Chapter 128 Indra’s Renunciation
Rishi Brihaspati stood frozen, his brows furrowed with bewilderment. He had only stepped away for a short while. Now the heavens felt as if they had turned upside down in his absence.
With rising concern, he made his way to Indra's side.
"What happened?" he asked, the weight of his priestly role heavy in his voice.
Before Indra could respond, the other Devas gathered around. It was Surya who stepped forward first, speaking in a rush.
"Rishi Durvasa said that keeping the statues of Asuras violates dharma. He cursed Indra, stripped him of his kingship, and then Rishi Atri cursed Durvasa in return, saying he would burn to ashes."
Brihaspati's eyes widened. His shock turned quickly to fury.
"Has Rishi Durvasa lost all sense of proportion?" he thundered. "Without Indra, who will defend Svarga? Who will protect Bhuloka if an Asura completes his penance during this chaos?"
His voice echoed across the celestial court, carrying panic beneath the surface of his words.
Then a hand landed gently on his shoulder.
Brihaspati turned to find Indra beside him, wearing a calm smile that seemed strangely detached from the moment.
"I believe this is all part of a greater cycle of karma," Indra said lightly. "There's no use worrying about what has already begun."
His grin widened, somewhere between divine wisdom and reckless mischief.
"Rather than wait for the curse to strike like thunder in the dark, why not walk straight into the storm myself?"
He slowly raised his arms. A quiet gasp spread through the gathered Devas as they saw the radiant energies of kingship begin to peel away from Indra's form, like the shedding of celestial armor.
"I renounce the throne of Svarga. Its fate is now in your hands," Indra said, his gaze sweeping over the assembly.
"Eh?" Surya blinked, stunned. The memory of his last failed battle against the Asuras burned in his mind, and his cheeks flushed with shame.
"We need you, big brother," Vāyu said, stepping forward.
"You are our strongest warrior of Svarga," Agni added.
"Svarga is vulnerable without you," said Varuṇa, his voice thick with urgency.
Soma nodded, pale. "Can we truly face the Asuras alone?"
Even Brihaspati's face twisted in disbelief. "Let us bear this curse together. There may still be time to reverse it."
Indra sighed and shook his head. "I will not stay in Svarga just to be punished by fate in some twisted way."
Then he chuckled and turned away, his steps light with the ease of one unburdened.
"Let the curse play out. We will see what comes after."
He walked away, arms extended as if catching a favorable wind.
"I am going," he said over his shoulder, "so do try not to miss me too much."
In an instant, golden light surged from his body. It flared bright, then vanished.
Boom.
The Devas stood frozen. It felt as if lightning had struck from within, not the sky.
Rishi Atri lowered his head, teeth clenched with grief. His thoughts spun between guilt and disbelief.
This is my fault... No. This is my son's doing. What a tragedy... to lose such a worthy soul from the throne of Svarga.
The other Rishis stood silent, hands folded. Emotion shimmered in their eyes. Ancient faces bore solemn awe.
"I still cannot believe it," murmured Rishi Pulastya. "The King of Svarga stepped down by his own choice."
"To face a curse with such calm... that is more than courage. That is wisdom," said Rishi Angiras.
"Truly," said Rishi Vasishtha, "this is why Indra is called the protector of the Veda. Even when burdened by a curse that strips him of sovereignty, he upholds Dharma without faltering."
They moved slowly to where Indra had last stood. The air still shimmered faintly with the trace of his divine presence. They circled it silently, not as teachers or priests, but as witnesses to something greater than themselves.
Each step, each breath, became a quiet chant to the memory of a king who chose to meet fate with dignity.
Then Brihaspati exhaled through his nose and muttered, more to himself than anyone else, "It is a blessing that Shukracharya is still in deep penance. If he were not, he would have already stormed Svarga. With Indra gone, we are exposed."
His words sent a ripple through the gathered sages.
Rishi Bhrigu, brow drawn tight with worry, lifted his gaze.
"And what will we do when that penance ends? When Shukra returns empowered, and the Asuras rise again?"
Silence fell.
This time it was not respectful, but heavy with foreboding. Even the skies above Svarga shimmered faintly, as if holding their breath.
…
Kailasha
The mountain stood silent beneath the canopy of stars. Within its sacred stillness, Mahādeva's eyes narrowed, slowly and deliberately, as if the cosmos itself had stirred some ancient grief. A breath escaped his lips, almost a sigh, yet it carried the weight of a sorrow older than the world.
