Vyan stood amidst the pink and green silks of the pavilion, his brow furrowed in confusion.
How did the humble old sir get here so quickly?
he wondered.
But before the thought could take root, Ansh stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor.
“My child,” Ansh whispered, his voice trembling with a well-practiced warmth.
“Why don’t you give the ownership of this place to me? Transfer it now, while the Spirit is here to witness.”
Vyan blinked, the request catching him off guard.
“Why, sir? May I know the reason? I was just thinking how this could be a home for…”
“Because you have done so much for me since we met, Vyan,” Ansh interrupted, stepping into the boy’s personal space.
“Let me do the same for you. You are but a child—a brilliant one, yes—but a child nonetheless. Let me carry the burden of the Grotto. I will give you more Prana Knots than you can count. I will train you properly, sharpen your skills, and make you the strongest Yogi this land has ever seen. You must also learn how to use that new ‘toy’ of yours, and who better to teach you than I?”
He reached out, placing a withered hand on Vyan’s head.
“I have been thinking, Vyan… I lost my family long ago, and you have no one left. Why don’t you call me Dada Ansh? We have walked through the valley of death together. It is only right that I adopt you as my own. We will make a fine Grade 3 Yogi out of you, my grandson.”
Vyan was barely twelve and a half years old.
While he was a deep thinker, he lacked the cynical armor needed to see the rot beneath Ansh’s words.
He looked into the old man’s milky eyes and saw the only person who had fed him, taught him, and spoken to him since his mother’s departure.
He wanted a home.
He wanted to be strong enough to protect others, to give back to the world.
He turned toward the Grotto Spirit, who stood like a silent pillar of light.
“Spirit, can you do what he says? Can you make him the Master?”
The Spirit’s form flickered violently, its voice dropping into a low, echoing warning.
“Master… I would strongly advise against this. We truly do not know what goes inside the heart of a man. The threads of intent are tangled and dark.”
Vyan shook his head, a small, sad smile on his face.
“It’s okay, Spirit. I believe him. My mother used to say one should always have the feeling of letting things go. One should be never be attached to anyone or anything. Spirit… do as he says.” With his proud chest
The Spirit lowered its head, a sound like a grieving wind filling the pavilion.
“As the Master wills.”
A surge of golden light erupted from Vyan’s chest, flowing like a river into the old man.
For a heartbeat, his face went blank as the ownership of the Gilded Horizon etched itself into his very soul.
The Spirit vanished from Vyan’s side and reappeared in front of the new master.
“The Spirit greets the new Master,” it said tonelessly.
“What is your—”
The old man didn’t wait for the question.
The warmth in his eyes died, replaced by a cold, flickering fire.
He began to chuckle—a dry, rasping sound that grew into a full, maniacal laugh that shook the pink and green silks of the pavilion.
“Dada? ” Vyan asked, stepping back, his heart suddenly racing.
“What’s wrong? Why are you laughing like that?”
The man didn’t stop.
He threw his head back, his laughter turning into a roar of triumph.
He turned his gaze toward Vyan, and for the first time, the mask was gone.
There was only bloodlust and a hunger so deep it looked like madness.
“My name,” he hissed, his voice vibrating with the power of the Grotto, “is Bak-asura”
Author’s Note: “Namaste everyone, welcome to the journey!
Just a quick heads-up before you dive in: Main charcater’s ascent isn’t rushed.
The early thirty chapters focus heavily on atmospheric world-building and character depth.
It is a slow, steady climb—but once the descent into the madness of the Kaliyuga begins, the narrative pace accelerates rapidly.
Your patience will be richly rewarded.
Happy reading!