Krishnapriya reached out, her fingers grazing the horse’s coat. The animal, sensing an unfamiliar touch, reared back with a powerful snort, its front hooves pawing the air in a vigorous display of spirit.
Aryavardhan didn't move; he simply gave a subtle nod, a silent command for her to mount. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, Krishnapriya leapt. She landed with a heavy thud against the horse’s spine, the heat of the beast radiating through her. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips close to the horse’s twitching ear and whispered a name that felt like a secret: "Aditya!"
At the sound of the word, the world became a blur. The horse surged forward with a power she wasn’t prepared for. Without a bridle to hold onto, Krishnapriya felt the raw terror of the speed. She leaned back, pressing her body against the horse’s muscular frame, and squeezed her eyes shut, a sharp scream escaping her lungs.
When the wind finally died down, and she opened her eyes, she found herself exactly where she had started. The horse stood still, and Aryavardhan was watching her with a knowing gaze.
"Aditya hears more than just your voice," Aryavardhan said softly. "He reads the rider’s soul. He goes where your heart truly desires to be."
Overwhelmed by the magic and the gravity of the moment, Krishnapriya slid off the horse and knelt to touch Aryavardhan’s feet in a gesture of deep reverence.
Aryavardhan flinched, stepping back quickly. "Krishnapriya, what are you doing?"
She looked up at him, her eyes steady. "I am seeking the blessing of my Lord. It is not just my duty; it is my heart’s wish."
Relenting, Aryavardhan placed a steadying hand upon her head. "May Sri Hari guide your hand and grant you victory in the trials to come." He then handed her his Ksheera bow. This time, the weapon remained solid and heavy in her grip. She slung it over her shoulder, feeling its weight settle against her spirit.
With a final instruction whispered into Aditya’s ear, the horse unfurled massive, shimmering wings. With a single, powerful beat, they ascended, piercing the clouds until they were nothing more than a speck on the horizon.
Aryavardhan watched until the sky was empty. He sat beneath the shade of an ancient tree by the lakeside, crossing his legs into the Padmasana posture. As he settled into the silence, a young woman—Bhumi, the essence of the Earth itself—materialized before him.
"Krishnapriya is returning to her kingdom," Aryavardhan told her, his voice weary but peaceful. "The protection of this sacred place now falls to you. I must travel beyond—to see the other worlds Narayan has woven into existence. My journey will span a year, and you may walk with me in spirit if you wish."
Bhumi bowed her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "It is my greatest honor. I will guard this land with every breath of the wind and every stone of the mountain."
As she spoke, a shimmering veil of energy rose from the ground, encasing the grove in a protective shroud. Aryavardhan closed his eyes, his consciousness drifting into a deep, crystalline samadhi.
Standing before his silent form, Bhumi chanted the sacred Om three times. As the vibration filled the air, four distinct colors of light erupted from her being. These lights spiraled outward, forming four glowing replicas of herself—guardians of different realms—each settling into a meditative pose, surrounding Aryavardhan in a symphony of eternal vigil.