Vaikuntha
Seated upon the coiled bed of Ananta Shesha, Lord Vishnu watched the events of Svarga unfold through the divine current of his inner vision. His gaze, typically serene and unfathomable, now carried a shadow of concern. The churning of destiny had not gone unnoticed.
Beside him, Lakshmi Devi sat in poised stillness. Her eyes followed the subtle change in her husband's expression. Without a word, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers wrapping around his with the quiet warmth that only she could offer.
"Indra must be found," Vishnu said, his voice calm yet edged with resolve.
Brahma-loka
In the realm of creation, Brahmā's eyes shifted slightly. Behind each of his four faces, thought moved like wind through the cosmos. He had heard Vishnu's words, and he agreed.
"The Svargas cannot afford to lose Indra at this moment," he murmured, the truth of it resonating through the vast ether of his realm.
Even now, he could feel it. Many Asuras burned in penance, their intentions focused, their austerities fierce. If even one succeeded, the balance would tilt. With Indra absent, Svarga would stand unguarded.
This curse still threatened to bear fruit.
As the thought settled, a resonant sound began to rise—sacred chanting full of devotion. The melody was steady and unwavering.
"Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ...""Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ..."
The voices echoed not only in the halls of Brahma-loka but through the very strands of creation itself. They served as a reminder: even as gods wrestled with fate, the devotion of mortals endured.
The chanting swelled. From its resonance bloomed lotus petals of light, drifting gently from the heavens. Brahmā recognized the sign at once.
Someone's penance had reached its peak. A boon must now be granted.
"Nath," Sarasvatī said softly. Her voice shimmered like a river touched by moonlight. She turned toward Brahmā, her gaze sharpened by divine intuition. "Is it… an Asura?"
Brahmā's face remained unreadable. His vision stretched outward, focused on a scene unfolding across the fabric of time.
A towering figure stood in his mind's eye. His hair was black as midnight, his beard wild, his arms thick with power. A crimson cloak streamed behind his armor-bound body. In his hands, he held a mountain, suspended as though weightless. A red gem burned on his forehead, throbbing like a third eye of blood and flame, framed by the lines of long penance etched deep into his skin.
"Yes," Brahmā said. His voice was low, final. "An Asura... this is the fruit of karma."
As he spoke, golden light shimmered across his form. In the next breath, the Creator vanished from Brahma-loka like a dream dispersing at dawn.
...
Within Pātālaloka, amidst winds of fire and shadow, Vajranga sat motionless in focused trance. His long black hair coiled in the charged air, lifted by unseen forces. Ancient runes etched across his body glowed like searing brands. On his brow, the ruby jewel burned with silent purpose.
Both of his hands held the mountain aloft without tremor.
All around him, the chant pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ…""Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ…"
Then, above him, golden light converged.
A lotus of radiance bloomed in the air. From its heart emerged Brahmā, serene, immense, and regal.
"Vajranga," he called, his voice echoing through the planes, "your tapas is complete. Speak your wish."
Vajranga's eyes snapped open. Crimson irises flared with triumph.
At last.
He hurled the mountain skyward with a single motion. It soared like a comet and crashed in the far distance with a resounding roar. Then, folding his hands, Vajranga bowed low in reverence.
"O Lord Brahmā," he said, his voice full of controlled power, "grant me the Indrāsana. Let me sit upon the throne of Svarga, not through conquest, but as the fruit of my penance. I shall rule in strength and uphold my part of cosmic order."
He offered no flattery. No sign of pretense or demand. Hiranyākṣa had taken Svarga by violence and lost it. Vajranga had no patience for such cycles.
Why fight when a single wish would suffice?
It was clear, simple, and direct.
Brahmā's many eyes narrowed. The request was bold, but that was not what troubled him.
The throne of Svarga was not his to grant. It was bound to Indra by divine law and the architecture of Dharma itself. To give it as a boon would violate the sacred order he was entrusted to preserve.
To seize it by force was one matter. To be gifted through divine consent was another.
Brahmā readied his lips to refuse.
But in that instant, the weave of fate trembled. A whisper echoed across his awareness.
Indra's final words, uttered before his abdication, returned with clarity. Not spoken in rage, but in the weary surrender of one who understood the cost of divinity.
"I renounce the throne of Svarga. Let it go to whoever dares to ask for it."
Brahmā's gaze deepened. The moment took on a new gravity.
