The fire didn’t consume him.
It marked him.
When he opened his eyes, the cremation ground was gone.
He lay on the forest floor — soft, breathing, alive.
Above him, the sky blinked through a canopy of ancient leaves.
But something was wrong.
His ears throbbed.
His breath came in short, sharp bursts.
His tongue tasted blood.
He wasn’t alone in his body.
He sat up, slowly.
His hands were caked with dirt.
His nails sharper.
His skin pulsing — something stirring within.
Then he heard it.
A growl.
Not from behind.
From within.
The jungle was humming now.
Not with wind, but presence.
A rustle. A sudden stillness. Then — eyes.
Dozens. Yellow, wet, blinking in the bushes.
Wolves? Jackals?
No.
Dogs.
Not pets. Not strays.
These were the wild, ash-covered beasts said to follow Bhairava himself.
One stepped forward.
Scar across its snout.
Eyes like dying stars.
It didn’t bark.
It bowed.
The others followed.
They formed a circle around him.
He should’ve been afraid.
Instead, he howled.
The sound tore from him like truth — ancient, cracked, primal.
The dogs howled back.
And in that unholy music, something clicked — a doorway opening, not in space, but inside him.
He saw flashes.
A young boy feeding a dying pup.
A man tying a dog to a tree and walking away.
A deity standing naked in a cremation ground, surrounded by canines.
And he remembered…
Pashupati isn’t worshipped. He is joined.
Not with chants.
But with the surrender of control.
Suddenly, the earth trembled.
Not an earthquake. A heartbeat.
He turned.
And there, emerging from fog and flame—
A towering figure.
Covered in ash.
Garland of skulls.
Eyes black as the void between stars.
At his feet — silence itself.
He held no weapon.
He didn’t need one.
Because he was the weapon.
Bhairava.
The Saadhak fell to his knees.
But Bhairava didn’t speak.
He pointed.
To the Saadhak’s chest.
A growl erupted from within him.
His ribs shook.
His vision blurred.
And he saw—
not God.
Not Demon.
He saw himself, running on all fours, chasing something he could never name.
“To know the divine,” Bhairava finally said,
“you must run wild with your ghosts first.”
The dogs began to run.
And so did he.
Into the forest.
Howling.
Unchained.