After an eternity of silence, the sage’s eyes fluttered open. He looked at Aryavardhan not with surprise, but with recognition.
"Young man," the sage spoke, his voice like the grinding of distant glaciers, "Goddess Saraswati sits upon your throat, and Sri Narayana dwells within the chambers of your heart. Truth is your only master. You are a man without confusion—so tell me, what purpose brings a king to these heights?"
"O Rishivar," Aryavardhan replied, his voice humble despite his royal stature. "I am a prince of the south, yet I am a student of the universe. I have questions that the world below cannot answer. I seek your guidance."
The sage rose, his tattered robes fluttering in the freezing gale. He struck the ground softly with his staff. The vibration triggered a small avalanche on a nearby peak, clearing the snow to reveal the mouth of a hidden cave high above the valley floor.
"Go, Prince," the sage pointed toward the dark opening. "Pass through this mountain to reach the Shesh Shikar. There, on the banks of the sacred Prag Sarovar, you must sit in the silence of Mahadev. Only in that stillness will your answers find you."
Aryavardhan knelt once more, pressing his forehead to the frozen earth at the sage's feet. "O Great Soul," he whispered, his voice steady despite the howling wind, "you have set my feet upon the path. Tell me, what can I offer you in return for this guidance? Name your Guru Dakshina."
A serene, knowing smile touched the sage’s lips. "I will claim my debt when the time is ripe," he replied, his voice fading like an echo. "For now, go. The mountain waits for no man."
As Aryavardhan stepped into the dark mouth of the cave, the stone behind him groaned. Within heartbeats, the entrance vanished, replaced by a seamless wall of ice and rock as if it had never existed. On the ridge outside, the sage’s weathered form began to shimmer and dissolve. The coarse robes transformed into flowing white silk, and the aged features smoothed into a divine, radiant beauty. Where a hermit had once stood, the Goddess Brahmacharini now remained, her eyes glowing with celestial light before she, too, vanished into the mountain mist.
Inside, the silence was absolute. Aryavardhan pressed forward, the darkness thick and suffocating. He walked for three grueling hours, his rhythmic footsteps the only sound in the endless tunnel. There was no light, no shift in the air, and no sign of an exit.
He paused, a flicker of suspicion crossing his mind. The sage’s words were a key, not just a map, he realized.
Closing his eyes, he attempted to invoke Ishitva Siddhi—the yogic power of divine lordship that allowed him to bypass physical barriers. Usually, the stone would have parted like water before him, but here, nothing happened. The air remained heavy. A cold realization washed over him: he was in the presence of an ancient, overwhelming power that had rendered his supernatural abilities useless.
He wasn't just in a cave; he was in a trap designed to drain the very essence of his spirit.
Sensing his energy being pulled away by an invisible force, Aryavardhan didn't panic. Instead, he centered his mind and projected his own consciousness outward, forcing the hidden entity to manifest.