This was no longer a simple petition.
He spoke softly, the words heavy with realization. "Even words spoken in weariness," he said, "become law when uttered by one who bears divine authority."
---
Chapter 129 Tathāstu
Brahmā's eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease crossing his ageless face.
"So… Indra truly spoke those words," he murmured, more to the cosmos than to Vajranga. "Then there is a chance."
That one careless declaration, that he would relinquish the throne of Svarga to whomever dared ask for it, had tilted the cosmic balance. If left unchecked, Rishi Durvasa's curse would not merely be a threat. It would become Dharma's decree.
Brahmā sighed inwardly.
He had always been fond of the Devas. They were polite, articulate, and devout. Every visit to Brahmaloka came with proper Pranāma and reverent silence. Plus, they mostly never started any new trouble in Triloka.
But Dharma had rules. Even for him.
"What is not mine," Brahmā said at last, his voice smooth and unshaken, "cannot be granted by me." He paused and then added with a gentle smile, a glint of cunning in his eyes, "However… what if I grant you another boon instead? As long as you set foot in Svarga, no Deva shall be able to defeat you."
He tilted his head slightly, as if offering a gift to a favored student. "How does that sound?"
It was a clever workaround. After all, the throne was not his to give. Technically, it was vacant. And his blessing? It applied only within the borders of Svarga. If the Devas had any sense, they would confront Vajranga before he entered.
Vajranga's eyes narrowed, analyzing the offer. He shook his head slowly.
"Hmm. That makes sense," he muttered, acknowledging the loophole.
Brahmā smiled approvingly and raised a hand.
"Wait."
Vajranga's voice broke the silence again.
He frowned, deep in thought. For centuries, he had endured rigorous tapasya, suffering, silence, and sacrifice. Was this blessing really enough?
"I want more." He lifted his head, voice unwavering. "As long as I stand in Svarga, let no Devas, Asuras, Yakshas, Rakshasas, Gandharvas, Pishachas, Nagas, Garuda, beasts, birds, or mortals bring about my defeat."
Brahmā's eyes lit with subtle admiration. Vajranga was not just powerful. He was shrewd.
The Creator nodded with serene gravity. The four divine objects in his hands, the rosary, the lotus, the water pot, and the Vedas, shimmered faintly as golden light radiated from his form.
"Tathāstu," he intoned.
Tathāstu. Tathāstu. Tathāstu.
The words echoed like a celestial mantra, reverberating across the Brahma Realm. A chorus of "Tathāstu" rang out, and divine energy surged into Vajranga's body like a river of light.
Whoosh.
A single beam of golden radiance struck Vajranga's chest, sealing the boon.
Brahmā's form flickered, breaking into glowing particles that drifted away like fireflies on the wind.
Vajranga lowered his head, hands folded. "Om Brahmaṇe Namaḥ…"
When he rose, he was smiling, pleased. He turned and departed, leaving nothing but silence and shimmering air behind him.
Far above, a final glimmer of Brahmā's presence lingered in the skies.
Vajranga, son of Kashyapa and Diti.
Compared to his infamous brothers, Hiraṇyākṣa and Hiraṇyakaśipu, Vajranga was composed, respectful, and rational. Perhaps, Brahmā mused, he would not be reckless. Perhaps there was still room for diplomacy.
"Kashyapa…" The thought echoed faintly in the Creator's mind.
Yes. There might yet be a way to avert a war if the right voice reached the Asura's heart.
...
Vajranga soared swiftly through the skies, his heart alight with triumph. The golden winds of Pātālaloka howled past him as he made for his palace, the joy of fulfilled tapasya urging his every stride.
He could not wait to see her. To tell Varangi, his wife, that the penance was over. That Brahmā had granted him a boon worthy of the cosmos.
But as soon as he crossed the threshold of his estate, a loud crash echoed from within.
Vajranga froze mid-step. The sound of shattering gold rang through the halls. Plates? Ornaments? His brow furrowed, and with a sweep of his cloak, he strode inside.
There she was.
Varangi stood with her back to him, framed by the broken remains of golden vessels scattered across the marbled floor. Her shoulders shook. Whether from anger or something deeper, he could not yet tell.
"Varangi?" Vajranga called softly.
She spun around instantly.
Her eyes lit up as if a goddess had answered her prayer, and without a word, she flew into his arms.
"Husband! You are back! I knew you would complete your tapasya. My heart never doubted you."
