The sky was beginning to bleed into shades of saffron and gold. Within the temple, the priests moved with a rhythmic urgency, preparing for the Mangala Aarti. As the first sharp rays of the sun pierced through the morning mist, illuminating the dust motes like floating diamonds, the bells began to chime. Aryavardhan stood before the ancient Jyotirlinga, his head bowed, his eyes sealed in a deep, silent prayer that seemed to connect him to the very stone. Rajvardhan, however, was restless. His mind was a storm of unanswered questions and lingering confusion. He waited until the final echo of