He emerged at dawn.
No fanfare. No thunder. Just footsteps on dry earth.
But the world knew something had changed.
Because Aarav's body no longer carried heat.It radiated calm—the kind of calm only fire achieves after it's consumed everything except truth.
Shraddhalok stood still as he returned.
People stepped aside, not out of fear—out of instinct.
Bhaktarakshaka watched him enter the square.Meha ran to him, then paused.
She blinked.
"You look… lighter."
Aarav knelt beside her.
Smiled.
"I let go of needing to be anything but real."
Word spread faster than wind:
The Flamewalker sat with the fire that asks nothing—and returned unburned.
Priests who had hidden now dared to breathe without script.
Children stopped mimicking prayers—and started shaping movement.
The air changed.
Because ashes didn't settle.
They rose.
Far above, in the Celestial Court, Vaikuntharaja felt it before the winds carried word.
Not rebellion.
Not challenge.
Release.
"He doesn't fight us anymore," he muttered.
"He simply doesn't need us."
And that…
was far worse.