Ashes of Dharma

No monuments were built.

No texts were written.

No calendar started from this day.

And yet—

everything changed.

The fire Aarav had carried…

Never scorched.

Never raged.

Never demanded.

It had simply warmed.

And now?

It burned in everyone.

Quietly.

Steadily.

Without smoke.

Bhaktarakshaka, now an old man, taught in open courtyards—not technique, but return.

Meha traveled from village to village, saying nothing, just sitting.

People joined her.

And cities became practices.

Not civilizations shaped by fear or divinity…

But by presence.

Aarav stood on a hillside as the sun set.

No gods remained.

No crowns needed forging.

The breath was everywhere.

Alive.

Unowned.

And the flame?

It kept walking.

Not in him.

As him.

————End of Volume Four: The Universe That Remembers Itself————