Chapter 13

 Chapter 13: The Crescent’s Call (~4,500 words)Himavati’s peaks pierced the crimson sky like the fangs of a sleeping god, their snow-dusted slopes shrouded in mists that swirled with an ethereal glow. Jagged cliffs, carved with ancient Vedic runes, loomed over narrow paths that wound through icy gorges, their surfaces slick with frost and ichor stains from forgotten battles. The air was thin and biting, heavy with the scent of pine and the faint, metallic tang of Naraka’s lifeblood, seeping from cracks in the stone. At the heart of the range stood the Trideva Shrine, a hidden sanctum of white jade and obsidian, its lotus dome glowing with divine light, said to house the Ritual of Samyoga, a binding ceremony to unite the Crescent fragments into a single relic. The three purified fragments, cleansed in Varanavati, pulsed with silver light, their hum a beacon of hope and danger. The Trideva Alliance, weary from the Ritual of Ashvamedha, ascended Himavati, guided by Saanvi’s visions and Kshatraveer’s resolve, the fragments’ call a summons to destiny.Kshatraveer led the Alliance, his golden armor glinting faintly through the mist, the lotus sigil on his breastplate glowing with Vedic power. Agnivijra, his blade, rested in its crimson-wrapped scabbard, its Vedic fire dormant but ready to ignite. At thirty-two, he bore the weight of Kalagarh’s survival, the blood moon’s omen and Ashvika’s prophecy—“Naraka stirs”—etched into his mind. Nakularesh’s distrust of Suryaksha, though softened by her stand in Varanavati, lingered, a shadow cast by the fragments’ power. Kshatraveer’s dark eyes scanned the peaks, sensing the fragments’ pull, a pulse that matched his own heartbeat. Could he lead the Alliance to bind the Crescent, or would Vishara’s wrath shatter their hope? He gripped Agnivijra’s hilt, his voice steady: “Stay sharp. The mists hide our foes.”Suryaksha scouted ahead, her hooded cloak damp with mist, her scarred horn glowing faintly in the dim light. Her crimson eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, studied the icy paths, her obsidian dagger sheathed at her thigh, its Asura runes pulsing with defiance. At twenty-eight, she had fought tirelessly to prove her loyalty, yet the rejection of her Asura kin and Nakularesh’s suspicions cut deep. A flashback gripped her: standing before her clan’s volcanic forge, the heat searing her skin, her mother, Dravika, casting her out. “You choose the Trideva over your blood,” Dravika had said, her voice a blade. The memory fueled Suryaksha’s resolve, her kin’s snarls—“Traitor!”—echoing from Varanavati. She carried the fragments, their purified light warm against her hands, her horn glowing brighter. “I’ll bind them,” she whispered, her voice a vow to her kin and Nikumbala.Saanvi walked beside Kshatraveer, her blue robes embroidered with Vishnu’s conch and discus billowing in the icy wind. Her jade lotus relic burned against her chest, its warmth a guide through the fragments’ hum. At twenty-five, her mystic visions were a beacon, but they drained her strength, each glimpse into Naraka’s depths leaving her trembling. She closed her eyes, letting the fragments’ call guide her. A vision unfolded: the Trideva Shrine, its lotus altar glowing with Vedic fire, the Ritual of Samyoga binding the fragments, but Vyraksha’s horde ambushing the sanctum, Vishara’s ichor visions sowing chaos. The vision shifted, showing Vishara’s pain, her Asura blood shunned by the gods, her pact with Nikumbala a cry of vengeance. Saanvi’s breath caught, her relic burning hotter. “Vyraksha’s horde comes,” she said to Kshatraveer, her voice faint. “Vishara’s visions will test our hearts.”Kshatraveer nodded, his jaw tightening. “Then we face them.” His voice was steady, but Saanvi’s vision weighed on him. He glanced at Suryaksha, her horn glowing as she scouted the mists, and resolved to trust her. “You’re our strength,” he said to her, his trust firm. Suryaksha met his gaze, gratitude flickering in her crimson eyes, but the fragments’ call lingered, a reminder of her kin’s betrayal.Arjun and Kaelesh walked together, their bond a quiet strength amidst the icy peaks. Arjun, broad-shouldered and calm, carried his ironwood shield, its runes glowing faintly, scarred from Varanavati’s battles. Kaelesh, lean and quick, twirled his blade, its edge catching the mist’s glow. Their friendship, forged in a skirmish against rogue Asuras, was a beacon in the cold desolation. A memory surfaced: their first battle, standing back-to-back, Arjun’s shield deflecting claws, Kaelesh’s blade a whirlwind. “This cold bites deeper than claws,” Arjun said, his voice steady, his shield raised. Kaelesh grinned, his blade flashing. “Then we’ll warm it with blood.” Their banter masked the fragments’ ominous hum.Hanuvajra piloted the Shivastorm Viman, its rune-covered hull barely visible through the mists, casting a faint shadow above the peaks. At thirty, he was a master of the skies, his trident bolts piercing Asura armor. The Viman’s hum was a steady pulse, its runes flaring as it scouted the gorges. Hanuvajra’s voice crackled through a rune-stone communicator: “The shrine pulses with