“If this is what I believe it to be,” Venkata said, “there’s only one course of action.”

Ananda’s brow furrowed. He glanced from the great claws to Venkata and shook his head slowly. “You don’t mean…”

“What?” Ragini demanded. “Get on with it. What is that thing?” She pointed at the claws, which were slowly digging into the ground, gaining a foothold.

Her father avoided her gaze. “The last of the Primordial Beasts,” he said, “The Devourer of Worlds.”

Ragini stopped breathing. It couldn’t be. The Devourer was a myth. A scary story that you told children to get them to behave.

“That’s a legend,” she gasped.

Venkata looked at her with compassion, the kind a parent shows when delivering a harsh truth.

“Every legend contains a kernel of truth, dear one,” he said softly.

Ragini swallowed, her eyes stinging. “Then… why are you telling me to retreat? I have to—”

“No, you do not.” Venkata’s tone brooked no argument. A fierce light ignited behind his red eyes, making them blaze. “I said myths contain a kernel of truth. That which can defeat the Devourer needn’t be solely the Lady of the Mountain.”

“But you can’t take that risk!” Ragini’s voice rose with a child’s panic.

At that moment, Ananda intervened. The God King gently placed a hand on Ragini’s shoulder. “Lady Ragini, your father will never let you take a risk he can handle himself.”

Ragini turned to face the golden-haired God, her urge to scream curdling in her throat. Ananda’s eyes, filled with sad kindness, conveyed his resolve. She realized he wouldn’t leave either. Whatever her father planned, King Ananda would join him.

“There is a technique Lord Rudra taught us when we completed our training—” Ananda began.

“Ananda.” Venkata’s voice carried a strain, but Ananda continued.

“He told us it was something every potential leader of the realms needed to know.”

“What is it?” Ragini interrupted before her father could speak.

Ananda hesitated, sensing the Demon King’s frustration. “Venkata, if this doesn’t work, she needs to be prepared.”

“It will work,” Venkata insisted. “But if it doesn’t, Lord Rudra himself will rise. Dealing with something like the Devourer is his responsibility, not my daughter’s.”

Ragini blinked, the image of her husband coming to her mind’s eye. Lord Rudra. Had he anticipated this?

Ragini had often heard Rudra described as timeless. Gossip claimed he knew all things, great and small, fortunate and calamitous. Yet, he engaged with the world as if in feigned ignorance. In reality, he was both a follower of fate and its agent.

He wielded immense power but chose not to control the cosmos. Despite his title as the God of Destruction, Rudra served merely as a point of inflection between destruction and creation. He did not direct the cycle of fate; he merely anchored it. When the universe ended, it absorbed into him and then began anew countless times. Each time the universe was reborn, Rudra emerged from the Primordial Ocean in a new form, a clean slate, much like others who went through reincarnation.

Unlike the other Gods, Demons, and Mortals, Rudra had no chance to remember his past lives, for every previous cosmos might as well have never existed.

Ragini didn’t want that. Her husband was a gentle soul. Though he lacked memories of his past lives, he retained impressions of them; he had confided as much to her. The thought of missing what he could never recall unsettled her.

“Even so,” Ragini declared, “I’m staying. You both do what you must, but I will not retreat.”

Venkata sighed and dismissed his sword and shield, placing his hands gently on either side of her helmet.

“Ragini.” His voice softened as he gazed into her eyes with boundless warmth. “I love you. Tell your brother, Ravindra, that I love him too. I’m proud of both of you.” He tightened his grip on her helmet, and Ragini clasped his wrists, confused by his words. He continued firmly, “And tell Queen Chandika and Princess Shanti how much Ananda loves them.” His chin trembled, but he set his jaw. “I’m sorry.”

Before Ragini could respond, a surge of energy coursed through her, and she fell limp, unconscious in her father’s arms. Her bow slipped from her fingers, disintegrating into fine red and black dust as her spells unraveled without her focus. Her quiver and armor vanished, leaving her in the rich finery and jewels she had worn before.

