In the center of the dark passage, a shimmer of light began to coalesce. A figure emerged from the shadows, flickering like a flame before solidifying into the form of a breathtakingly beautiful bride. She was draped in pure, translucent white garments that seemed to glow from within, her beauty so sudden and intense it was almost painful to behold.
She looked at Aryavardhan, her eyes wide and hauntingly familiar. She bowed to him with a grace that was not entirely human. When she looked up, her voice was like a soft melody in the hollow chamber.
"O Aryavardhan," she said, her gaze searching his. "What help do you seek from me?"
Aryavardhan looked at the figure and spoke with a voice full of ancient recognition. "O Bhumi, you are the earth itself, my eternal companion. We are made of the same stardust. You have traveled the infinite cycles of the universe with me; you have witnessed my every birth and felt the weight of my every death. You were there when I found my true love, and you are here now. I need your truth today."
He gestured to the oppressive stone walls around them. "I have fought to escape this void, but my strength is turned against me. There is a presence here, a power that feeds on my very spirit. Tell me—who is the master of this silence?"
The bride—Bhumi—let out a soft, melodic laugh that seemed to vibrate through the cavern floor. "O Vardhana-shrestha, you have been summoned here for a divine purpose, one woven by the hands of fate. It is a mystery you must solve with your own heart. Know only this: you stand in the sanctuary of Adyashakti Navdurga, the primordial force of the universe. I can offer no more." With those words, her form shimmered like a desert heat haze and dissolved back into the soil.
Frustration flared in Aryavardhan’s chest. He slammed his clenched fists into the cave floor, a strike so powerful the entire mountain groaned and shook, yet the walls remained stubbornly intact. Realizing that brute force was useless against divine will, he stilled his mind and continued his trek into the darkness.
After another thirty minutes of walking through the oppressive gloom, a sliver of brilliance appeared in the distance. A door. He quickened his pace, his heart racing, and as he stepped through the threshold, the sheer intensity of the light blinded him, forcing him to shield his eyes from a sun he hadn't seen in hours.
As his vision cleared, the world opened into a breathtaking hidden valley. Before him lay the Prag Sarovar, a lake of such crystalline stillness it looked like a fallen piece of the sky. It was cradled by jagged, snow-capped peaks that stood like silent sentinels, while the ground at his feet was carpeted in lush, emerald grass.
Aryavardhan raised his hands to the sun-god, Surya, offering a prayer of gratitude for the light that had guided him out of the abyss. The air was cool and carried the scent of melting snow and wild herbs.
The water of the lake was invitingly clear. Lotus flowers bobbed gently on the surface, their pink petals glowing against the deep blue water, while a few solitary swans glided across the ripples with effortless grace. Yearning to wash away the dust and fatigue of the cave, Aryavardhan shed his heavy armor and his angavastram, laying them reverently beneath the sprawling shade of an ancient banyan tree. With a powerful, practiced dive, he cut through the surface of the water, disappearing into the cold, refreshing embrace of the lake.
