The early dawn crept in slowly, casting silvery beams through the dense foliage that covered the ancient jungle. The forest, once veiled in night's silence, now stirred with the quiet hum of awakening life. Birds began to chirp in cautious melodies, and a cool wind swept over the camp like a gentle omen of things to come.
Shivansh sat alone by the dwindling embers of the fire, his eyes wide open—yet they were not looking at the world before him. They stared through it, into the space where dreams and reality had bled together only hours ago.
The warrior in gold, the battlefield drenched in fire and fate, the sword that wasn't just a weapon but a calling—none of it had left him.
He could still feel the energy pulsing through his veins. Not his own, but something far older, far deeper. A legacy coded into his soul.
Footsteps crunched softly behind him. Yogi approached with a measured calm, his aura grounded, as though nothing in the world could shake him. He didn't speak right away—he simply sat beside Shivansh, watching the horizon slowly ignite in hues of orange and crimson.
"It's always quietest before a soul transforms," Yogi finally said.
Shivansh didn't respond at first. His voice came out only after a long pause. "What am I, Yogi?"
Yogi turned slightly, his gaze intense but not unkind. "You're not asking who. You're asking what. That means your awakening has begun."
Shivansh nodded faintly. "I saw… someone. Not a man. A being. Radiant. A warrior surrounded by chaos. His eyes—they burned like stars. And when I looked into them… I felt like he saw everything I was. Everything I could be."
"The warrior of the First Flame," Yogi said solemnly. "The one whose blood courses through your lineage. Your dream wasn't just memory—it was ancestral resonance. A glimpse into a truth the world has long forgotten."
Shivansh's fists clenched. "Why me?"
"Because the blood remembers," Yogi said. "And now, so will you."
Behind them, Lucky stirred with a yawn. "Damn, you two are way too intense for sunrise. Can't we do the whole 'mystical destiny' thing after breakfast?"
Yogi stood, brushing off his robes. "We begin today. But not with weapons. Not with strength. First—we seek understanding."
Lucky groaned. "Knew I should've taken that vacation."
They packed quickly, the air charged with unspoken tension. There was something in the forest now… a subtle shift. As if the world itself was holding its breath, watching them.
Hours passed as they trekked deeper into the heart of the jungle. The canopy grew denser, sunlight barely breaking through. Vines clung to ancient stone markers, cracked and half-swallowed by time. The path was no longer worn by feet—it was a memory, hidden from all but those meant to find it.
And then… they saw it.
The Temple of Malyavan.
An immense structure carved directly into the mountain face, framed by trees so massive their roots stretched like veins across the earth. The stone was etched with divine glyphs—symbols not just of protection, but of judgment. Two colossal statues stood guard at the base of the steps—one of a lion, the other of a bow-wielding warrior whose gaze felt alive.
Shivansh halted mid-step. His breath hitched.
He could feel it. A presence. A hum beneath the air itself. The same energy that had flowed through his dream now surrounded him—pulsing in the very stones of the temple, whispering from the cracks in its walls.
"This is it," Yogi said, voice hushed with reverence. "This is where Lord Rama spent years of his exile. Where Sita performed her daily worship. And here… is where the divine began their preparation for the great war."
Shivansh turned slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everything… feels alive."
Yogi nodded. "Because it is. This is no ordinary temple. Every beast, every bird that lives within these grounds carries a fragment of divinity. Even the wind that brushes your skin is sacred."
They stepped through the entrance, where light was replaced by shadows. Yet those shadows didn't feel dark. They felt ancient. Protective.
Lucky looked around, visibly spooked. "I feel like if I say anything stupid here, lightning's gonna hit me."
"You're not wrong," Yogi said dryly.
Inside, the temple seemed to breathe. The walls were carved with murals—scenes from a forgotten past. Shivansh saw depictions of battles fought not just with weapons, but with celestial power. He saw a woman—graceful, radiant—standing at an altar. Sita.
And he saw a young warrior practicing beside a bow that burned like fire—Lakshman.
"This is where they prepared," Yogi said, his voice echoing faintly through the chamber. "Not just to fight a war… but to carry the burden of dharma. And now, so must you."
Shivansh looked at him, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "But I don't know who I am anymore."
Yogi stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's why we're here. To help you remember—not just with your mind, but with your spirit."
They explored deeper, through winding stone corridors and sanctified halls until they reached an inner sanctum—circular, silent, with a high domed ceiling. In its center was a stone platform, covered in faded inscriptions. Above it hung a lantern, its flame still flickering after what could have been centuries.
Yogi turned to him. "This is where you begin. Not with swords. But with silence. Sit here. Meditate. Let the temple speak."
Shivansh looked unsure, but he obeyed.
The moment he sat, a change came over the room. The wind fell still. The torches dimmed.
And the silence… deepened.
Inside that quiet, something shifted within him. Not a sound, not a voice—a pull. A weightless sensation, like being submerged in time itself. He closed his eyes.
Visions came—not as dreams, but as echoes.
He saw glimpses of his own past… but not as he remembered. A boy crying under the stars. A blade held with trembling hands. A prayer whispered not to any god, but to something within.
And then—deeper memories. Not his own.
A battlefield lit by arrows of flame.
A temple crumbling under divine power.
A promise made before a celestial throne.
"Protect the world, even if the world forgets you."
The voice again. Clearer now. Stronger.
"You are not the first. But you must be the last."
Shivansh's eyes snapped open.
He wasn't trembling anymore.
He stood slowly, his breath controlled, his body calm. Something had changed. The shadows seemed lighter now. The air is warmer. The temple… welcomed him.
Yogi nodded slowly. "You heard them."
Shivansh didn't speak. He simply looked at his hand, where a faint glow now danced just beneath the skin—an ember of something vast, waiting to be unleashed.
Lucky blinked. "Okay, that's new."
Shivansh turned to them both, his voice steady. "I saw them. The ones who came before. The bloodline of flame. They fought to protect the balance… and now I carry that fire."
Yogi exhaled deeply, a small smile forming. "Then the temple has accepted you. From this moment forward… you are no longer just Shivansh."
Lucky grinned. "Damn right he's not. He's freaking Chosen One level now."
But Shivansh didn't smile.
Because deep within, beneath the awakening strength and new-found purpose, he could still feel it—a shadow.
Watching. Waiting.
Something had seen his awakening. And it had begun moving.
Somewhere far away, in a realm where darkness bled through the cracks of time, a figure cloaked in void opened its eyes.
"The heir has awakened," it hissed.
And the hunt… had begun.