The golden light of dawn spilled across the ancient temples, painting the world in hues of amber and fire. At the heart of the sacred city, where the heavens touched the earth, sat Karma, the Sun Goddess, her fingers weaving threads of radiance into the fabric of existence. Each strand she spun shimmered with the essence of time itself—past, present, and the ever-unfolding future.

For as long as the sun had risen, so too had Karma. She was not mortal, nor was she bound by the passage of years. Her presence was the breath of the cosmos, the pulse of the heavens, the eternal weaver who held the world in balance. The people worshipped her, basked in her warmth, and whispered prayers beneath her gaze.

But they did not know the truth.

“I know your spirit.” Karma addressed the presence, letting the sunlight drape on her naked arms and kiss her stomach, as it reached you.