The year was 2195.
The sky over Amritsar burned a heavy orange hue, stained by the smoke of collapsing governments and failing nations. Across the world, corruption had eaten through every pillar of society—police forces had fractured, courts sold justice to the highest bidder, and leaders clung to power like dying men clinging to breath.
Cities buzzed with drones, screens, and chaos… but not hope.
Not anymore.
Among the crowds fleeing yet another riot, Arjan Singh, a 22-year-old orphan raised near the old city, walked silently through the broken streets. Unlike others around him, he did not run, cry, or curse the downfall of society.
He had expected this.
His elders had warned him:
"When the world forgets truth, the Khalsa will rise again."
Arjan did not know what that meant or why he felt drawn toward those words—but he felt them pulsing inside his spirit like a heartbeat.
For years he had trained quietly in gatka, immersing himself in history, discipline, and meditation while the world grew darker. He felt something building within him, a calling he could not explain.
And it began today.
As Arjan crossed the cracked marble of a deserted plaza, the air turned silent—unnaturally silent. Even the distant gunfire and sirens faded.
He stopped.
Every hair on his arms rose.
Something was changing.
From the east, a slow vibration rippled through the ground. Not an explosion. Not machinery.Something deeper.
The sky dimmed, clouds converging as if pulled toward a single point above the Akal Takht—its golden dome flickering in the strange light.
Arjan's breath caught.
A voice—calm, steady, and ancient—whispered inside him:
"The world has lost its path.The time has come."
Arjan stumbled back, eyes wide."Who… who's speaking?"
But the voice did not answer.
Instead, a pull—a spiritual force—drew him toward the complex. His legs moved without fear or hesitation, as if guided by destiny itself.
People fled in the opposite direction, terrified by the unnatural glowing clouds. Armed factions patrolled the streets, but none stopped Arjan as he walked with an aura that felt beyond human.
At the gates of the Takht, he found something that made him freeze:
A tall Nihang Singh stood guarding the entrance, blue robes rippling through windless air. His dumalla was heavy with steel, his eyes unblinking—timeless. His presence felt like standing before a mountain.
He looked directly at Arjan.
"As per hukam, you have arrived."
Arjan's heart pounded."Hukam? What hukam? I—I'm nobody."
The Nihang stepped aside, revealing a path lit by a faint spiritual glow.
"You are not nobody," the warrior said."You are chosen."
Arjan swallowed, throat tight."For what?"
The Nihang's expression remained solid, unreadable.
"To walk the path of Amrtipaan… and to awaken the Khalsa that will reshape the future."
Arjan's breath shook.
The world outside was burning.Corruption ruled.Humanity was failing.
But here—here was a doorway into something ancient, powerful, and pure.
With one final look at the collapsing world behind him, Arjan stepped forward.
Into destiny.Into the unknown.Into the beginning of the rise of the Khalsa.