Chapter 2: The Prophecy of the Golden Flower

In the dim light of the sacred chamber, the pusaari sat before Krish, his eyes shadowed by memories older than the boy could ever imagine. The room felt like it had sunken into silence, the air itself holding its breath.

"You were meant to come here," the priest began softly, as if speaking would awaken ancient forces. “The vision you had… the energy you carry now… You are the echo of an ancient prophecy.”

Krish sat down, his palms slightly trembling.

The priest reached behind him and pulled an old scroll bound in red thread, the edges worn by time and reverence. With steady hands, he unrolled it before Krish. Strange, golden symbols shimmered faintly in the lamplight.

“The Golden Flower…” he whispered, “was once a god among gods. A being of radiant power—blessed with the divine essence of protection and destruction. His heart was pure, his strength unmatched. His beauty could silence storms, and his spirit inspired legions.”

Krish’s eyes widened.

The priest continued, “Unlike any other god, he had his own civilization—a warrior realm of divine beings who lived not to conquer, but to defend. The Golden Flower’s name was once chanted across the heavens. But power, even in purity, draws envy.”

“Some gods feared him. Others were jealous. And when the great war between gods and demons erupted a thousand years ago, all that fear came to a head.”

Krish leaned in, unable to blink.

“The Demon Queen rose from the abyss, draped in shadows, leading an army strong enough to rip apart realities. Her power rivaled his—her darkness a mirror to his light. Their battle shook the heavens, their clash scorched stars. For days and nights that never ended, they fought.”

“But neither could win. And the Golden Flower, tired of endless bloodshed, made a choice.”

The priest’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“He sealed her—banished her and her armies to the deepest void of darkness. But just as the last syllable of the sealing spell was spoken… it twisted. Backfired.”

“He had been tricked.”

Krish’s breath caught.

“The moment she vanished, so did he—not into the void, but into the dreams of all living beings. His deities tried to bring him back, but it was no use. He was scattered, his form held together only by fading belief and whispers of prophecy.”

The priest slowly rolled the scroll shut.

“For a thousand years, he did not appear in a single dream.”

“Until now.”

Krish’s hands clenched tightly.

“Some say,” the priest said, voice slow and heavy, “he has waited… searching for a soul pure enough to carry him. Others believe he seeks revenge, to find the one who turned his spell against him.”

“And now, child… the time has come. You must find his remaining deities—the few who still walk this Earth in secret, keeping his name alive. Only they can help you unlock the truth of who you are becoming.”

The air returned to the chamber with a sudden chill.

“Be careful, Krish,” the priest warned. “This is not just a journey of discovery. It is a journey of survival.”

Krish and his mother walked home through the quiet village with too many thoughts storming in his head. The world hadn’t changed—children still ran barefoot, trees still swayed in the breeze—but he had.

When he reached home, he sat down with his mother. The sky was already dimming, the day nearly gone.

And he told her everything.

His mother didn’t interrupt, not even once. She simply held his hand. Then, when night finally fell and the world went quiet, she wept silently by the doorway, knowing that the child she raised with love would soon walk away from their small world—and toward something vast and unknown.

In the shadows of their hut, Krish stared up at the stars.

And somewhere deep in his soul… a flicker of gold began to bloom.

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