The second poisoned arrow did not miss.
It hit a mango.
Not just any mango, of course.
This mango had been ripening for seven full moons, lovingly nurtured by the village's fruit whisperer, Pavitra Ammā, who claimed she could hear the soul of fruits. Whether mangoes had souls was a subject of long debate in the courts of Navamātra, but right now, that was the least of Nikāma's concerns.
The mango exploded in a soft, pulpy mess of golden prophecy and bad aim.
Nikāma ducked. The goat leapt over him like a fluffy cannonball.
"Run!" Vṛddhadanta screamed, midair. "Left! No—your other left!"
A third arrow whizzed by, kissing the tip of Nikāma's ear with a venomous purr.
Somewhere nearby, inside a forest that wasn't supposed to exist...
In the heart of the forbidden grove of Ajñāvatī, a figure knelt by a glowing pool of Soma-sap, eyes shut, hands folded in a complex mudra. The air was alive with mantra-code, the kind of vibrations that made trees blush and squirrels chant.
The figure wore no armor. Only a robe made of starlight and bark. A copper band circled their brow, inscribed with the title:
"Śāsakāya-vināśakaḥ" — The One Who Destroys Rulers.
They opened their eyes.
"Target marked," they whispered.
They rose.
The pool of sap stilled.
The squirrels fled.
Back in the village...
Nikāma crashed into a hay cart.
The hay cart had, until recently, been the property of a kind man named Dundubhi, who used it to store poems about celestial poultry. Now it was full of goat hair, mango pulp, and one very confused protagonist.
"You activated a forbidden glyph," Vṛddhadanta panted beside him. "Do you have any idea what that means?"
"Divine power?" Nikāma guessed.
"Divine paperwork," said the goat. "Do you know what kind of bureaucratic nightmare you've unleashed?! There are celestial interns panicking right now. Do you know how dangerous that is? They don't even have health insurance."
Nikāma looked down at his hand again.
The glyph had faded, yes—but in its place was something else.
A scar. Thin, glowing faintly. Like a password etched in silence.
"What does it do?" he asked.
"Everything. Nothing. Depends on who's watching," Vṛddhadanta muttered. "But you've been marked now. You're in the system."
Nikāma blinked. "System?"
"The grand cosmic ledger. The Mahā-Vedānta-Dhāraṇa-Grid. Once you're in, there's no hiding. You are... quantified."
Nikāma stared at him.
"Are you saying I'm being hunted because I tripped a divine Excel sheet?"
"Yes!" Vṛddhadanta snapped. "And do you know how long those things take to load?!"
Another arrow zipped past.
"I'm too young to die!" Nikāma yelped.
"You're seventeen," Vṛddhadanta said, "That's ancient by comedy-protagonist standards. Come on!"
They dashed through the alleys, ducking between laundry lines, crashing into suspiciously placed fruit carts, and narrowly avoiding a duel between two elderly women arguing about lentils.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the Temple of Sealed Breath...
A door opened.
The kind that shouldn't open.
Light spilled over ancient inscriptions carved in Vedic Vāstu-Kalpana, pulsating with golden logic. Inside sat a humanoid made entirely of script.
He had no mouth, but still he whispered:
"One glyph has awakened."
Another figure stepped into the circle of light. A woman dressed in scholar-warrior robes, eyes sharp like unsheathed proverbs.
"Does he remember?"
"Not yet."
"Then we still have time to break him," she said. "Or... reprogram him."
Back in Nikāma's world of confusion and goat-chases...
They reached the edge of the village.
Past the rice fields.
Beyond the mad tree that throws coconuts at people.
And there, hidden under a blanket of illusion, was something Nikāma never expected.
A door.
Floating midair. Framed in sandalwood. Etched with a symbol that pulsed like the beat of a very nervous heart.
He stopped. "Is that...?"
"Yes," said the goat. "That's the gateway to the Lokāntara Mandala."
Nikāma raised an eyebrow. "Which is...?"
"A world between worlds. Where the dead go to dream and the gods go to complain. It's your only way out."
"Out of what?"
Vṛddhadanta looked at him.
"Out of normalcy."
Nikāma reached for the door.
It opened before he touched it.
Inside was light.
And the faint smell of burnt mangoes.