Something woke up.
It wasn't loud or sudden, but it was undeniable. Like a shift in gravity. Like breathing air that didn't feel like air anymore.
The three of them—Seko, Bhishma, and Atama—felt it all at once.
They looked at each other. No one said a word. Even Atama, who always had something to say—even if it was sarcastic or absurd—remained silent.
Then… the air began to glow faintly.
And from it, a figure emerged.
His presence didn't scream for attention—it simply was. The kind that made everything else seem smaller. Quieter.
He wasn't tall. He wasn't armored. His skin was deep and dark, like a clouded sky before heavy rain. His eyes reflected nothing, but they saw everything. And the strange part—he seemed to be everywhere at once. Behind them. Beside them. Inside their thoughts.
No one moved.
Bhishma's fists unclenched on their own. Atama blinked slowly. Seko tilted his head slightly, calculating, watching.
Bhishma took a step forward, confusion tightening his young face—though nothing about him felt like a child anymore."Who are you?" he asked, his voice unwavering yet humble.
The figure didn't smile, didn't shift. His voice came not from his mouth, but from everywhere. It echoed in the air, in their bones, in their thoughts.
"The universe… existence itself… knows me by different names."
A soft tremor rippled through the cave. It wasn't destruction—it was acknowledgment.
"Some claim they are Me. Some claim they are the true Truth."
He paused.
"They are all correct.I am everything.I am the Truth."
The words didn't just sound divine—they carved their meaning into reality itself, bending the silence around them. Even Atama, usually composed behind a wall of sarcasm or intellect, clenched his jaw with visible tension.
The figure's glowing, undefined eyes then turned to Bhishma, and only Bhishma.
"As for you, Bhishma… You have once again proved yourself—through lifetimes and legends, through war and wisdom.You are a paradox: a child with the burden of aeons, a warrior of fate, forged in love and sacrifice."
He slowly raised a hand. Time bent around it like ripples in liquid light.
"You shall be returned to the Dvapara Yuga—where your destiny waits once more,where your choices will echo in eternity…"
And with that, Bhishma's body began to glow, the divine cube behind them reacting as if recognizing its master.The cave dimmed. The stars outside paused.
Everything was silent—except for fate.
Seko stepped slightly forward, lips parted, unsure whether to intervene or accept what he witnessed.
But deep down, even he knew:
This was beyond any of them.
As Bhishma's form began to glow, threads of divine light swirling around him like threads of fate unraveling backward, he suddenly shouted through the tremor of destiny—
"Wait! Please! Not forever… Just once—Let me meet him—My father… the one who raised me!"
His voice cut through the divine silence like a blade honed by pain and love.It wasn't a demand.It wasn't rebellion.It was a child's final plea—the echo of someone who had lost too much, too many times.
The omnipresent figure—this embodiment of all truths—paused. Time, once again, stilled. The stars froze mid-glimmer. Even the divine cube in the back of the cave halted its pulsation.
For a moment… there was only quiet.
Then, gently, the voice returned—not loud, not commanding, but filled with the weight of compassion laced with eternity.
"Love… has always been your greatest strength, Bhishma.Even when the world gave you war,You carried love as your weapon."
The light around Bhishma softened, no longer pulling him—but cradling him, holding him in limbo.
"Go, then. See him.You may have been born of gods…But the man who raised you carved your soul."
And just like that, the unraveling stopped. Bhishma fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the flood of relief, his glowing form stabilizing once more.
Seko, still rooted in place, exhaled slowly. Atama, arms crossed, just muttered with an amused smirk,
"Even gods listen… sometimes."
As the golden twilight of Planet Kutol bathed the slum-like city in soft warmth, a rare peace washed through its streets. Joy, cautious yet growing, replaced the quiet despair that once cloaked its people.
Bhishma stood in front of his adoptive father one last time. The boy—no, the ancient soul in a young shell—smiled with gratitude that words couldn't capture. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, the weight of love heavier than any sword.
"You were never mine by blood," the man whispered, voice trembling, "but you will always be my son… by choice."
Bhishma knelt, pressing his forehead to his father's hand before standing tall.Then, turning to Seko, Kiyomi, and Atama, he gave each a final, lingering look.
To Seko, he said:
"You carry pain like a weapon. Don't forget… even weapons must rest."
To Kiyomi:
"You fear failure… but in that fear is proof of your heart. That's strength."
And to Atama, with a chuckle:
"I never figured you out... and I hope no one ever does."
Atama just tossed a Kutol fruit in the air, catching it behind his back. "Good. Mystery makes me sexy."
Then Bhishma's body began to shimmer, threads of time and fate pulling him back—back to the Dvapara Yuga, back to the past he was born for. The light consumed him slowly, peacefully, like a homecoming.
Elsewhere…The Angel, stripped of control, floated in a blank dimension. Surrounded by echoes of futures that never happened, he whispered to himself:
"Who was he…? Why could I never see him?""And that Seko… why does he exist outside fate?"
His search for answers had only just begun.
Days later, in the heart of Planet Kutol—where the people once walked with slumped backs and downcast eyes—a statue was raised.A towering monument carved from shimmering crystal, catching every stray light and turning it into vibrant rays across the city.
It was Bhishma.Not as a warrior, nor a child—But as a symbol of balance.
The inscription read:
"Born of gods, raised by men, and loved by both—The one who chose to fight not for power,But for peace."
And the people of Kutol…They looked at it with pride.They looked at it with hope.And for the first time in a long, long while—
They smiled.