"What happened?" he asked, pulling back slightly to study her face. "Why the wreckage?"
Varangi's joy shifted, replaced by tight frustration.
"It's Puloman," she said, her voice clipped. "He claims guru Shukhracharya is still deep in meditation. With no king on the throne of patala, he has proposed a council of generals and princes to divide the power. No Asura King. Just a fragmented rule."
Her jaw was clenched. "But now that you have returned, you will crush him easily. No one else can challenge you."
Vajranga frowned. "Puloman's words carry weight? Where is Hiraṇyakashipu? Wouldn't he have put an end to such talk?"
Varangi went still for a moment. Then, her voice turned quiet.
"Hiraṇyakashipu is dead."
Vajranga's eyes widened.
"Dead?" he breathed. "But..."
She nodded grimly. "After Hiraṇyaksha fell, Hiraṇyakashipu rose to power. But he, too, was defeated. Prahlāda took the mantle next, only to relinquish it to Hayagrīva. In time, Indra struck them both down."
Shock bloomed across Vajranga's face.
Hiraṇyakashipu and Hayagrīva, both slain?
A deep breath filled his lungs, and he left with iron resolve.
"I am going to the Asura King's Palace," he said. His tone was cold, his eyes burning. Crimson cloak swirling behind him, Vajranga turned on his heel and launched himself into the skies.
Like a bolt of divine fire, he streaked toward the temple and crashed down at its gates with enough force to send the guarding soldiers reeling from the windblast.
But before he could take another step, "Vajranga! Do not act in haste!"
Puloman's voice rang out from within the chamber.
Vajranga entered slowly, his crimson silhouette filling the vast hall.
Inside, dozens of Asura generals had gathered. One by one, their gazes fell on him. Grey eyes glittered with unreadable light.
"...Vajranga," rumbled General Shambara, his war-scarred face twitching in disbelief. "He is back."
"By the flames of Pātāla," hissed Bāṣkala, his braided hair trembling as he rose from his seat. "Look at his aura. It is heavier than before. His very presence bends the air."
General Ketumān folded his arms, jaw clenched. "He is no longer the warrior who vanished into penance. He is stronger now."
"If he becomes our king," said Gokarna, reverence thick in his tone, "he will lead us to reclaim what was taken. Svarga shall tremble once more."
Vajranga stood tall beneath their praise, his expression unreadable, his cloak billowing like a storm cloud.
Now the game of kings would begin again.
…
One by one, the Asura generals rose from their seats. Their gazes locked onto Vajranga with a mix of awe, anticipation, and thinly veiled ambition. The air buzzed with unspoken energy, half reverence, half readiness for war.
Puloman, seated atop a lesser throne, had gone deathly pale. His fingers twitched at his sides, and whatever he had planned to say died in his throat.
Vajranga arched an eyebrow.
How curious. Only a few thousand years had passed, hardly a blink in their kind's reckoning, and yet Puloman already seemed to have withered.
"Ha…" Vajranga chuckled quietly, letting the sound roll like distant thunder. He savored the hungry admiration in the eyes of the gathered generals as he strode forward, his boots echoing against the temple stone.
"So," he said at last, his voice casual but carrying the weight of command, "after all these centuries, you are still choosing a new King of the Asuras."
He turned slowly, allowing every pair of eyes to meet his. His tone sharpened.
"Then I will say it plainly. I will be that king."
A hush fell over the chamber.
"Who stands in favor? And who stands against?"
Vajranga's gaze landed squarely on Puloman, fully expecting him to rise and challenge, if only to save face.
But Puloman did not move.
He shrank further into his seat, visibly struggling. Then, with a deep breath, he stood.
"I… agree."
The words surprised even him. But once said, they came more easily.
"Vajranga is strong. Resolute. Born of noble blood. In my heart, there is no other fit to be Asura King. I have waited for his return."
The hall exploded with approval.
Vajranga blinked. Wait. What?
Hadn't Varangi said Puloman had tried to divide the realm? And now here he was, offering his loyalty with the poise of a court poet.
Something had changed.
Still, the roar of the crowd left little time for contemplation.
"Jaya Vajranga! Hail to the Lord of Pātālaloka!"
"Pranām to the Asura King! Our blades are thine to command!"
Vajranga's cloak swirled as he raised a fist skyward. Divine energy pulsed outward, drawing strength from the earth, the flame, and the dark waters of Pātālaloka. It rushed into his core like a living storm, answering his call.
