The hill of stillness lay far behind them.
The wind had changed.
It no longer whispered through grass, but moved like a slow river across stone, carrying with it the scent of snow and ancient heights. Ganesh and Aneet walked along a rising path that curved toward distant white peaks, their silhouettes sharp against the pale sky.
Neither spoke.
What had been taught beneath the old tree still lingered — not as words, but as a quiet pressure behind the heart.
Para Brahman is not at the end of the road.
It is what walks when even the road disappears.
Ganesh felt those words echo again.
Inside him, the fire no longer burned as a flame.
It pulsed.
Like a heartbeat.
Aneet glanced at him.
"You're drifting again," she said.
Ganesh smiled faintly. "Not drifting. Listening."
"To what?"
"To something that doesn't have a voice yet."
She studied his face. "That sounds dangerous."
"Most honest things are," he replied.
They continued upward until the land became bare stone and ice. A narrow plateau opened before them, surrounded by cliffs that rose like walls of a forgotten temple. At its center stood a single pillar of black rock, cracked down the middle, as if struck by lightning long ago.
Ganesh stopped.
His breath caught.
"This place…" he whispered.
Aneet felt it too — a deep, humming stillness, heavier than silence.
"This isn't just land," she said. "It's remembering something."
Ganesh stepped forward.
With each step, the fire within him tightened, drawing inward, as if pulled by a gravity deeper than the earth.
When he reached the pillar, he placed his palm against its cold surface.
The world shattered.
He stood in a place with no sky.
No ground.
Only endless dark — and within it, countless sparks of light drifting like stars.
Each spark carried a feeling.
Hunger.
Cold.
Loneliness.
Faith.
Devotion.
And one spark burned brighter than the rest.
He moved toward it.
As he did, images flooded him.
A starving boy.
Cold streets.
Empty nights.
Hands clutching nothing but faith.
A whisper before darkness:
Om Namah Shivay.
Ganesh staggered.
"No…" he breathed.
The spark flared.
He saw himself — thin, broken, dying — yet smiling.
Then he saw snow.
A mountain.
A figure of ash and calm.
Shiva.
You have died… and because you remembered me, you are here.
Ganesh fell to his knees.
"My… past…" he whispered.
The spark pulsed once more, and the vision dissolved.
He gasped and opened his eyes.
He was back on the plateau.
His hand still pressed to the pillar.
But his knees had buckled.
Aneet was already beside him, gripping his shoulders.
"Ganesh! Look at me," she said.
He lifted his head slowly.
His eyes were wet.
"I remember," he said hoarsely. "Not all of it. But… I know now."
Aneet's grip tightened. "Remember what?"
He swallowed.
"My last life," he said. "The one before this yuga. The hunger. The faith. The moment I died calling Shiva's name."
She stared at him.
"That's… starting already?" she whispered.
Ganesh nodded.
"Only fragments. But they're waking."
He looked at his trembling hand.
"I wasn't born into this age by chance," he said. "I chose it… with my last breath."
Aneet sat back on her heels, letting the weight of it settle.
"So the fire in you…" she said slowly. "It began there."
"Yes," he replied. "Not as power. As refusal. I refused to let suffering be the last word."
They sat in silence.
The wind howled around the plateau, but within that circle, it felt as though time itself paused.
Finally, Aneet spoke.
"Does it change how you see yourself?"
Ganesh thought.
Then shook his head.
"No," he said. "It only tells me why I can't stop walking."
He looked at her.
"And you? Does it change how you see me?"
She met his gaze steadily.
"No," she said. "You're still the one who sits too long in silence and forgets to eat."
He laughed softly, relief breaking through the heaviness.
"Good," he said. "I was afraid you'd start bowing."
She snorted. "Never."
A deep vibration rolled across the plateau.
Not sound.
Presence.
The air thickened.
The sky darkened though no clouds gathered.
Aneet's hand went instinctively to her bow.
Ganesh stood slowly, heart steady.
"I know this," he said.
From the裂 in the black pillar, pale ash-like light spilled out, shaping itself into a towering form.
Matted hair.
Crescent moon.
Snake coiled at the neck.
Eyes like endless night.
Mahadev.
Shiva did not walk forward.
He was simply there.
The world bent around him.
Aneet dropped to one knee without thinking.
Ganesh did not kneel.
He bowed his head, hands folded.
"My Guru," he said softly.
Shiva's gaze rested on him.
"The memory stirs," Shiva said, voice like distant thunder over snow.
"Sooner than you expected."
Ganesh nodded.
"Yes."
"Does it trouble you?"
Ganesh looked up.
"No," he said. "It steadies me."
Shiva's eyes shifted to Aneet.
"And you, balance-walker," Shiva said.
"Do you fear what he is becoming?"
Aneet lifted her head.
"I fear what he might lose," she said honestly.
Shiva's lips curved faintly.
"Then you see clearly."
He turned back to Ganesh.
"Your past will return in waves," Shiva said.
"Not to bind you… but to remind you."
Ganesh asked quietly, "Remind me of what?"
"Of why you began."
Shiva raised one hand.
A faint mark of ash appeared over Ganesh's heart — not burning, not cutting, just there.
"When the fire grows wild, touch this place," Shiva said.
"And remember the boy who had nothing but my name."
Ganesh bowed deeply.
"I will," he said.
Shiva's gaze softened.
"You walk toward Para Brahman," he said.
"But do not hurry."
"Even eternity unfolds one breath at a time."
He looked once more at Aneet.
"Guard him," Shiva said.
"Not as shield… but as mirror."
Aneet nodded. "I will."
The presence began to fade.
Before vanishing, Shiva spoke one last time:
"When the fire remembers its origin… it no longer seeks to burn.
It seeks to illuminate."
And he was gone.
The plateau grew quiet again.
Only wind.
Only stone.
Only two figures standing in the vastness.
Ganesh exhaled slowly.
"My memories will keep coming," he said.
Aneet stepped beside him.
"Then we'll face them as they do," she said. "One at a time."
He looked at her.
"You're not afraid?"
She smiled faintly.
"I walked into this road knowing you weren't ordinary," she said. "Now I just know why."
They turned from the pillar and began descending the path on the far side of the plateau.
Below them, new lands waited — forests, rivers, unknown trials.
Ganesh felt the fire within him steady.
Not louder.
Clearer.
And beside him, Aneet walked with quiet resolve.
Two flames.
One remembering its beginning.
The other making sure it never forgot its way.