Chapter 13 – Those Two Colorful Nights
After the Asiri's voice faded from my consciousness, the world did not immediately change. The sea continued its endless breathing; the waves rose and fell as always. The stone temple carved deep into the coastal rock was silent once more. For a moment, I wondered if what I had heard was merely a dream born of devotion and longing.
Then I opened my eyes.
Color returned.
Not slowly, not gradually, but as if a curtain had been torn away. The sea before me deepened into a living blue, with countless layers of color that I could not name. The moonlight spread across its surface like silver and silk, and the veins of ancient crystals gleamed faintly in the dark rock beneath my feet. Even the air felt different—thicker, richer, alive with movement.
For the first time since my rebirth, I could see the world as it truly was.
I did not move. Fearing that even the slightest movement would shatter this clarity, I held my breath. The gray world had been quiet and heavy, but this—this was overwhelmingly different. Color carried emotion. Depth carried meaning. The world felt intimate, close, almost fragile.
That clarity lasted for two days.
On the third dawn, the colors began to fade. The blues dimmed. The shadows deepened. The vibrancy of the world receded, and once again the world became dull and pale, with only faint lines of life clinging beneath the surface of all things. I did not panic. I understood.
The Asiri's blessing was not complete.
It came only on two nights each month—the nights of the full moon and the half-moon. In those nights, the pull of the water stabilized the great darkness within me, allowing my vision to return. On all other days, the gray world persisted, a constant reminder of that balance.
This was neither mercy nor cruelty.
It was a training.
The Supreme Being observed this transformation without uttering a single word at first. He watched me during the colorful nights and the gray days, his keen eyes absorbing every detail. Only after many lunar cycles did he speak.
"The time has come," he said simply.
The time to leave the sea temple.
The time to step into the world's registry.
I was to be taken to the forest fortress where I belonged, to the heart of that shadow-shrouded region. There, my existence would be formally recorded. There, I would be recognized as the next heir to the chieftain of the forest territory.
The weight of those words settled heavily upon me. I was still a child, my body small, my steps uncertain. Yet, the world I inhabited did not wait for me to be ready.
The land beneath our feet was known as the Sea Pearl Continent.
It was vast; surrounded by boundless oceans, and divided by forests, rivers, mountains, and skies teeming with spiritual currents. Long before I was born, the continent was ruled by twelve major clans. Each clan was bound to a fundamental aspect of existence and an animal spirit that embodied its path of development. Together, they formed a living balance, protecting the land from invaders who crossed the seas from unknown worlds.
That balance did not endure because of greed.
Through generations of conflicts, betrayals, and mergers, the number of major clans dwindled. Some fell in battle, others were absorbed, and still others vanished completely, their very names becoming uncertain. Only five major clans remained, powerful enough to shape the destiny of the continent.
The Aazhikudi, the Sea Clan, ruled the southern coasts and the depths beyond. Guided by the Aamai Deivam, the Divine Turtle, they valued endurance, patience, and law above all else. Like their spirit animal, they believed that survival belonged to those who could outlast storms rather than confront them directly. Their traditions were ancient, and their judgments were rarely reversed once made.
The Karaiyur, known as the Dark River Clan, controlled the great rivers that cut through the continent. Their spirit animal, the Neer Naagam (Water Serpent), symbolized adaptability and quiet dominance. They were strategists and planners, rarely ruling openly, yet deeply entangled in trade, alliances, and political currents. Much of the continent moved according to decisions made quietly within their halls.
Above the lands, in high citadels and floating sanctuaries, lived the Vanathar, the Sky Clan. Bound to the mighty Garudan, they mastered wind and lightning, acting as watchers of the heavens. Detached from earthly conflicts, they intervened only when the balance of the skiesor fate itself was threatened.
The mountains belonged to the Kalmalai Clan, guardians of stone and endurance. Their spirit animal, the sacred Yanai(Elephant), embodied patience and immovable will. They believed that true strength lay not in expansion, but in the ability to withstand all pressure without breaking. Their fortresses, carved directly into living rock, had stood unchanged for centuries.
Then there was Sudarvel, the Fire Clan.
Once, they had been one among equals, guided by the fierce Agni Simham, the Flame Lion. Fire was meant to purify, to illuminate, to protect. But under the rise of a cultivator remembered as Suriyan the Unquenched, fire turned into ambition. Sudarvel expanded relentlessly, absorbing weakened clans, seizing territory, and reshaping laws to suit its dominance. What had been a clan became an Empire, and balance gave way to control.
Beneath the major clans existed Seven Minor Clans, scattered across the continent. Five of these aligned themselves with darkness not as evil, but as necessity. These five formed a loose and secretive union known as the Nizhal Kootam, the Shadow Assembly. The Dark Wood was part of this union, existing to contain forces the open world could not acknowledge.
Long ago, when invaders crossed the seas and threatened the continent, the twelve major clans formed an alliance to drive them back. That unity shattered when the external threat vanished and internal ambition took its place. Fire erupted. The balance fell. Seven major clans disappeared from history.
Five clans endured.
The Dark Forest survived only because it operated unseen, hidden from the gaze of empires and alliances.
As the Supreme One led me away from the Sea Temple, towards the winding paths that led into the forest, I felt the weight of this history pressing down on me. I was not dangerous because of my power. I was dangerous because I stood at the intersection of darkness, water, and balance—forces this world preferred to keep separate.
That night, a half-moon rose high above the canopy of trees.
Color returned.
As we began our journey towards the Dark Forest fortress, I looked back at the sea. It shimmered serenely, indifferent to clans, empires, and ambitions. It favored neither rulers nor rebels.
Asiri had granted me vision.
Now this world would be forced to acknowledge my existence.
Whether it wanted to or not.