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Kalika did not want to waste a single moment traversing through terrain to reach her town. Time was her most precious ally – a dimension she holds power on, and every second lost gnawed at her resolve. Though teleporting from one kingdom to another was within her power, it was never without consequence. She could use it at will, but she avoided doing so for a reason—it unsettled her in ways few could understand.

Teleportation played tricks on her mind. Not the fleeting unease a human or any of God might feel, but something far more disorienting, more dangerous. The aftereffects were a peculiar blend of dizziness and disarray, pulling her into a trance that left her vulnerable for at least five minutes. Even though she was a Time Priest, teleportation was a blade that cut both ways. It bent time, but it bent her with it. And left a permanent scar on her body.

Despite the odds, Kalika had no choice. From the storm-ravaged Palace of Matsaya Kingdom, she needed to reach Ratinagargh immediately. Standing amidst the ruins, where thunder had ravaged the once-sacred soil, Kalika steeled herself for the journey.

Her bare feet pressed into the wet sand and stones, hurting her feet adorned with aaltaa (red dye), grounding her, as she folded her hands into a Namaskaram. The storm had quieted to a whisper, but the tension in the air remained heavy. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath that tasted like rain. Her lips moved slowly, carefully, as she recited the ancient mantra:

"तत्क्षण संचरण" (Tatkṣaṇa Sañcaraṇa).

Each syllable rippled out into the air, the vibrations coiling around her, shimmering like heat rising off a desert. The sound of her voice resonated with a subtle power, charging the space around her. The mantra, though soft, was far from subtle. It echoed across the land like a wave, disturbing the delicate balance of nature.

Any living creature within a 1-kosha radius felt it—a subtle tremor in the earth, an unnatural pull in the atmosphere. Birds shrieked in terror and fled to the skies. The nearby animals let out eerie, high-pitched cries, their natural instincts overcome by the power of the chant. The air itself seemed to hum, disturbed by the invocation of ancient magic.

Kalika's heart raced, but she kept her focus. The chant continued, relentless:

"तत्क्षण संचरण" (Tatkṣaṇa Sañcaraṇa).

Her words became a current in the air, and suddenly the ground beneath her feet shifted. The sand kicked up around her in a swirling cloud, as if the garden itself recoiled from the magic she summoned. Her form flickered for a moment, then vanished in a violent burst of air and energy, leaving nothing behind but the lingering scent of her presence—a fragrance that would slowly fade into the storm.

The trance was coming, and Kalika knew it. She braced herself, knowing that wherever she arrived, the first five minutes would be lost to the void.

With a resounding thud, Kalika landed in the garbhagriha, the sanctum of her temple. The impact reverberated through the sacred stone floor, as a piercing, high-pitched ringing cut through the air, echoing in her ears. Her eyes, once radiant, turned an abyssal black, the whites devoured by darkness, even her brown irises vanishing into the void. Her hair, once tightly bound, now cascaded wildly around her, swirling as if caught in an invisible storm, each strand charged with a primal force.

Her entire body transformed, the color of her skin shifting into the deepest black—the very shade of the universe's furthest reaches, where no light could escape. She became a living void, the embodiment of a cosmic abyss. Any mortal who glimpsed her in this avatar would be paralyzed with fear, their hearts gripped by the freezing hand of terror. The sheer intensity of her presence would drain the courage from the boldest of souls, leaving them trembling in her wake.

As the oppressive energy dissipated, Kalika's senses slowly returned, her mind clawing its way back from the abyss. She shook off the residual effects of the teleportation and, regaining her composure, called out softly to the priestesses who served her.

"Nandini, bring me water," she commanded, her voice carrying a strange calmness amid the chaos.

"Here, Mata," Nandini replied, swiftly offering her a copper chalice filled to the brim.

Kalika took it, her throat parched as though she had crossed the desert of time itself. She gulped the water down in one swift motion, but the thirst lingered, a deep dryness that clawed at her insides. "Nandini, bring a giant jug of water; this is not enough."

"Did you teleport?" asked Sunaina, another priestess. Sunaina was not like the others—her body was adorned with ten eyes, scattered across her skin, a blessing and burden of divine sight.

Kalika, her body still aching from the strain of teleportation, responded with a faint nod, conserving her energy.

Understanding her exhaustion, the priestesses dispersed, each one retreating to their own temple, returning moments later with large copper vessels, ready to aid their goddess.

Sunaina moved closer, her many eyes blinking in unison, all focused on Kalika. She began the ritual undressing, she removed the goddess's earrings, then her necklace, and one by one, her bangles, anklets, and toe rings. Each piece of jewelry fell away, revealing Kalika's true form—an avatar clothed in nothing but the blackness of creation itself.

Kalika, now stripped of adornment, sat in the center of the garbhagriha, her legs crossed in deep meditation. Her lips parted, releasing the sacred chant: Aum, a syllable that seemed to resonate through every stone, every corner of the temple. With each breath, the chant grew stronger, echoing in rhythmic harmony with the pulse of the universe.

The priestesses formed a circle around her, to begin the Jal Abhishek, pouring water over her head in a slow, sacred ritual meant to pacify the storm within her. As the water touched her skin, steam hissed from her body, her energy so immense it threatened to incinerate everything around her. The very air inside the garbhagriha crackled with heat, as if the temple itself were alive, caught in the fiery grip of Kalika's divine power.

