Chapter 165: Chapter: 165 The lotus and the Veena. [3]

He moved with the wind until he stuck to the back of a small living creature.

From its mouth, it was clear the creature had just finished eating.

Fresh blood stained its face.

Its breathing was rough, and its tongue moved again and again.

It wanted water.

The creature walked for a long time, its steps uneven but steady.

After about a kilometer, it reached a wide river bed.

The moment it saw the water, its body tensed. Then it ran.

Without slowing down, it jumped straight into the river.

Water splashed high into the air.

The grain of sand on its back was washed away at once.

It sank into the moving water and began to drift.

The river carried it forward..

The current was sometimes strong, sometimes gentle.

The grain of sand rolled along the riverbed, bumped against stones, and settled into soft mud.

It stayed there for a long time. How long, it could not tell. Time had no meaning.

Then the water rose again.

The sand was lifted and carried forward once more.

This happened again and again.

Sometimes it rested at the bottom, buried beneath other grains.

Sometimes it was pulled free and moved along the flowing water.

It passed through narrow paths and wide open stretches.

Sunlight reached it at times. Other times, everything was dark.

The journey never truly stopped.

The river kept moving.

And so did he.

After traveling for an unknown amount of time, the grain of sand left the river and entered a vast sea.

The sea was endless. It felt as if everything that existed was there.

The water was deep and heavy, and the waves moved without care.

Yet the grain of sand did not travel far.

Slowly, it began to sink.

Down and down it went, passing through cold water and fading light, until it reached the ocean floor.

There, it stayed still.

Time passed like quiet water.

One year went by. Then two. Then ten. A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand. A million.

The grain of sand did not move.

Other grains slowly gathered around it.

They pressed close, settling and stacking over the years.

Little by little, the single grain grew larger.

What was once tiny became the size of an adult man’s fist.

Time continued to move forward.

Years turned into ages.

After one point eight million years, the grain of sand had grown even more.

It was now the size of an adult man, resting deep beneath the sea, silent and unmoving, as time flowed on without end.

Time began to flow again.

The grain of sand, now the size of an adult man, continued to grow.

Its pace was steady. Year after year, it changed little by little.

Layers formed. Pressure built. What it was before no longer mattered.

After what felt like both an instant and an eternity, fifty million years passed.

The small grain had become a great mountain.

Yet its journey was not over.

Though the mountain was massive, it had not reached the peak of its life.

Carried by the slow river of time, it began to move.

Not quickly. Not violently. It shifted little by little, guided by forces far beyond sight.

It traveled.

A long time passed.

Then—

Boom!

The entire mountain collided with a continent.

The land shook. The earth groaned.

Stone crashed against stone, and the world itself seemed to bend.

From that collision, the mountain changed once more.

It rose higher than before, taller and sharper, as if reaching toward the sky itself.

It became a vast, heaven-piercing mountain, standing firm as time continued to flow around it.

Time passed once more.

For an unknown length of time, the mountain stood tall and unmatched.

It touched the sky and watched over the land in silence.

Yet nothing in this universe was eternal.

The mountain was no exception.

As time flowed on, creatures changed.

Some slowly evolved, others were newly born. Life continued its quiet march forward.

One day, a group of people began living near the mountain.

They built simple shelters from wood and stone.

They hunted for food and gathered what the land provided.

At night, they sat together before a campfire.

Flames danced, shadows stretched, and their eyes always returned to the great mountain standing in the dark.

Time moved again.

Generations passed. Children grew old, and their children followed. Through all of it, the mountain remained.

What was strange was this, people began to worship it.

They believed the mountain gave them herbs, clean water, and a safe place to live.

To them, it was not just stone and snow. It was a protector. A giver. A god.

One day, a group of travelers arrived.

They looked at the towering peak and asked, “What is its name?”

The local tribes were puzzled.

They had lived here for centuries, yet they had never named it.

After a moment of thought, one of them spoke.

