Ashes of Deva : Rise of the White Flame

The wind changed.

It wasn't sudden.

It wasn't loud.

But it was real.

Astha stopped walking.

His boots crushed a patch of scorched vines that had once been prayer-offerings. This ruin—half-flooded, half-buried—had once been called Dev-Shira. Now, it was just a memory trapped in stone. A place where the gods had whispered a command: Forget.

"Someone's coming," Astha murmured.

He wasn't wrong.

Overhead, the sky cracked.

A sharp bolt of white-gold lightning split the clouds. But it wasn't natural — it didn't just strike. It descended, spiraling with precision, as though the storm knew exactly where to land.

Astha's eyes narrowed. Smritidhaara hissed awake around his arm, the chain sharpening in silent anticipation.

Then the light touched the earth.

And from the bolt stepped Luv.

He was barefoot. Steam rose from his shoulders, rain gliding off his sand-hued skin. His black hair clung to his jawline. Golden eyes scanned the ruin as if it were a map of sins he'd only just started to read.

Their eyes met.

For a heartbeat, the entire forest held its breath.

Flame and lightning stared each other down.

---

"Who are you?" Luv asked first, tone calm but edged like tempered glass.

"Someone who survived what you worship," Astha replied.

The silence between them felt like flint. Ready to strike.

Luv stepped forward. Not aggressively—curiously.

"You're not... normal." His gaze lowered to the chain-sickle coiled around Astha's arm. "That weapon. It's alive."

Astha didn't flinch. "It remembers what the gods erased."

Luv tilted his head. "You hate them."

"Not hate." Astha's voice cooled. "I just don't bow."

Thunder rippled faintly behind Luv's back. Not a threat—an instinct.

"And what happens," Luv asked, "when fire meets thunder?"

Astha let Smritidhaara unfold with a soft clink of burning metal. Its blades dripped ember-light, its chain whispering in ancient tongues.

"We find out," Astha said, "which storm forgets first."

---

They clashed.

Not for war. Not for death.

But because two forces that had never been allowed to speak freely cannot meet in silence.

Smritidhaara flew in an arc, trailing searing memory.

Luv ducked, pivoted, lightning sparking beneath his feet as he countered with a blinding pulse. The air between them crackled—pure force meeting raw will.

Astha struck again, faster, chain wrapping around a crumbling pillar. He vaulted forward, landing with a heel-kick aimed for Luv's head.

Luv caught it mid-air with one hand.

The shockwave blew dust into the treetops.

They separated.

Both breathing harder. Both smiling, just slightly.

"You're not a god," Luv said, stepping back.

"And yet... you move like one."

"And you fall from heaven," Astha replied, "but you don't stink of it."

---

They didn't shake hands. They didn't declare brotherhood.

But the next time Astha turned to walk into the dark, Luv followed.

And neither of them said a word.

Because the storm had found the flame.

And something bigger was coming for both.