Venkata embraced her briefly, then pulled back to touch her cheek. Even in the gray surroundings, she looked radiant. His only daughter, and his only son on the mountain, would have to manage without him.

Without needing direction, Ananda wove a spell to transport Ragini’s sleeping form back to the mountain. It took the form of a cradle spun from golden thread, and as Venkata gently placed her within it, the spell’s fabric cocooned her.

“Thank you,” Venkata said softly, avoiding Ananda’s gaze.

“Of course.” Ananda waited until Venkata stepped away from the cocoon before sending it soaring toward the mountain. “Everything we do, we do for those left behind.” He laughed mirthlessly. “How did it come to this?”

A slow rumble emanated from the ravine again, drawing the two Kings' attention.

“I’ll prepare the spell,” Venkata said.

“And I’ll keep it occupied until you’re ready,” Ananda replied, drawing his sword. “At your command, Venkata, I’ll lower the shield.”

“You could also return to the mountain,” Venkata suggested, eyes fixed on the chasm.

“I could,” Ananda agreed but remained unmoved.

“You have a wife and a young child.”

“You have two grown children of your own.”

“They’re grown. My wife has long since passed. They’ll manage without me.”

Ananda frowned. “You alone won’t suffice as a sacrifice to the Devourer. We can’t do this halfway. The impact will be greater if both of us are involved.”

Venkata closed his eyes. “Ananda—”

“In our next lives,” Ananda interjected, his voice firm and hopeful, “let’s ensure nothing separates us. What do you say?”

“Making promises for the next life is foolish,” Venkata said, his tone devoid of bitterness. He opened his eyes to find Ananda smiling at him—a radiant, youthful smile reminiscent of the boy he had met on the road to Mount Kaashil. This might have been the very spot where their caravans had intersected.

“I promise I’ll listen to you more,” Ananda continued, “and I promise I’ll follow your lead.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Venkata struggled to suppress a growl. How could Ananda remain so light-hearted, even now? “You won’t even remember this conversation.”

“I’ll remember,” Ananda said confidently. “I’ll grow and ascend and meditate to remember my promise.”

Venkata scoffed, unable to offer a retort. He had seen firsthand how the world seemed to align with Ananda’s will and luck. It would undoubtedly extend to all of Ananda’s future lives. Despite his reservations, Venkata allowed himself a small smile.

“You’ll need to make me remember, too.”

Ananda tilted his head, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “Convincing you has never been difficult.”

Venkata playfully smacked his arm. They were boys again, sparring with words and wit on the mountain.

Ever unreasonable, ever illogical. Yet sharp and clever. Ananda had always been full of infuriating contradictions—his head in the Heavens and his feet on the ground. Every conversation between them devolved into a debate or duel, with Ananda gleefully probing every one of Venkata’s pressure points.

He should have stayed away. But time and again, Venkata’s path intersected with Ananda’s. Eventually, he had to admit that often, it was by his own design. He couldn’t leave Ananda alone, and the feeling was mutual with the young Ananda.

Now, Ananda’s grin had broadened. Whenever Venkata resorted to fists instead of words, Ananda knew he had won.

“I will try,” Venkata said, jabbing a finger at Ananda as the man beamed at him. “No promises! But with your luck, I’ll likely have no choice but to meet you again.”

Ananda laughed.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them rumbled.

Sobering instantly, the two kings shifted their focus to the giant claws at the ravine’s edge. A blast of hot air surged from the chasm, widening the cracks in Ananda’s golden dome.

Ananda’s eyes glowed molten gold as he reversed his grip on his sword. With a swift motion, he thrust the point into the ground between himself and Venkata. A lattice of golden threads formed a smaller dome around Venkata.

“Prepare the spell. I trust you won’t need long?” The God King’s smile remained unchanged.

“Go.” Venkata trusted Ananda’s shield and closed his eyes. His hands began to form the mudras, or hand sigils, for the seven core chakras, opening the flow of magic within him. This would demand every ounce of his soul’s power.

In his concentration, Venkata missed the Great Devourer emerging from the ravine, but Ananda did not.

It was like witnessing a volcano erupt from the sea.