Ashes of Dharma

It wasn't loud.

It wasn't sharp.

It wasn't even... sound.

It was a vibration.

Born not from machines.

Not from chants.

But from bodies in alignment.

The Breathborn gathered in silence.

Some sat.

Some stood.

Some moved in slow spirals of martial rhythm.

And together, they breathed—not in unison, but in resonance.

Like different strings tuned to the same frequency.

And the world hummed.

Not the physical world.

The layer beneath it.

Where the divine rooted its thrones.

Where belief took shape.

Where old structures still whispered control.

The vibration reached it.

And the gods flinched.

Because they couldn't hear it.

Only mortals could.

And in that soundless hum, temples cracked.

Chants faltered.

Priests forgot verses they'd recited for lifetimes.

One god screamed into the sky, demanding silence.

But the Breathborn only grew still.

And the sound deepened.

Aarav stood in the center, spine like a pillar of wind, eyes closed.

He whispered:

"They don't need to believe anymore."

"They need to feel themselves again."