Chapter 3: A Cosmic Comedy of Errors
Kiran had always believed himself to be an ordinary man. A little lost, a little awkward, but nothing special. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of a crumbling sanctuary, having just blasted some terrifying shadow beings with a power he didn't even know he had.
And now? Now, he was completely, utterly exhausted.
His legs gave out beneath him. "Okay," he gasped, sprawled out on the ancient floor. "I need… like… five minutes. Maybe ten. Possibly forever."
Aadhya, in contrast, stood tall, her cosmic aura still glowing faintly. She peered down at him with an amused tilt of her head. "You just awakened abilities lost to time itself, and your first instinct is to nap?"
Kiran groaned. "Have you ever tried sudden enlightenment? It's exhausting."
Before Aadhya could respond, a small, metallic voice chimed in from nowhere. "Analysis: Subject Kiran has the physical endurance of an undercooked potato."
Kiran bolted upright, scanning the room. "Who said that?"
A tiny drone, no larger than a grapefruit, hovered into view. Its single blue eye blinked at him. "Greetings, inferior life form. I am Unit 37, primary assistant to Aadhya. You are an anomaly. Also, your heartbeat is irregular. Please do not die; I am not programmed for grief."
Kiran blinked. "You're telling me you work for her?"
The drone bobbed up and down. "Correction: I tolerate her existence. I was created to provide analytical data, scientific insight, and occasionally, a good slap to the head when necessary."
Kiran turned to Aadhya. "Is it serious?"
She sighed. "Unfortunately."
The drone beeped indignantly. "Rude. I have spent centuries processing vast amounts of cosmic knowledge. And yet, I am reduced to guiding two mortals through their nonsense. Truly, existence is suffering."
Kiran grinned. "I think I like you, Unit 37."
Aadhya pinched the bridge of her nose. "That makes one of us."
---
After a reluctant rest (complete with Kiran snoring dramatically), the trio made their way deeper into the sanctuary. The walls hummed with unseen energy, shifting ever so slightly as if alive. It was both awe-inspiring and vaguely unsettling.
Kiran shuddered. "I feel like these walls are watching me."
Unit 37 hovered past him. "Incorrect. The walls are merely responding to your biological presence."
Kiran frowned. "So… they are watching me."
The drone considered. "Affirmative."
"Great. Love that for me."
Aadhya led them to a massive door adorned with strange symbols. She pressed her hand against it, and the engravings glowed, unlocking ancient mechanisms within. The door groaned open, revealing a grand chamber filled with floating, luminous spheres.
Kiran's jaw dropped. "Okay. That's kinda cool."
Aadhya stepped forward. "These are echoes—fragments of knowledge, memories left behind by those who came before."
Unit 37 beeped. "Translation: Glowing orbs of questionable origin. Likely dangerous."
Kiran reached for one. "So, if I touch it—"
"DON'T TOUCH IT."
Kiran immediately grabbed the nearest orb.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then everything happened.
---
Kiran found himself floating in an endless void. No floor, no ceiling, just infinite space. "Oh. This is new."
Before he could panic, a voice boomed through the emptiness.
"WHO DARES TO ACCESS THE ARCHIVES OF THE IMMORTAL CONSCIOUSNESS?"
Kiran cleared his throat. "Uh. Hi. Kiran. First-time visitor, long-time fan."
Silence.
Then, the voice shifted. Less ominous, more… exasperated. "Oh, for the love of—Not another one. Listen, kid, these archives are not a plaything."
A shimmering figure appeared before him—a massive being draped in cosmic robes, their eyes glowing like stars. They looked at Kiran with all the patience of a tired teacher dealing with a particularly troublesome student.
Kiran pointed at them. "You're… uh…?"
"The Keeper of the Archives," the being said. "And you, my unfortunate guest, have just tripped an ancient failsafe."
Kiran winced. "Uh. Is that bad?"
The Keeper sighed. "I suppose that depends." They folded their arms. "Tell me, are you prepared to endure the Trial of Infinite Wisdom?"
Kiran hesitated. "Is it painful?"
"Only emotionally."
"Oh, so like school."
Before the Keeper could respond, the void around them shifted. Text, images, and symbols swirled into existence, bombarding Kiran's mind with thousands of years' worth of knowledge.
He saw civilizations rise and fall, stars being born and dying, epic battles between cosmic entities. He learned secrets of the universe, equations beyond human comprehension, and, for some reason, the exact recipe for the best grilled cheese sandwich in the multiverse.
His brain immediately overloaded.
"TOO MUCH WISDOM," he shouted. "TOO MUCH WISDOM."
The Keeper smirked. "And that, child, is why we don't touch random artifacts."
With a snap of their fingers, the knowledge flood ceased. Kiran collapsed, panting. "I think… I just saw the meaning of life."
"And?" the Keeper asked.
Kiran groaned. "I forgot it."
The Keeper chuckled. "That happens." They knelt beside him. "But remember this: The path before you is one of chaos and balance. You are not yet ready, but you are not alone."
A portal opened behind Kiran, sucking him backwards. "Wait, wait—"
---
Kiran landed back in the sanctuary with a thud. He groaned as Aadhya loomed over him, unimpressed.
"You touched it, didn't you?" she said flatly.
Kiran gave her a thumbs-up. "Big mistake."
Unit 37 beeped. "Analysis: Subject Kiran has lost approximately 32% of his brain's processing power due to information overload."
Kiran blinked. "Wait. How much did I have before?"
The drone considered. "Approximately 35%."
"Hey!"
Aadhya shook her head. "Let's just move on before you find another way to almost die."
Kiran dusted himself off and followed, grinning. Sure, he had nearly imploded his own brain, but hey—at least he had cosmic knowledge and the universe's best grilled cheese recipe now.
Somehow, he felt like that was an even trade.