

"No," Astha said. "He came after."

As they turned to leave, the sky broke.

Dozens of hollow-eyed figures stepped out from the trees—draped in tattered priest-robes, their mouths stitched shut, faces burned into symbols. Their skin peeled like old paint. They moved without sound, each one carrying a staff made of jawbones.

"Worshippers," Luv muttered. "What the hell kind of temple did we wake?"

"Not temple," Astha growled. "Grave."

Luv struck like thunder, blasting the nearest cultist with an electric wave that shattered its chest. But the body crumbled like paper—and two more took its place.

Astha surged forward, Smritidhaara lashing like a flaming serpent, slicing through three robed figures in one spinning arc. The chain wrapped around a fourth's throat, burning its soul from the inside out.

But for every one that fell, two more emerged.

"This isn't a fight!" Luv shouted. "This is a ritual!"

And something clawed its way up from beneath the stone.

It wasn't massive like Naag-Vetala. It was thin. Tall. Cloaked in layered shadows and chains of scripture. Its face was a hollow mask, mouth wide open and forever screaming, but without a sound.

Astha's breath caught. Not from fear—

—but because Smritidhaara recoiled.

"That's not a god," he whispered.

"That's something the gods tried to bury."

Luv took a step forward, thunder bristling across his shoulders.

The figure lifted a hand. Mantra symbols bloomed in midair—symbols of silence, denial, and erasure.

Chapter 6 – The Hollow Whispers First