"Ajnaḥ śūnyaṁ nāsti—
when the third eye opens, truth no longer sleeps."
Silence.
That's what Aarav heard when the light faded. Not the silence of peace — the silence of void.
His body floated above the cracked temple stone.
Time had spilled.
Color had bled from the world.
And between moments, a voice spoke — not in sound, but in knowing:
"He who awakens the Eye shall carry the burden of memory."
Aarav opened his eyes, and there were two skies.
One above — storm-filled, grey and real.
One within — deep indigo, where a thousand glowing symbols danced like fireflies across a night with no stars.
He blinked.
And then he saw.
Not with eyes — but with Ajna.
The Eye Sees What Time Hides
He stood not in Kalikund, but in a mirror of it — a temple built from smoke and shadow, floating above a great river of flame.
Statues of gods wept tears of molten gold.
And behind him, stood himself, clad in black armor, sword soaked in blood, third eye wide open, mouth whispering:
"We died here once, remember?"
"You begged not for mercy… but for forgetting."
The vision shattered.
The Madman Returns
He collapsed back into his body.
The real world slammed back into him like cold water.
The old man was standing beside him again, barefoot on wet stone.
But now his madness wore the shape of prophecy.
He held out a hand, fingers curled around a scroll sealed with bone.
"It is written in a tongue only the awakened can hear," he said.
"This scroll is not a guide. It is a mirror. It will not teach you. It will test what you already carry within."
Aarav didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
His hands moved on their own — took the scroll, felt its pulse.
Like a second heartbeat. Like thunder waiting inside the earth.
First Trial — Written in Flesh
When the scroll opened, it bled.
Not ink — but memory.
And it said, not in words but in truth:
"Muladhara — the gate of Earth.
To walk through it, one must return to the wound they buried in the soil."
And suddenly he saw:
A cave.
A child's scream.
Fire.
A red-robed monk turning away.
And a name carved into stone.
His name.
The Curse Awakens
"Seven gates," the old man intoned, eyes rolling white.
"Each chained to a sin your soul committed in lives forgotten."
"You skipped five. You saw truth too soon. Now you burn."
"777 days," he whispered.
"And if you fail… you will awaken not as man, but as curse."
Aarav looked at his hands.
They were glowing.
Not with power — but with memory trying to claw its way out.