Kalki Hari sat facing the impending cold winds of the north, legs crossed together, as he prayed to Lord Vishnu’s idol. The wind blew harshly, whipping his wavy hair over his scarred face.

He looked up at the grandeur of the stone statue, the tall twenty feet marvel; it had four arms emanating from the muscular torso. One arm held a conch, while the others held a chakra, a mace and a lotus. The statue had a serene face; one you’d think had a determined look about it.

Kalki was dwarfed in front of it, but he didn’t care. He would always be small in front of Lord Vishnu. He chanted, closing his eyes. Cold didn’t seep into him; didn’t set off tremors deep inside his marrow, like it would to another person. He had the patience and drive for it. He had the power of Lord Vishnu in him.

“Be with me.”

And then he opened his eyes.

He stood up on his feet, brushing the snow from his feet, as a parrot casually landed on his bruised shoulder. He patted the bird, lightly scratching its neck. Then he reached out for the Ratna Maru sword, impaled in the frozen glacier. He pulled it out and studied the inscriptions over it. Aside from the obvious mysterious symbols on it, there was something enchanting about it. He sheathed the sword and then went for his horse, mounting it. Patting its head, he firmly grasped the reins and lightly nudged the creature’s flanks. The horse was none other than Devadatta, named after a man he once knew.

The forelimbs of the horse rose up, momentarily blocking out the shape of the rising sun.

He was ready.

Fear now, for he was coming.