“Himavat,” he said softly.

“The king of snow.”

From that moment on, the mountain was known as Himavat.

Time continued to move forward.

Generations changed. Life went on, and the world slowly took on new shapes.

People no longer needed to hunt.

They learned to farm, to build stronger homes, and to live in more settled and careful ways.

The lands around Himavat grew crowded.

As years passed, people began to dig into the mountain.

They searched for rare stones and shining metals hidden deep inside it.

Tunnels were carved into its body. Rocks were taken away piece by piece.

At the same time, the ice on its peak began to melt.

The white crown that had once stayed untouched grew thinner each year.

Snow turned to water and flowed away.

Himavat began to weaken.

His body grew heavier as the earth pressed down on him, yet inside, he was becoming empty.

Caverns spread through his core. What had once been solid stone was now full of hollow spaces.

Cracks began to form.

At first, they were small, thin lines that no one noticed.

Then they grew wider. Stones fell without warning.

The mountain no longer felt steady.

The rivers that once flowed gently from his sides changed their paths.

Some dried up. Others flooded the land below.

Forests near him began to fade. Animals moved away.

Himavat was dying.

Not suddenly. Not loudly.

Slowly.

Each year, more of his strength faded.

His slopes collapsed bit by bit. Whole sections slid down into the valleys.

The sound of falling stone echoed like a deep, tired breath.

One day, the mountain could no longer hold himself up.

A great part of his body gave way.

The ground shook. Dust filled the air.

Rocks thundered down, breaking into countless pieces.

The heaven-piercing peak cracked and fell, lowering itself for the first time since its birth.

When the dust finally settled, Himavat was no longer the towering king of snow.

He had become broken ridges, scattered stone, and quiet hills.

The cycle had ended.

Yet even in death, he remained.

His body became soil. His stone turned to sand. His minerals fed the land.

Rivers flowed where his wounds once were.

From his end, new life began.

The mountain did not vanish.

He only changed.

As the mountain faded, Vivian’s consciousness shifted once more.

This time, he was a cloud.

Dark clouds gathered in the sky. They moved slowly, heavy and full. Inside them, power built up.

Crackle. Crackle.

Thunder roared across the sky.

After a while, the clouds could no longer hold themselves together.

Rain began to fall. Countless drops rushed downward, filling the air.

Among them, he was one.

Tip. Tip. Tip.

He fell from the sky with the others.

The ground grew wet as the rain continued.

When he touched the earth, he did not stop at the surface.

The water soaked in, and he went with it.

He sank deep into the soil.

There, he rested.

Time passed quietly. The water around him moved slowly through the earth.

Some of it fed roots and plants. Some of it flowed deeper, joining hidden streams below the ground.

He did not think.

He did not feel fear.

He simply existed, moving as water always does.

Slowly, the cycle continued.

What had once been cloud became rain.

What had been rain became water in the earth.

And from there, it would rise again, returning to the sky one day, as the endless flow went on.

Another cycle ended.

After repeating cycle after cycle, this time he found himself in a dark space.

It was tight and closed.

He could not move freely. Everything around him felt warm and sticky.

The space held him from all sides, gentle but firm.

He did not feel pain. He did not feel fear.

It felt like waiting.

Like something was being prepared.

He could feel himself changing.

Slowly. Quietly. His body felt soft, as if it was not finished yet.

Time passed without shape. There was no sound, no light, only a dull sense of stillness.

Then—

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Cracking sounds echoed around him. The tight space began to break. Light rushed in.

He pushed.

The shell broke apart.

He came out.

He opened his eyes and spread his wings by instinct.

The air around him smelled rotten.

The ground was dark and wet. Broken shells lay everywhere. Beside him, many other eggs were breaking open.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

New life was hatching all around.

But he did not stop to look.

He shook his wings once, then again, and lifted himself into the air. Without turning back, he flew away.

Another life cycle had begun.

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