Capítulo 13: Anshs Trial: The Pond of Eternity
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Ansh gasped for breath, but there was no air to grasp—only the cold, merciless water surrounding him. The deep pond stretched endlessly in all directions, and the weight of it pressed down on his chest like a crushing mountain. Every instinct screamed at him to fight, to struggle for the surface, but no matter how hard he pushed upward, the water resisted.
It felt alive, almost conscious, as though it was testing him. His limbs grew heavier with each passing second, his muscles straining against the oppressive pull of the depths. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind. His vision blurred, dark spots swirling at the corners, as his lungs burned with the desperate need for air.
The trial of the Pond of Eternity was designed to break even the strongest of wills. It wasn't just about surviving the physical torment; it was about enduring the mental and emotional battle that came with being submerged in a space that seemed to erase time itself. The water wasn't just a barrier. It was a mirror of his soul, reflecting his doubts, fears, and insecurities.
Ansh had faced many challenges before, but this was different. The cold silence of the water made him feel utterly alone. No one was here to cheer him on, no one to tell him that he could make it. It was just him, and the water that seemed to whisper of his inevitable failure.
"Why do you fight?" a voice echoed in his mind, faint and distant. "What is it you seek? What makes you worthy?"
His thoughts spiraled. He had no answer. What made him worthy? What was he doing here? The weight of his past mistakes, his insecurities, and his doubts pressed down on him, just as the water pressed on his chest.
As the pressure built, his limbs slowed. The surface, which once seemed within reach, was now distant, blurred, as if it were miles away. He could feel himself slipping deeper into the abyss, his will to fight fading with every moment. His heartbeat slowed, and his consciousness teetered on the edge of collapse. His body screamed for relief, for breath, but none came.
Just as his strength began to falter completely, a flicker of something different stirred within him. It wasn't hope—not exactly—but a pull, a shift in his mind, as though he were being called elsewhere.
Suddenly, the crushing darkness of the water gave way to light.
In a flash, his mind transported him to a scene far removed from the cold, oppressive depths of the pond. He found himself standing by a small, tranquil body of water under a clear sky, surrounded by tall, swaying trees. The contrast was jarring, but familiar. He had seen this place before.
But it wasn't him standing there—it was someone else.
A young man, no older than himself, dressed in simple clothing, his hands rough and scarred from years of hard labor. His face was lined with worry, his shoulders sagging under the weight of a burden that Ansh could feel, but not quite understand. Ansh watched as the man—Neeraj—knelt by the edge of the pond, his lips moving in a prayer that was silent yet filled with desperation.
Ansh could feel it—the longing, the fear, the need for salvation. It was as though Neeraj's emotions were being channeled directly into his own heart, and for a brief moment, Ansh forgot the trial entirely. He wasn't in the depths anymore. He was here, in this man's life, seeing and feeling what Neeraj had experienced.
Neeraj's village had been dying, the drought leaving them with nothing. No crops, no water. He had come to this sacred pond as a last resort, offering his life in exchange for the survival of his people. Ansh could feel the weight of Neeraj's sacrifice as if it were his own.
Days passed in the vision, and Neeraj grew weaker, but he remained at the pond's edge, his prayers never faltering. Each night, the cold bit into his skin, and each day, the sun scorched him, yet Neeraj did not move. By the seventh day, Neeraj's body was thin, his strength nearly gone, and his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke his final prayer.
And then the pond responded.
Ansh watched in awe as the water shimmered and rose—not as rain from the sky, but as life from the depths. It flowed outward, spreading across the land, soaking the dry earth, saving the crops, and restoring life to the village. But in return, the pond claimed Neeraj.
Ansh felt a tug, and suddenly, Neeraj was pulled into the depths of the pond, just as he had been. Ansh's heart raced as he felt the water closing over Neeraj, submerging him in its cold embrace. But Neeraj did not die. No, instead, he was transported to a realm far beyond the physical world, a realm of endless water, where the challenges that awaited him were beyond anything a human could endure.
There, Neeraj faced storms that could swallow worlds, waves that towered higher than mountains, and whirlpools that threatened to tear him apart. Yet, through each trial, Neeraj endured. Each time he was beaten down, he rose again, his will unbroken, his resolve stronger.
Ansh felt a lump form in his throat as he watched Neeraj's journey unfold. The man had been human, just like him. He wasn't born a god. He achieved godhood through sacrifice, through perseverance, through mastering something no human should be able to control. Neeraj had learned to bend water to his will, not through force, but through understanding—through becoming one with it.
The voice from before echoed in his mind once more, clearer this time: "Only the worthy can unite the waters and become the divine heir."
The vision faded, and Ansh was pulled back into the present, into the cold, crushing depths of the trial. But something had changed. He was still submerged, the water still pressed down on him, but Neeraj's story lingered in his mind. It filled him with a strange sense of peace, and for the first time since the trial began, Ansh felt a flicker of control.
The trial wasn't about overpowering the water. It was about understanding it. About becoming one with it.
Ansh closed his eyes and focused, not on fighting the water, but on feeling it. He let the panic fade, replacing it with a calm focus. He imagined the scattered ponds in the depths around him, not as separate forces, but as one. His mind stretched, connecting with the water as though it were an extension of himself.
Slowly, the water responded. The pressure eased, and Ansh felt a gentle current forming around him. It was small at first, but it grew stronger as he concentrated. He wasn't forcing it—he was guiding it.
But the strain was immense. His body was at its limit, and his mind wavered. The crushing weight began to return, and he could feel his control slipping.
Everything faltered.
The water began to rebel, slipping from his grasp, pulling him back into the depths. Ansh felt his strength leave him completely, and as the darkness crept in, he knew he was moments from losing consciousness.
In those final moments, as his mind began to fade, the last thought that crossed his mind was Neeraj's sacrifice. He remembered how Neeraj had given everything for those he loved, how he had fought against impossible odds, not for glory, but for something greater.
Ansh's lips moved, barely a whisper, as the water closed over him once again.
"Finally... someone who understands me."
The words weren't his—they belonged to Neeraj. But as they echoed in his mind, they became his own, a final spark of determination that kept him holding on, even as the darkness claimed him.
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