Ashes of Dharma

He sat on a throne of prayer beads and golden skulls.

A hundred arms folded in divine calm. A hundred more hidden behind illusion. His body shimmered with mantras etched into his skin—glowing softly with the stolen faith of millions.

This was Vaikuntharaja.

The God Who Hungers.

But he didn't feed on blood. Not flesh. Not offerings.

He fed on belief.Every chant. Every kneel. Every "please" whispered by the desperate—he consumed it all. And in return, he gave nothing but silence dressed as blessing.

When he sensed Aarav break the altar in Asthimat Nagar, he paused.

A single eye opened on his forehead, unblinking.

"The Ash-Born walks again."

He remembered that mark.

Long ago, before the false gods ruled the universes, there had been others. Real ones. Walkers of the inner path. Carriers of flame.

They had nearly ended him.

But time buried truth. And he grew powerful while they forgot.

He would not make that mistake again.

He summoned a priest—one of the high ones.

"Send the Seeker Host. Burn the city. Bury the boy. And salt the soil where he stands."

The priest bowed, trembling.

But Vaikuntharaja was already meditating again, spinning mantras into traps.

Because this time, the god would not wait.

He would act.