Thunders roared through the storm-soaked night, a predatory growl rolling across the rain-drowned world.
The dark rainy clouds and the thunderous noisy night seemed like it wanted to unfold an untold strings of the hidden mysterious it has been hiding inside it.
KA-BOOM
A loud thunderclap suddenly burst high above the riverbank out of nowhere, a jagged rift of obsidian light tore through the clouds, spitting out a solitary figure into the freezing rain.
Harsha, a celestial warrior drenched in blood, struck the muddy earth with a bone-jarring thud. His metallic armor clattered against the river stones, the sound swallowed by the rush of the Kalindi River as he rolled down from the muddy cliff of the river bank, desperately shielding the lotus-weave basket in his arms.
He clutched the basket to his chest as if it were the last anchor in a drowning world. Inside, the infant lay in an unnerving silence, his wide eyes reflecting the lightning with a clarity that no ordinary human infant possess.
"There! The scent of the baby coming from that swamp!" a voice hissed from the treeline.
Three Chhaya-Asuras—wraiths of shadow and jagged bone—slid out from the mist. They moved with a sickening, liquid grace, their curved blades dripping with a soul-corroding venom. They saw a dying man a broken gatekeeper and a prize that would grant them eternal darkness.
"I guess he is dead" one asura muttered with sharp impatient voice.
"No he can't be" the head asura snapped back "he is got a tougher skin than that, he wouldn't die so easily. If anything he is either unconscious or too weak to do anything after got strucked by that cursed dagger".
Listening the asuras voices of assumptions above. Harsha didn't move. He decided to still lay facedown in the silt, his breath shallow, appearing as nothing more than a fresh corpse.
"Whatever it is," another Asura growled, "be careful."
The lead Asura stepped closer, its clawed foot stopping just inches from Harsha's head. Than he leaned down, A rasping laugh escaped its lipless mouth, thick with mockery looking at him.
Harsha opened his eyes abruptly as he sense him above him.
Than, in a heartbeat, his corpse appearing body exploded into motion.
Harsha pivoted on his shoulder, his hand blurring toward the sword at his hip. There was no sound of a blade being drawn—only the deafening crack of displaced air. A crescent of blinding gold light swept through the rain. The lead Asura didn't even have time to shriek before its torso was vaporized into black ash.
The other two hissed in terror, Before they could recoil, Harsha was already among them. He moved with a grace that defied his wounds. He lunged, thrusting the heavy blade through the second demon's throat, and with a fluid twist of his wrist, he decapitated the third. The entire skirmish lasted less than five seconds. Three shadows had arrived; three piles of smoldering soot remained, washed away instantly by the rising river. the third was pinned to a banyan tree by a burst of pure energy before dissolving into ash.
Silence returned to the riverbank, save for the frantic beating of Harsha's heart. He stumbled toward the water, his vision tunneling. He knew the rift wouldn't stay closed for long.
Harsha collapsed back onto one knee, using the sword as a crutch. Exhausted and fatally wounded, his metalic armor was fading, turning dull as his life-force ebbed away. He looked at the basket. The child was safe, but he knew the scent of the blood would bring more.
"I cannot carry you further, my boy," he gasped, harsha realising his body was fatally wounded and doesn't possess much strength needed to walk towards his destiny.
"I have to use the current of the water to reach my destiny"he whispered to himself.
He forced himself back into the churning water keeping the lotus bucket above his head to keep it safe and dry as much as possible, started wading across the treacherous flowing currents until he reached the far bank.
Through sheets of relentless rain, a flickering yellow lantern shone from across the churning black throat of the Kalindi River, guiding him toward a small but sturdy stone farmhouse. It was the home of Nand Verman—his old brother-in-arms and a great soldier and companion.
Harsha's gaze suddenly falls upon the coming light of the lantern.
"He is there" he whispered as he recognised the place of his friend.
With what little strength remained, he started dragged himself from the rushing water slowly cutting through the waterflow, his body trembling as it met solid ground as he finally came out of the river.
Through blurred vision, he caught sight of his friend's house standing ahead—unchanged, visibly recognisable, slowly and steadily he limped forward with the basket now holding in his left hand, breath tearing from his chest, the cost of traveling between worlds without rest.
By the time he reached the porch, his strength was spent completely.
He stopped at the door gate of the porch and took a pause with a deep breath than he knelt and gently lowered the lotus-woven basket to the ground, his hands shaking uncontrollably. For a long moment, there was only silence. Then a soft shivering whimper escaped the infant's lips—the first fragile sound, the first sign of proof that he was alive.
Bringing a smile, filled with relief on harsha's face.
From his belt, Harsha drew a double edged sword. He wedged its heavy, humming hilt into the side of the lotus basket, anchoring it against the wooden door. The runes on the blade pulsed once, twice, and then went dark, disguising itself as common iron.
