It started with thunder.
Not the kind that shouts.
The kind that waits.
A low hum beneath the wind. A vibration in the bones. The kind of sound the body feels before the ears catch it. Shraddhalok had learned to ignore storms.
But this was no storm.
This was attention.
Aarav walked through the city with quiet steps. He was not preaching. Not leading. He simply moved.
And the people followed.
Not with chants.
With breath.
Above them, the clouds began to bend. Not from wind—but from awareness. The sky itself was listening now. Watching.
Because the gods had grown too used to worship without risk.
Now, a human was walking in stillness, and shaking the heavens more than any army ever had.
At the edge of the city, Meha sat beneath the banyan tree with three other children. She didn't pray. She taught them to listen—to the body, to breath, to fear, to silence.
And when she looked up…
She whispered:
"It sees us now."
The sky blinked.