"Very well," he said with a grin that held the promise of war. "Next, we march on Svarga!"
His laughter echoed across the marble hall, deep and unstoppable.
The coronation feast was raucous and grand.
But Puloman was gone before the wine reached his lips. He returned alone to his private temple, shoulders low, his mouth twisted in a bitter line.
"Again," he muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. "My plan fails again. Not king. Not even a prince."
He leaned against a gilded pillar, tapping it absently with one knuckle.
"Wouldn't it have been better for all of us to rule together? Divided by realm. Equal in power. Without bloodshed…"
His voice faded into the silence. "At least I did not get punched this time."
A long sigh escaped him. Then, just as he began to close his eyes, a silken voice echoed softly through the hall.
"Father…"
Puloman stiffened. His eyes flicked toward the doorway. The biggest source of his worry had arrived.
---
A.N.: This Asura King will be different. After all… he is the father of ....! Heck, even his grandsons are legendary! Mwahaha! 🔥
---
Chapter 130 Devas Gamble Again
"Father~"
The voice rang like the cry of a peacock at dawn: elegant, musical, and filled with a strange kind of joy. Puloman turned his head slowly.
There she was. A figure approached, soft-footed and radiant.
She moved with the grace of an apsara, clothed in a brilliant crimson sari that shimmered with gold threads. Though still considered a girl, she had long since bloomed into womanhood. Her beauty, though dignified, bore an untamed allure, striking even among the Asura clans known for their fierce, dark grace. Hers was a face that could tip kingdoms into ruin.
His daughter, Shachi.
"Father, is something troubling you?" she asked gently, her hands folded demurely at her waist as she trotted up to him with a girlish bounce.
Puloman blinked, casting off the fog of old regrets. Slowly, he straightened, the stiffness in his spine replaced by quiet resolve. A thin smile, heavy with calculation, played on his lips.
"It's nothing. Just an old man's thoughts," he said softly. "Fetch some pure water and ghee. I will make an offering… to Mahādeva."
"Oh! Right away!" she replied with a bright nod. Her eyes sparkled momentarily. Whether from innocence or something more aware, even Puloman couldn't tell.
With a spin of her anklets, she turned and skipped off to gather the water. Puloman watched her retreating figure, eyes narrowing with sudden sharpness.
His mind began to stir.
Shachi has come of age. I've been outmaneuvered by Indra, trampled by Vajranga. Shukra's curse still burns on my name. But if I cannot win with power, then perhaps I can win with marriage.
A slow grin crept across his face.
A powerful son-in-law. That's what I need. One strong enough to challenge Indra himself. If I align myself correctly, if I make the right match, then even if I can't be Asura King, I could control the throne from the shadows. Or aim higher.
King of Svarga.
He chuckled to himself, pride flickering back into his voice like the first flare of a dying fire.
"Inspiration strikes again," he whispered. "I was ready to rot in the corner like an old relic, ready to settle for dividing land like some provincial landlord. But now…"
He stood straighter, hands clasped behind his back, as he began to pace.
"There's a better way." Then, with a sly, scheming grin, he laughed. "Hahaha… Hahahahahaha! Brilliant!"
Then he cleared his throat, glanced around to be sure no one had heard him, and muttered, "…Right. Let's just… find her a good husband."
But his eyes gleamed with ambition.
...
Svarga's skyline burned gold beneath the endless skies.
Inside the great hall of the celestial court, the Temple of the King of Svarga, many Devas sat silently on their jeweled thrones. Their eyes were all drawn to the same place: the empty seat at the center, highest of all. Indra's throne.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
"Indra… is truly gone," Vāyu murmured, his voice quieter than the winds he commanded.
The words echoed through the marble chamber like a funeral bell.
Silence followed, heavy as lead. Even the divine flames that lit the temple seemed to flicker with hesitation.
"We had just vanquished Hayagrīva," Varuṇa said bitterly, his eyes narrowing beneath his crown. "And now this? The throne of Svarga stands empty?"
"It is my fault!" Surya burst out suddenly, striking the ivory dais with an open palm. A ripple of solar brilliance pulsed around him, dimmed by shame. "We conducted a flawless yajña. Every mantra, every offering was precise. Then Rishi Durvāsa arrived… and the entire rite collapsed like a broken altar."
