Chapter 3: The Departure and the Game

As the sun dipped behind Shantivan Hill, its last rays gilded the ashram’s shikhara. Rohan paused at the temple threshold, fingers brushing the worn stone, whispering a silent promise to return. Village kids shouted his name as he walked away, their voices tugging at his heart—he hesitated, torn between pride and longing, then continued down the path, a lone figure against the gold-lit horizon.

Ten years, just as the forum had predicted. Rohan counted them off: monsoon after monsoon, mango blossoms, winter chills. He could still hear Bodhanand’s gentle farewell—no drama, just a tilak, a garland, and a packet of laddus pressed into his hand.

The forum had mapped his next steps: back to Vanargram, gather the monkeys, become a demon king, and seek a legendary weapon in the Eastern Sea’s Nagalok. He chuckled, remembering the forum’s summary: “First step, make a WhatsApp group of monkeys. Second step, become admin. Third step, world domination.”

But as he mulled over the plot, suspicion grew. Why would the old monkey suggest Nagalok? Why was the naga king so welcoming? Dadi’s warning rang in his ears: “Beta, duniya mein koi bhi cheez muft nahi milti.” Even the mithaiwala didn’t give free sweets—why would the Nagraj hand out a divine gada for free?

Rohan cast a divination—rudraksha mala and three coins, ancient mantras whispered under the neem tree as the twilight deepened. The omens were auspicious, but the forum warned: “Auspicious signs don’t mean easy roads.” Like a Bollywood hero before the interval, he resolved to stay sharp, knowing the script could twist at any moment.

He pondered the Mace of Destiny, picturing its gleam and its legend. But strength was never the whole story—against stronger foes, it was just another stick. The forum’s meme flashed in his mind: “OP in lane, noob in late game.”

The more he thought, the more he sensed invisible hands guiding the game. Was the Mace obeying him, or Vishwakarma’s orders? The line between power and illusion blurred. Rohan decided: he would not be a pawn—he would be the player.

As the moon rose over Jalpravesh Gufa, Rohan’s eyes stayed open. Somewhere out there, the real game was just beginning.