Ashes of Dharma

Before the gates.

Before the reincarnation.

Before the silence and the flame.

There was a boy.

Alone.

Tired.

Sitting on a rooftop in Delhi.

The air stank of smog.

The lights below blinked like broken promises.

And he whispered something—just once—into the wind:

"I don't want to be anything. I just want to feel real."

He forgot he ever said it.

But the world didn't.

Now, Aarav stood alone in the ruins of Bhayanak's last stronghold.

The people had dispersed.

The fear had lifted.

But the sky… it held something.

Not a storm.

Not a sign.

A memory.

A voice—not from a god.

Not from the world.

From deep inside.

His own.

The prayer he never meant to make.

Spoken before breathwork.

Before stances.

Before knowing.

Just a raw, human plea.

He sat down.

Closed his eyes.

Breathed.

Not to summon.

Not to awaken.

Just to answer.

"You are real now," he whispered back.

"We made it."

And in that moment, Aarav wasn't the Flamewalker.

Not a gate-breaker.

Not a god-killer.

Just a boy who never stopped listening.