The night had settled over the ancient forest like a heavy cloak, its silence almost unnatural. The trees stood tall, their twisted branches swaying slightly in the cold breeze, whispering secrets lost to time. The sky above shimmered with countless stars, each a silent witness to the events unfolding below. The fire crackled, sending tendrils of smoke spiraling into the night air, their forms dissipating like forgotten memories.
Shivansh lay near the embers, staring upward, his mind a turbulent sea of thoughts. The battle, the journey, the revelations—each weighed heavily upon him, pressing against the fragile boundary between exhaustion and resolve. Yogi had told them to rest, to prepare for what lay ahead.
"Tomorrow, the sun will rise not just as a new day, but as a reckoning for your destiny."
The words echoed in Shivansh's mind, refusing to fade, anchoring themselves deep within him. His breathing steadied, his body surrendered to exhaustion, but his mind drifted beyond the confines of the present—beyond the forest, beyond time itself.
---
The air was thick with the acrid scent of fire and blood. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the once serene sky now roared with an eerie red glow. He stood at the heart of a battlefield, its essence both foreign and disturbingly familiar. The clash of steel resounded in the distance, war cries rising and falling like waves crashing upon a shattered shore. The ruins of what had once been a grand city lay in smoldering disarray, ash and embers floating like fireflies in the suffocating air.
His hands trembled, gripping a sword that was not his own. Its hilt, wrapped in aged leather, felt like an extension of his very soul. Across the battlefield, figures moved like shadows in a storm—warriors clad in armor etched with symbols long forgotten by history. And then, amidst the chaos, his gaze locked onto one figure.
A warrior—tall, draped in golden armor, his eyes alight with an ethereal fire. There was something divine about him, an aura of both immense power and unfathomable purpose. His every movement was precise, his every strike a perfect balance of destruction and salvation. And yet… his face remained obscured, as though the vision itself refused to unveil his identity.
Shivansh took a step forward, his boots sinking into the blood-soaked earth. He knew he was not merely a spectator. He was meant to be here. Meant to witness something beyond his understanding.
The warrior turned. Their eyes met. And in that instant, Shivansh felt it—a surge of energy coursing through his veins, ancient and raw, something that recognized him as much as he recognized it. The warrior's lips moved, but his words were lost amidst the chaos. Still, Shivansh understood. This was not just any battle. This was the battle—one that had shaped the very fabric of history in ways unrecorded by mortal hands.
The vision wavered, shifting like sand caught in a tempest. The battlefield faded, and suddenly, he stood before a grand temple—its towering pillars cracked with age yet untouched by time. The colossal doors, inscribed with celestial glyphs, groaned open as if acknowledging his arrival.
He stepped inside.
The air within was thick, heavy with an energy that made his skin prickle. Torches burned with blue flames, casting flickering shadows that seemed to whisper his name. At the far end of the temple stood a grand pedestal, and atop it rested a sword—not just any sword, but one that radiated power, history, and an undeniable sense of destiny.
As he approached, a voice emerged—clear, commanding, reverberating through the very marrow of his bones.
"Awaken, descendant."
His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the hilt. The moment his skin met the ancient weapon, a searing pain tore through him—not of the flesh, but of the soul. The world fractured. Reality itself seemed to unravel, and a flood of memories that were not his own surged through him. Battles fought, oaths sworn, sacrifices made—all tied to him in ways he could not yet fathom.
And then—
A blinding light erupted from the sword, engulfing him entirely.
---
Shivansh jolted awake, gasping, his heart pounding like a war drum against his ribcage. The fire had burned low, reduced to glowing embers, yet the night remained unchanged—silent, unmoving. His fingers tingled, as if they had truly touched something beyond this world. His breath came in ragged pulls, his mind racing with fragments of the vision that refused to fade.
Beside him, Lucky stirred, mumbling something incoherent before rolling over. But Yogi… Yogi was already awake, watching him from across the dying fire with an unreadable expression.
"You saw something, didn't you?" Yogi's voice was calm, but there was a knowing edge to it.
Shivansh swallowed, his throat dry. "It… it felt real. More than a dream. There was a warrior, a battlefield… and a sword. I could feel it, Yogi. Like it was calling to me."
Yogi exhaled, rising to his feet. The fire's glow cast deep shadows across his sharp features. "You are awakening, Shivansh. This place—the temple we seek—it is not merely a sanctuary. It is a threshold. A bridge between what you were and what you are meant to become."
Shivansh ran a hand through his hair, struggling to steady himself. "And the voice? It called me 'descendant.' What does that mean?"
Yogi was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond, towards the unseen temple hidden deep within the forest. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "It means that your past… and your destiny… are far greater than you have ever imagined."
The weight of those words settled over Shivansh like a gathering storm. He glanced down at his hands, still feeling the phantom touch of the celestial sword. Something within him had been unlocked tonight.
And tomorrow, when the sun rose, he knew he would no longer be the same.
The true journey had only just begun.
As the fire crackled faintly, Yogi's voice broke the silence once more, softer this time, almost reassuring. "Rest now, Shivansh. Your body needs it. The trials ahead will not be easy."
Shivansh nodded, though he knew sleep would not come easily. The weight of his vision, the call of destiny—it all loomed too heavily upon him. Yet, he closed his eyes, allowing the murmurs of the forest to lull him into a restless slumber.
Tomorrow would bring answers.