"By the skies that bear my name," the Wind Deva snapped, folding his arms as a sharp gust circled the chamber, "that Rishi wraps himself in sanctity and pride, yet wields his temper like a cudgel. Does he think we are ripe fruit to be bruised by his whim?"
"If that fire-tempered Rishi dares unbalance the cosmic order again," Agni hissed, his voice low as embers, "I'll withhold the āhuti myself. Let him try performing yajña without Agni's flame and see what comes of his sanctimony."
As his anger rose, so too did his heat. The marble hall began to glow, warm and red, as embers flared across his body.
"Enough empty boasts," snapped Brihaspati, the Rishi of wisdom and Indra's royal priest. He stepped forward, calm but firm, his frown cutting through the rising tension. "Indra is missing. The throne lies vacant. But the Asuras will not wait. They will strike."
He turned to face the gathered assembly.
"Until Indra returns, someone must hold Svarga's reins. We need a provisional king. We must act now."
Silence returned. The Devas exchanged uneasy glances.
Agni was the first to speak. "What of Surya?" he said. "He is our light, our strength. If not him, then who?"
All eyes turned toward the radiant Dev of the Sun.
Surya, still seated on his resplendent throne, leaned back with a weary sigh. "No. Not me," he said, shaking his head. "The last time I stood in as Indra's substitute, I nearly doomed us all."
He gave a bitter smile.
"Hayagrīva still haunts my dreams. We may have won in the end, but one more disaster like that… and there won't be a Svarga to defend."
He folded his arms and looked away.
"I won't do it again. I'm not interested in the glory that comes with that kind of cost."
Upon hearing the suggestion, the remaining Devas exchanged awkward glances, hesitant.
"…Should we roll the dice for it?" Soma offered half-jokingly.
Before anyone could respond, a shadow appeared above them. A head poked down through the ornate ceiling like a curious fruit dangling from a vine.
"Why not!" came the voice.
The head promptly detached, somersaulted midair, and floated smoothly down before the assembly of stunned Devas.
Rāhu, his eyes gleaming with mischief, hovered upside down in the air, his serpentine tail coiling playfully behind him.
Vāyu blinked hard and jabbed a finger in his direction. "When did you get here?"
"I've been here for a while," Rāhu said brightly, his forked tongue flicking out playfully. "I was waiting for the feast to start. The aroma of kheer was already in the air." He gave an exaggerated shiver, clutching his arms. "Then he showed up. Durvāsa. That guy's temper is legendary across all Tri Loka. Even the kids in Pātālaloka whisper his name with caution."
Rāhu leaned in conspiratorially, his grin widening. "I didn't even dare breathe. I used a touch of Māyā, just a smidge, and zipped into the rafters. Spent a good hour pretending to be a shadow."
He let out a deep sigh, smoke curling from both his mouth and the severed edge of his neck. "Whew. Still got my head and tail, so I'm calling it a win."
The Devas collectively sighed, half in exasperation, half in resignation.
"…Just roll the dice already," Brihaspati muttered, stepping forward.
With a flick of his hand, a golden light shimmered in his palm. Two celestial dice materialized, glimmering with divine energy.
Surya crossed his arms and leaned back, joining Rāhu at the sidelines. "I'm out," he said with a shrug. "I'll just watch."
And so, the contenders stepped forward: Agni, Varuṇa, Vāyu, and Soma.
"I'll go first," Varuṇa offered, ever calm. He cupped the dice in both hands and rolled.
Clatter!
The dice tumbled across the polished floor, landing with a soft bounce.
"…Two."
Varuṇa stared blankly at the result. "Well. It is what it is."
"My turn!" Vāyu said, voice full of bluster. He tossed the dice with a flourish.
Clack. Three.
He huffed. "Tch. Still better than two."
Soma stepped forward quietly, glowing faintly with a silver-blue sheen. He rubbed the dice between his fingers, murmured a soft chant, and then let them fall.
Five.
The Moon Deva blinked in surprise, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"Five, huh…" Surya murmured thoughtfully.
"That's not bad," Rāhu said with a grin. "Almost worthy of a king."
Soma's mind began to race. Five. That was the highest so far. If Agni didn't beat it, then... could he... Could he sit on Indra's throne?
Agni stepped forward without a word. He picked up the dice, flame curling around his knuckles, and rubbed them between his hands like a warrior sharpening a blade.
With a grunt, he tossed them down.
Crash!
The dice bounced once… then settled.
The hall fell silent.
"What?!"
