"What is remembered must be endured. What is understood must be paid for."
---
The Shard pulsed with a subtle warmth in Asma-Ra's hand, like a heartbeat tethered to something ancient and wounded. As they emerged from the Shadow's domain, the landscape began to shift—less spectral, more tangible. Trees grew twisted here, bark blackened, their roots entangled in the bones of forgotten beasts. The air itself shimmered as if reality was thinning.
They had crossed into the threshold of Rta-Kalpa—the Epoch of Law and Truth, the hidden sanctum of the Rishis, where cosmic knowledge was sealed away to protect the world from itself.
> "There are things here that will change you," said Vāma-Sattva.
"Even memory is a cost."
---
Asma-Ra said nothing, his mind echoing with the words of the Shadow:
You remember what you should not.
Each step toward the sanctum was a descent into himself. The Shard in his hand throbbed in response to the land around them, revealing flashes—visions—of a world that once was. Before the asura wars. Before the gods turned their faces. Before Ashvattha fell.
And then the gates appeared.
Stone carved by tongues older than Sanskrit. A gate formed of petrified wisdom and silence. And before it stood a figure: blindfolded, emaciated, but humming a sacred mantra.
> "Who seeks the burden of truth?" the figure asked.
Asma-Ra stepped forward.
> "I am Asma-Ra. I seek the Dharma—what was broken, what was lost."
The figure lifted his head slightly.
> "Then enter… and forget who you were."
---
Inside Rta-Kalpa, time unraveled. It was neither future nor past. Paintings on the walls came alive, telling stories from Vedas never written, scriptures lost to flame and betrayal. Asma-Ra and Vāma-Sattva wandered through halls of knowing—rooms that showed not just history but truth.
There, Asma-Ra saw himself.
Not as he was—but as he had been.
A warrior reborn a thousand times.
He saw himself among the Daityas, fighting beside them—not as their slayer, but their brother.
He remembered love—for a sister who now lay buried beneath Ashvattha, cursed by the very gods he now sought to serve.
He remembered betrayal—how the devas used him in lifetimes past, twisted his rebirths as tools of war. He was not only the sword of Dharma—he had been its scapegoat.
---
> "Is this who I am?" Asma-Ra whispered, falling to his knees.
> "It is what you must become to find what you seek," Vāma-Sattva answered quietly.
"Truth does not comfort. It crucifies."
---
At the heart of Rta-Kalpa, the final trial stood: a mirror of ash and light.
Whoever gazed into it would not see their face—but the true cost of their pursuit.
Asma-Ra stood before it.
And within, he saw himself, yes—but surrounded by fire. Not the fire of Vāma-Sattva's light, but of destruction. His blade plunged into gods and monsters alike. He stood on the ruins of a world scorched not by chaos—but by his own certainty.
And yet behind him, a child stood. Eyes glowing with the same fire. A future forged in pain—but guided by purpose.
Was this the future he must walk?
Or a warning of becoming what he sought to destroy?
---
The mirror shattered.
And with it, so did the sanctum's illusion.
> "The price of truth," the blind Rishi said, as he reappeared from the dark,
"is to carry it. You may not flee it. You may not unlearn it."
---
Asma-Ra emerged from Rta-Kalpa changed. The second Shard now pulsed in rhythm with the first.
But deeper than that—something in him had awakened.
Not rage.
Not sorrow.
But conviction.
He knew now: the gods were not saviors.
The asuras were not mere monsters.
And Dharma… Dharma was not a light. It was a knife—and it needed someone to bleed.
---
END OF CHAPTER XXI
Next: Chapter XXII – "Ashes of the Lotus"