The intensity of her aura was palpable. No mortal could have survived standing this close to her—her presence alone would burn them to ash in an instant. Yet, the priestesses, protected by their devotion and divine purpose, continued their ritual with unwavering focus.

With every drop of water poured, the temperature inside the garbhagriha slowly began to cool. The chanting grew deeper, the voices of the priestesses merging into a singular, powerful sound.

Finally, as the last of the water flowed over Kalika, her skin began to return to its normal hue, the void receding. The air stilled, the unbearable heat dissipating, and the garbhagriha was once again a place of calm. The storm had passed.

"Kalika," called Nandini, her voice soft but steady.

Kalika slowly opened her eyes, the void replaced by her familiar gaze, though the weight of the transformation still lingered. "Let me dress you in this red saree," Nandini offered, gently pulling out a stunning red saree woven with the thinnest, finest threads by the Samudra people.

"And I will apply sindoor," another priestess volunteered, stepping forward with reverence.

"Oh, and I brought golden bangles for her," another chimed in, eager to serve.

"And I have silver earrings and toe rings," added a shorter priestess, grinning as she nudged her way through the crowd.

Kalika smiled—a rare, serene expression. "Yes, you all may," she said, her voice calm and composed. The priestesses moved forward, ready to adorn their goddess once more, returning her to her mortal guise.

⨊⨊

"Triveni, show me the energy variations that occurred two prahar ago around the Matsaya Kingdom," Kalika commanded in a voice as calm as the eye of a storm.

In the sacred heart of Ratinagarh, the priestesses had gathered in the garbhagriha, their white sarees trimmed with golden borders glimmering under the soft light. Their long, unbound hair cascaded to the floor, forming a part of the sacred geometry they sat within. From a bird's eye view, the arrangement resembled the symbol of infinity, with Kalika seated at the intersection of the two cosmic loops.

For thousands of years, nothing had escaped Kalika's watchful gaze—no thunder, no storm, no tremor of the elements dared to defy her notice. But today, destruction had slipped through the cracks, and the priestesses were left with questions weighing heavily in the air.

"How did this pass us?" Kalika's inner thoughts swirled like the winds that had brought ruin to the Matsaya Kingdom. If the storm had been natural, the priestess assigned to Kaal loka should have sensed it—a ripple, a warning in the energy that surged before the disaster. And had she been in her temple's garbhagriha, she would have seen a miniature reflection of the catastrophe before it struck, giving them ample time to prevent it.

The uncomfortable reality was impossible to ignore. The thunder, this violent force of nature, wasn't born from mere atmospheric imbalance. It was something far darker, hiding in the shadows of the Shivaverse. The priestesses could feel it. Something wasn't right.

"Kalika, I've checked the energy levels for the entire day and the previous one. There wasn't even a sign of cloud movement over Kaal Loka, let alone a storm powerful enough to strike," Sunaina reported, her eyes heavy with unease as she handed Kalika her tab.

"Show it on the wall, Sunaina," Kalika responded, her voice softer but tinged with the weight of deep concern.

Sunaina moved quickly, projecting her readings onto the wall of the garbhagriha.

"Now, everyone, add your readings next to Sunaina's," Kalika instructed, her voice growing firmer. The priestesses complied, and soon the wall was a canvas of incomprehensible data, energy levels, and patterns that, at first glance, made no sense to anyone present. Even Kalika, her mind ever sharp, struggled to see the connection.

"Nandini, rearrange them. Put Kaal Loka at the center and align the other lokas exactly as they are in the universe," Kalika ordered.

Nandini nodded and, with a steady hand, adjusted the projections. The moment the data fell into place, Kalika's eyes narrowed. The crease in her brow deepened as the faint outline of a pattern began to emerge.

"Kalika," Tara's voice broke the silence, her tone laced with disbelief, "the same thunder hit every loka at the exact same time. How could we have missed something of this magnitude? It's an event powerful enough to disrupt the very flow of time itself. This thunder wasn't part of any natural cycle..."

"It was planted," Kalika finished Tara's sentence, her voice low and resolute. "By him. By Shukaracharya. A warning... A declaration of his return—stronger, and more dangerous than before."

 Kalika rose gracefully from her chair, the weight of realization settling in her chest. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as she approached the wall where the energy readings from Mrityu Loka flickered. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the glowing data, and in that instant, the truth struck her like a bolt of lightning. She knew. She knew who had taken Aadiya.

A sharp breath escaped her lips, but she stood motionless, her gaze locked on the wall. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of silence. When they opened again, her brown irises had shifted—turning a molten gold that glowed with an otherworldly intensity. Her vision no longer belonged to the present. Instead, she was plunged into the horrors of a distant time, a vision far darker than any she had endured before.

It was worse than the battle they had fought against Shukaracharya 5,000 years ago. In the depths of this new sight, she saw devastation beyond imagination, a terror woven through time itself. This wasn't just a continuation of an ancient war—it was a battle for everything that remained.

"Mata... what will happen next?" a young, short-statured priestess asked, her voice trembling with the weight of unspoken fear. The uncertainty of the looming events clung to every word, as though she could already feel the ground beneath her slipping away.

All the priestesses understood the meaning of Kalika's golden eyes. It was a harbinger of destruction—an omen that the storm they had long feared was upon them. If they didn't act swiftly, they knew they would lose everything. Their reality, the world they had fought to protect, would unravel before their very eyes.