"Grow well, my little ember," Harsha whispered calmly with his final words, He pressed a bloody thumbprint onto the boy's swaddling clothes giving him his last imprint of shadow.
Then, like mist caught in a morning sun, Harsha turned and walked into the darkness. By the time he reached the treeline, there was nothing left of him but a few shimmering droplets of blood on the grass leaking from his wounds.
Inside the house, the heavy thud of the sword hilt and crying voice of a baby had woken Nand Verman. He woke up suddenly with a rush on his face from his bed beside his sleeping wife, and than walk towards the gate, unbolted the door upon reaching, his lantern casting a long, nervous shadow across the porch.
"Who's there?" Nand called out, looking here and there, than suddenly look beneath the door gate and saw something which left him in amusement, he didn't see the baby first; he saw the sword. He recognized the lion-headed pommel instantly. It was a relic of his old friend whom he had not seen for a while.
"Nand... is that...?" his wife, Smita.
"Where and why the crying voice of a baby coming out of our house" whispered from the shadows of the hallway as she was coming outside to see herself.
Nand knelt, his rough, hardened hands shaking as he looked into the basket. There lay a boy with a serpent symbol on his wrist, and eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of the stars.
"It's harsha's son," Nand whispered loudly, his voice cracking under a sudden, terrible weight filled with joy. He turned his head back towards Smita as she was coming "do you remember about my old friend I told you of... he's left us his most precious gift, Smita. He has left us his entire world."
Smita stepped onto the porch to see what he was showing with such amusement, the initial shock in her eyes softening the moment she saw the child. The baby's face was a picture of innocence amidst the storm. Without a word, she ignored the biting chill of the rain and scooped him into her arms. The infant's tiny fingers instantly locked onto her sleeve, anchoring himself to her.
"No," she said, her voice turning fierce and protective as she looked at her husband. "Don't speak like he has left us a burden. He's left us a son. And we will keep him as our own."
"I didn't meant that " verman snapped.
She looked down at the child, then back at Nand, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.
"But... why would he left him here, on a doorstep in the rain? Is the condition of the Devlok truly so dire? Is the Realm of Light no longer safe for its own children?"
"I fear so," Nand snapped, his eyes darting to the dark treeline. "There is only one reason Harsha would have choosen the mortal world over the Devlok."
"And that is?" Smita asked, her gaze hardening.
"As much as I dread to believe it," he whispered, "the dark powers must have infiltrated the Devlok. They hold dominance there now. The Great Shadow would silence his future slayers before they ever grew old enough to challenge him. Harsha has sent the boy here to hide him from a wrath that knows no bounds."
"Then let the shadows watch," Smita declared, pressing the child close to her chest. She gently wrapped him in her shawl, drying his tiny body as maternal warmth seeped through the damp fabric. "From this moment on, he is ours. Your friend entrusted us with his life—and we will not fail him."
With those words, she turned and carried the baby inside.
Nand remained where he stood, watching her disappear into the room. A faint, fleeting smile touched his lips. Seeing Smita's quiet joy—softened the jagged edge of fear lodged in his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps the worst had passed.
Then something stirred in his mind.
Nand turned sharply toward the Kalindi River, his eyes straining beyond its churning waters, searching the dark canopy and dense thickets lining the forest beyond. Rain blurred his vision—but there was nothing. No movement. No sign. Only silence.
Slowly, dread settled in.
Nand stood alone on the porch as rain lashed against his face, he looked out at the river one last time, The Kalindi flowed on, carrying away secrets it would never return.
Harsha was long gone.
He turned his attention back to the weapon wedged into the threshold. It was a massive sword that seemed to absorb the dim light of his lantern. He reached out and gripped the handle.
The moment his skin touched the leather-bound grip, a jolt of energy surged through his arm, He pulled the blade free from the porch wood.
"What are you?" Nand whispered.
As if in response, the sword began to glow. A deep, thrumming heat radiated from the steel, and the dried blood of the Asuras still clinging to the edge began to evaporate into white mist. Beneath the surface of the metal, glowing runes began to crawl like living embers, forming a script.
The hidden message appears.
"The cycle is restored. The blood of the cosmic entity has returned to the soil. This child is the Seventh Seal, the Vessel of the Eternal, the Avatar reborn. Protect him, for the Shadow seeks the heart of the sun."
Nand's breath hitched. He realised he is not holding an ordinary boy, he is holding a savior of the realms itself. The sword pulsed once more, and a final line appeared at the very base of the hilt, near the crossguard:
"His name is Arjun. Let the world see an ordinary boy, until the day the Avatar must wake."
The light faded, leaving the blade dull. Nand stood in the darkness, trembling. He looked at the door where Smita had already taken the boy inside.
He walked inside the home to the bedroom where both of them were resting on the bed.
"Arjun," he murmured
"Sleep well, little prince. A world full of mysteries awaits you for the future."
Author: Suvendu Kumar Nath
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