Ashes of Dharma

He had watched his temples empty.

He had felt his name fade from prayers.

He had tasted the silence creeping into the corners of belief.

And still, he remained.

But now, with JapaNetra gone, even his own form flickered.

He had been called Dharmaketu — the Just Flame.

He wasn't cruel.He wasn't hungry.But he was hollow.

Held together by centuries of being needed.

Now, no one needed him.

And so he did something no god had done since the fall began:

He came down.

He walked into a Breathborn gathering.

No crown.No symbols.Just robes of ash.

He did not speak.

He knelt.

Not to Aarav.

To presence.

Aarav watched him carefully.

Said nothing.

Meha, now grown and radiant in her own breath, stepped forward.

"Why are you here?"

Dharmaketu looked at her, eyes uncertain for the first time in eternity.

"I want to feel what you feel."

They let him sit.

They taught him nothing.

They simply let him be.

He tried to breathe.

But gods do not breathe.

He mimicked.He strained.He trembled.

And then—he broke.

Not into dust.Not into fire.

Into tears.

Aarav walked over. Placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You were not false," he said.

"Just forgotten by the truth you once carried."

Dharmaketu wept silently until the light inside him dimmed…

…and steadied.

Not divine.

Not mortal.

Present.