The “Fold” finally released them, but they didn’t land back at the waterfall.
Instead, they were standing at the entrance of a narrow, lightless tunnel that stretched deep into the mountain.
The walls were made of raw, unpolished basalt, exactly one hundred meters long, leading toward a single point of soft, flickering light.
Ansh stood shivering, his mind racing to keep up with the logic of the Grotto.
Why the memory?
Why the transport?
He looked at Vyan, who was staring down the tunnel with wide, curious eyes.
I came to this wall a dozen times before I met this boy.
The stone never moved for me.
It never spoke.
Is he…
is he the axis this world turns on?
A cold shock settled in his gut, followed quickly by a surge of adrenaline.
Whatever it is, he isn’t just a Yogi. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
He’s a walking gold mine.
Did the boy met some hidden requirements which I don’t know of?
“Look, sir,” Vyan whispered, pointing at the basalt beside them.
“The stitch… it’s inside the wall too. We’re in the puzzle.”
Ansh forced a smile, his voice dripping with newfound, artificial warmth.
“Indeed it is, my child. Indeed it is. Let us see what the mystery man has left for us at the end of this path.”
They walked together, Vyan instinctively supporting the “old man” as they traversed the dark corridor.
As they reached the end, the tunnel opened into a small, circular chamber.
In the center stood two stone bases, rising from the floor like altars.
On the further base, at the very back of the room, sat a Needle.
It was slender and silver, glowing with a faint, steady radiance.
Attached to its end was a small, vibrant Peacock wing that shimmered in colors Vyan didn’t have names for.
The needle didn’t just sit there; it levitated an inch above the stone, moving with a subtle, sentient grace.
Around it, two glowing butterflies made of pure light circled endlessly, playing in the air as if the needle were a flower.
Resting on it was a piece of ancient parchment, its edges yellowed by time but the ink still as sharp as a fresh wound.
Vyan leaned in, reading the script out loud:
“A mind of iron cannot be tempted by the dust of the world.”
Vyan paused, his brow furrowing as he read the lines below:
“I am taking the inheritance, the Choodamani. But I have left something for you. It was my favorite toy during my childhood. Use it well.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Vyan looked from the paper to the needle with the peacock wing, confused.
“A… toy, sir?”
Ansh’s face went from pale to a deep, trembling purple.
The greed that had been fueling him for months hit a brick wall of pure, mischievous insult.
“A child’s toy?” Ansh hissed, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and disbelief.
“I have spent three months… I have groomed this brat, I have risked the Spirit’s wrath, all for a favorite toy? How can the Grotto Spirit allow this? How can a toy be left in place of a Grade 5 inheritance?!”
He turned his gaze toward the dark ceiling, cursing the shadow of the man who had been here before them.
“Who is he?
“Welcome to The Sovereign Of Kaliyuga! New chapters dropping daily.”