The sea breeze was cool against Aarav's face as the Namrata sailed steadily westward. The light of dawn painted the sky in hues of lavender and gold, promising new beginnings.
In the quiet of the ship's cabin, Aarav unrolled a scroll that Ishira had guarded fiercely since the day he was born. The parchment was ancient and brittle, its edges frayed by time and countless journeys. Yet the inked lines and symbols remained vivid—stars and constellations arranged in a celestial map that pulsed with quiet magic.
"This was your father's," Ishira said softly behind him. Her voice carried both pride and sorrow. "He charted these stars hoping one day you would follow them."
Aarav traced a trembling finger along the map, feeling the cold ink under his skin. The constellations were unfamiliar yet hauntingly beautiful—sprawling like silver threads stitched across the midnight fabric.
At the center, a large symbol marked Jyotivar, the fabled floating monastery said to house the Fourth Ring—a place suspended between sky and spirit, where monks harnessed the power of mantra and light to pierce the heavens.
But what caught Aarav's eye was not Jyotivar alone.
Below the stars, hidden beneath layers of coded script, was another mark—almost invisible to the untrained eye. A vault, sealed tight beneath the earth, bearing the name: Rivan.
His mentor.
His friend.
The man who had disappeared after the destruction of Shar-Gul.
A chill ran down Aarav's spine.
"What is this?" he asked, voice low.
Ishira stepped closer, her eyes grave.
"Rivan was more than a guide. He was a keeper of secrets. And now, it seems… one of those secrets is his prison."
Vayara placed a steady hand on Aarav's shoulder.
"We'll find him. Together."
Aarav nodded, folding the scroll carefully.
The stars above them gleamed with silent promise. The journey to Jyotivar—and to Rivan's fate—had only just begun.