"A mortal has called me… properly."
Dharisya's brows lifted slightly.
"Properly? Many call you. Most beg. Some dare to demand."
"Yes," the god murmured. "But this one does not beg. He offers."
A pause.
His middle face narrowed its eye.
The twitch returned.
"He sat under flame. Bled into metal.
He spoke my three names not with tongue, but with silence.
I saw no arrogance. Only… intent."
Dharisya stepped closer, her gaze soft but unblinking.
"Intent? What does this mortal seek? Glory? Vengeance? Immortality?"
The Three-Phased God was silent for a long moment.
Then he whispered something even the stars leaned in to hear:
"He seeks… worthiness. To carry a burden that should not be his.
To tame a storm he was never meant to face."
The Three-Phased God slowly raised his middle hand — the one of Karma — and turned the divine palm over.
There, in glowing threads of time and possibility, they both saw the image:
A young human.
Dark-haired. Eyes closed in prayer.