energy. They’re close.” His warning sent a chill through the Alliance, the fragments’ hum growing louder, a dark promise of battle.Kuruvalya walked at the rear, her silver robes glowing with runes that warded off the icy air. Her staff tapped the ground, tracing sigils that stabilized the Alliance’s path. At fifty, her wisdom was unmatched, her ability to counter Asura rituals a cornerstone of their strategy. She sensed Vishara’s ritual, a pulse that thickened the mists with crimson haze. Her lips moved in a chant, “Om Namah Shivaya,” her runes flaring to disrupt Vishara’s power, which sought to summon the Raktasura Legion.Nalithra and Vasuki stood ready, their serpents hissing softly. Nalithra’s twin daggers gleamed with serpent runes, her movements fluid. Vasuki’s Nagavati serpent coiled tighter, its fire-born mantras ready. Riksharaj, the beastmaster, prowled nearby, his silver mane frosted, his ichor curse burning his wound. A flashback gripped him: a battle in Riksha forest, his pack falling to Naraka’s taint, their howls haunting him. “I won’t fail them,” he growled, his resolve bolstering the Alliance.The shrine loomed through the mists, its lotus dome glowing with Vedic fire, but the ground trembled, a roar shaking the peaks. Vyraksha emerged, her molten staff blazing with Asura runes, her crimson robes shimmering. “The Crescent is Nikumbala’s,” she hissed, her voice sowing discord. Vishara’s ichor visions took form: for Saanvi, her mentor’s death; for Suryaksha, her mother’s rejection; for Kshatraveer, Kalagarh’s fall. Saanvi’s relic pulsed, her chant—“Om Vishnave Namaha”—breaking the visions, her voice trembling but resolute. A flashback gripped her: her initiation, her mentor teaching her to guard her heart against visions. She pushed the memory aside, her mandala glowing, stabilizing the team.Raktasura scouts swarmed from the gorges, their ichor claws gleaming, their eyes burning coals. Kshatraveer’s blade flared, cleaving through scouts, his strikes relentless. Suryaksha fought beside him, her dagger a blur, severing limbs as she clashed with her Asura kin. Their snarls—“Traitor!”—fueled her rage, her horn glowing brighter, her ferocity a silent answer to Nakularesh’s doubts. She leaped onto a scout, her dagger piercing its chest, ichor spraying as she roared, “For Kalagarh!” Her hand warmed as she guarded the fragments, their purified light steady.Saanvi stood back, her relic pulsing as she chanted, weaving a protective mandala that shielded the team from Vyraksha’s ichor blasts. The blasts cracked stone, but Saanvi’s mandala held, its lotus patterns glowing with Vishnu’s light. Her relic burned hotter, the strain of countering Vishara’s ritual taking its toll. Kuruvalya’s runes flared, her staff tracing silver patterns that countered Vyraksha’s ritual, her chant dispersing the crimson haze.Arjun’s shield deflected an ichor blast, its runes absorbing the dark energy, while Kaelesh’s blade danced, severing heads in a flash of steel. Their bond was a beacon, their movements synchronized. Nalithra’s daggers flashed, her serpents striking scouts. Vasuki’s serpents incinerated enemies, their mantras shaking the air. Riksharaj’s claws tore through scouts, his wound slowing him but his resolve unyielding. Hanuvajra’s Viman rained bolts, thinning the enemy ranks, its runes blazing. The airship dodged claws with precision, its hum a steady pulse.The shrine’s altar glowed, the Ritual of Samyoga within reach. Kuruvalya began the chant, “Om Tridevaya Namaha,” her staff igniting the altar’s flames. Saanvi joined, her relic stabilizing the ritual, the fragments merging into a single Crescent, its silver light blazing. Vyraksha’s staff flared, summoning a crimson wave of ichor that surged across the shrine, but Kuruvalya’s runes held, the wave dispersing. The Raktasura fell, their ichor pooling, Vyraksha retreating, her laughter echoing: “Nikumbala rises.”The Crescent was bound, its light a weapon against Naraka. Suryaksha stood, her horn glowing, the Crescent’s power a testament to her loyalty. Saanvi’s relic dimmed, her strength spent, but her vision warned of Vishara’s final ritual, the Legion’s rise imminent. Kshatraveer rallied the team: “We’ve bound the Crescent. We face Naraka next.” He turned to Suryaksha, his gaze steady. “You are our heart.” She nodded, gratitude flickering, Nakularesh’s doubts fading.A subplot unfolded: Saanvi’s relic strained her further, but Kuruvalya’s stabilizing ritual saved her, deepening their bond. Suryaksha’s redemption solidified, her loyalty proven, but her kin’s rejection lingered. Riksharaj’s ichor curse worsened, and he confided in Kshatraveer, fearing for his beasts. Kshatraveer vowed to find a cure, their trust growing.The Alliance rested in Himavati’s shrine, the Crescent’s light a beacon. Suryaksha stood watch, her dagger gleaming, her thoughts on her mother’s rejection. Arjun and Kaelesh shared a quiet moment, their bond a beacon. Hanuvajra scouted from the Viman, his runes flaring. Kshatraveer gripped Agnivijra, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where Naraka’s abyss awaited, the Crescent a blade in a war nearing its climax.