Shyena was a mythical bird with cosmic powers therefore it could transform into size five times that of its current size with ease. It was this way that Svetavastra and Manu got onto Shyena to make way to the North to retrieve the divine bow, the cardinal relic of the North. Cosmic Svetavastra took the form of a silver circlet placed over Svetavastra’s head. This would reduce the load on Shyena and make it easy to control the sacral chakra imbalance that both versions of Svetavastra were prone to.

Shyena soared high in the sky where clouds were scarce, from their vantage point, they could see vast stretches of land covered in darkness as they moved further up into the North. The great bird’s feathers rippled with flecks of violet and blue, gleaming like liquid metal under the muted sun. The ends of Svetavastra’s white blindfold as well as his white robes fluttered in the wind. His left robe brushed against Manu from time to time. Crisp, biting wind whipped against their faces, carrying with it the scent of cold stone and distant pine, and the faint metallic taste of looming danger.

“That could be the Abyss of Talatala,” said Manu pointing to a vast sinkhole in the middle of what seemed like a never-ending desert that was covered in darkness.

“An active portal to the underworld,” said Svetavastra.

Manu nodded.

“This could be where Raktabija led his demon army into Bhu-loka,” he said.

The preta in the bracer shivered as it looked down from the bracer and saw the darkness below it from the edges of Shyena’s body.

“So scary, so so scary,” it muttered.

“A preta?” remarked the cosmic form from the circlet. “I didn’t know you had a pet preta with you, Sveta.”

“I am not a pet, Your Divinity,” said the preta trying to be polite. “I am a disciple of No-god God.”

“No-god God!” repeated the cosmic form amused. “Hahaha, what’s a No-god God?”

The preta did not feel like justifying its salutation. The cosmic form sensed that.

“That’s alright,” cosmic Svetavastra said. “To each their own, I guess. But what are you called, preta?”

“I have no name, Your Divinity,” said the preta.

“Would you like me to name you?” Asked the cosmic form.

“With respect Your Divinity, I only wish the No-god God to name me,” the preta said.

“What a loyal and stubborn preta,” remarked the cosmic form. “Much like you, Sveta.”

Svetavastra chuckled and shook his head.

“What’s so amusing?” asked Manu who was oblivious to the conversation happening between the cosmic form and the preta since he was human.

“Nothing,” said Svetavastra. He could only partly see the Abyss from his mind’s eye.

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“We need to seal the portal,” said Svetavastra.

“If we could somehow send the demon army back through this portal,” said Manu. “That would be the best outcome.”

“The demon army is controlled by darkness,” said Svetavastra. “If it’s similar to how it was with the rogue pretas and the undead, purifying them might still be possible.”

“Do you think so?” asked Manu. “That would require - I can’t even imagine how much spiritual power that would be needed for it!”

“Hmm,” said Svetavastra. “Theoretically, it’s possible. But the main threat is that of Raktabija. He is the one we should be most worried about.”

“That’s true,” nodded Manu. “Once we get the Divine Bow, we will acquire the tactical advantage of distance.”

“Tell me more about the Divine Bow,” asked Svetavastra, curious about the celestial relic.

Manu looked at the blindfolded Svetavastra for a brief moment, his eyes a mix of various indescribable emotions.

Manu's voice took on a storyteller's cadence as he began to recount the tale. "Long ago, when you were still young Atisha, you ventured into Bhu-loka with a group of adolescent gods. You were so eager to explore, to help." A wistful smile touched his lips at the memory.

Svetavastra tried to picture it - a youthful version of himself, brimming with naive optimism and untested power. It felt both foreign and achingly familiar.

"Your party came upon an ashram high in the Nandana mountains," Manu continued. "But something was wrong. The air hung heavy with fear and malaise. Demons had been tormenting the ashram, you see. Stealing food, destroying sacred items, and spreading dread."

A phantom scent filled Svetavastra's nostrils - acrid brimstone and rotting flesh. His stomach clenched.

"You were magnificent." Pride suffused Manu's words. "You called forth your divine sword, blazing with righteous fury. The demons didn't stand a chance. They scattered like roaches before a flame. Some crawling all the way back to the underworld.”

Svetavastra's palm tingled, muscle memory of a hilt's weight. He could almost feel the sword's familiar thrum, the whoosh of it cleaving fetid air.

"But then, as the dust settled, you heard it." Manu's tone softened. "A child's heartbroken wail. A little girl sat rocking in the ashram courtyard, tears streaking down her face. One of the demons had ripped her favourite toy - a wooden bullock cart - from her hands as a last act of cruelty before fleeing."

Svetavastra's throat tightened, a lump of sudden emotion. He didn't remember the girl, but he felt the echo of her pain as if it were his own.

"You knelt before her, this tiny slip of a mortal child. You took her small hands in yours, and promised you would bring back what was stolen."

In his mind's eye, Svetavastra saw the scene - the trembling girl, the tears, his own younger face etched with solemn determination.

"And so, for the second time, you reached for your cosmic essence,” Manu said, voice hushed with awe, "and summoned the divine bow. It burst forth in a blaze of cosmic light, thrumming with power and purpose."

A shiver ran down Svetavastra's spine, a sense of recognition coming back to him. His fingers flexed unconsciously as if to grasp a bowstring.

"With that celestial weapon, you marked the fleeing demon. And no matter how it tried to hide, no matter what dark corner of the three worlds it cowered in - your arrow found its mark. The toy bullock cart was returned, and the child's face was filled with gratitude and joy."

Manu paused, letting the weight of the memory settle. Svetavastra felt a tightness in his chest, a bittersweet ache. What had happened to that pure-hearted young god, so full of easy compassion and cosmic conviction? Had the passage of eons jaded him, hardened him?

“You are a worthy one,” said the cosmic form.

The preta sniffled in the bracer, breaking the poignant silence. "No-God God is the kindest, bravest, best god. This preta will follow him anywhere."

Ambivalent emotions swirled in Svetavastra's heart - gratitude and unworthiness, determination and doubt. But one thought crystallized clear and bright.

He would try. For the sake of the god he had been, and the protector he wished to become once more - he would try and he would never stop trying. He fixed the story in his mind like an emblem, a talisman against the dark. And as Mount Meru's snowy peak filled his inner view, he felt a flicker of his old self returning to him.