Whispers rippled through the golden-scented halls of Swarga-loka as Lady Ila ascended the crystal steps. The air carried a heady mix of divine nectar and the fragrance of celestial jasmine, a blend that should have calmed but instead heightened the tension. Lord Surya's radiant glow seemed determined as she passed, while Lord Vayu’s ever-moving winds stilled in an almost reverent silence—or perhaps fear. Her silver hair shimmered under the shifting lights, flowing like moonlit water, and with each step, the architecture seemed to respond, the crystal pillars vibrating subtly, attuned to her presence. They hummed in quiet dissonance, reflecting the storm within her.
It had been centuries since she last walked these halls. She had chosen exile over divine duty, shunning the comforts of divinity to protect her bloodline from the brutal cycle of cosmic warfare. Now, the minor deities, who had once woven harmonies to accompany her celestial veena, pressed themselves against the marble columns, eyes wide with awe and curiosity. Each step she took drew murmurs, like ripples through the sacred lake.
The private audience chamber contorted slightly as she entered. Gossamer curtains moved without wind, the divine energy around them flickering in response to unspoken emotions. The crystal columns emitted a low hum that resonated with tension. Lord Purandhara stood by the grand window, back as rigid as an ancient pillar. His fingers traced restless patterns on an ornate goblet of soma, each ripple sending fractured, golden light across the marble floor. The scent of divine nectar intensified as though trying to smother the bitterness between them.
"Ila," he said without turning, his voice deep and weary. She remembered that same voice blessing her union with a mortal king, promising that their child would never bear the burdens of their divine conflicts. "It's been a while."
“So it has.” Her voice was cool as a mountain stream, but each syllable quivered with the suppressed torrent of betrayal and grief. She remained by the doorway as if an invisible chasm separated them. The air crystallized, forming prisms that scattered light into fragments, shimmering like shattered promises.
Purandhara turned at last, eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the silence was thick, filled with divine static that crackled in the space between them. The goblet trembled slightly in his grasp, betraying a hint of guilt he would never voice.
“Is it true?” Ila's question sliced through the silence, sharp and unforgiving.
“You’ve drawn Aryaman into this war against the spreading darkness?” Her hands, once capable of creating the sweetest melodies in the three worlds, clenched until the knuckles turned white.
“He’s the only demi-god on Earth,” Purandhara said, setting the goblet down with a sound that reverberated like a temple bell tolling a grave truth. “We had no choice.”
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“No choice?” A brittle laugh escaped her, making the divine light waver. The floral scent turned acrid, mirroring her despair. “We had a pact, Purandhara. I gave up everything—my clan, my place as Guardian of the East—so he could be free from these very battles.” Her voice faltered, the divine façade cracking like thin ice. A flash of memory seared through her: the day she turned from Swarga-loka’s gates, the disapproving gaze of the Gandharva elders, and the soft weight of Aryaman’s infant form against her chest.
Purandhara shifted, fingers tightening imperceptibly against the windowsill. His eyes, sharp yet weary, flicked to the trembling curtains, a silent nod to the guilt he could not fully suppress. “The barrier sealed itself, Ila. Even my Vajra could not break it. What would you have me do?” The frustration in his voice crackled like embers, but beneath it lay a tremor of uncertainty.
“Anything but this!” Her palm struck a marble pillar, sending cracks racing across the stone that glowed momentarily before sealing as if frightened of her wrath.
“He is my only son. My child! Fighting cosmic darkness alone?” Her words made the chamber shudder, the divine energy reverberating in sorrowful waves.
“He is not alone,” Purandhara said, voice barely rising over the hum that filled the room. “Atisha guides him.”
Ila’s breath caught, and the divine lights suspended around them froze as if listening.
“Atisha?” The name was an invocation, heavy with lost hope. The last time it had been spoken in these halls, the very walls had trembled. “But her cosmic core was obliterated.”
“Her essence preserved itself,” Purandhara replied, turning back to gaze out the window, his expression cast in shadow. Below, the endless gardens of Swarga-loka bloomed in perfect, mocking serenity, a cruel contrast to the chaos threatening Bhu-loka. “A spiritual core formed from the remnants.”
“And you think that’s enough?” She moved closer, her voice lowering to a whisper that carried more power than any shout.
“The cardinal relics may not even respond to her anymore. This darkness… where did this darkness come from, Purandhara? Vritra is vanquished. The battle of the three worlds was won. What were did this sudden darkness come from? How can the barrier seal itself?” Her eyes, like twin mirrors of moonlight, searched his face.
Purandhara’s fingers curled around the edge of the window.
“I don’t know for certain, Ila,” he said. “The darkness could be a remnant of Vritra’s primordial energy. As to how it came about - I am not sure but we need primordial energy projected into the barrier from both sides to unseal it.”
“Atisha can’t channel primordial energy from Bhu-loka?” asked Lady Ila.
“She needs to combine all the cardinal relics for that to happen,” said Lord Purandhara. “It’s my failure that it has come to this.”
“Good grief! Lord Purandhara admitting failure!” mocked Lady Ila. “And my son pays the price for your failure!” Her voice cracked, sending a shockwave through the hall. Behind them, the shattered goblet of soma hung mid-air, its golden droplets catching the fractured light like tears.
“Must there truly be no other way?” Ila’s gaze burned, and for a moment, the room felt it—the full weight of her maternal defiance, a force capable of bending divine will. The air thickened, the scent of jasmine turning metallic.
Lord Purandhara turned back to face her, eyes ancient and lined with unspoken grief. Each word he spoke tasted like ash, a betrayal of their past promises. “You know the laws of the three worlds, Ila. Even I cannot break them.”