Darkness faded slowly.
For a long moment, Rudra did not move.
He simply listened.
The soft rustle of silk. The faint sound of wind touching hanging curtains. Somewhere nearby, the quiet clinking of metal ornaments swaying gently. A fragrance of sandalwood and warm herbs filled the air.
Then—
He opened his eyes.
Golden light greeted him.
Above him hung a beautifully carved mobile of small golden bells and wooden birds, swaying gently above a cradle made of polished sandalwood, decorated with delicate golden carvings of lotus petals and divine beasts.
The cradle itself was soft, lined with white silk so smooth it almost felt unreal.
Rudra blinked.
For a second, the weight of memory and reality clashed.
Then—
He remembered.
He was born.
Again.
And this time...
He was alive.
A small gasp suddenly broke the silence.
"Miss! Look! He is awake—he is awake! He's moving his hands, look!"
A cheerful voice rang through the room.
Rudra turned his tiny head and saw her.
A petite young girl with snow-white hair tied loosely behind her back stood near the cradle, her bright innocent eyes filled with excitement. Her small frame almost bounced with happiness as she leaned over him.
Neha.
Even after lifetimes, he remembered her.
The same maid.
The same girl who had stayed by his mother's side.
Still young.
Still kind.
Still unaware of the storms waiting ahead.
From the large bed near the open window came a soft, slightly tired voice.
"I can't look at him from here, Neha. Bring my baby to me. You can't hoard all his cuteness to yourself."
Her tone was warm, teasing, and filled with affection.
Rudra's chest tightened.
His mother.
Neha smiled brightly.
"Yes, miss!"
She carefully lifted him from the cradle, holding him gently but with visible nervousness, as if carrying something far too precious.
As she walked, Rudra looked toward the bed.
There she was.
His mother sat resting against a large carved wooden backrest, silk pillows supporting her frail body. Her long black hair spilled softly over her shoulders like flowing midnight, slightly messy yet beautiful beyond words. Her pale skin still carried traces of weakness, but her innocent eyes—
Those warm, loving eyes—
Were fixed only on him.
She looked tired.
Too tired.
But she was alive.
And that alone made something inside Rudra finally loosen.
Neha carefully placed him in her arms.
The moment his mother held him, her entire expression softened.
As if the world itself had disappeared.
She pulled him close against her chest and whispered softly,
"There you are..."
Her fingers gently brushed his cheek.
Her warmth surrounded him.
Her heartbeat.
Her scent.
The quiet trembling of someone trying not to cry.
Rudra, for all his past lives, for all his calculations and rage and vengeance...
Could only do one thing.
He hugged her back.
As much as a newborn could.
His tiny hands weakly clutched at her clothes, and small baby noises escaped him.
His mother laughed softly, tears shining faintly in her eyes.
"Oh... look at you..."
For the first time since returning—
Rudra felt peace.
Real peace.
Not strategy.
Not revenge.
Just warmth.
And for a brief moment...
He allowed himself to be only a child.
Some time later, after what Rudra considered the single most embarrassing experience of both his lives—
Breastfeeding—
He lay silently in her arms, refusing to acknowledge reality.
He had faced death.
Gods.
Curses.
The Vaitarani Passage.
But somehow this—
This was worse.
His mother smiled faintly, unaware of the storm inside his tiny soul.
"A letter came from your father."
That caught his attention immediately.
She adjusted him slightly and continued.
"He learned about your safe birth and was overjoyed. He wanted to leave the battlefield and return immediately... but a sudden attack from the Asur clan forced him to stay."
Her fingers gently stroked his hair.
"But don't be sad. You will meet him soon."
Her voice carried pride now.
"He is the strongest and bravest man I know. Grow up like your father—strong... but kind like him."
Rudra's eyes narrowed slightly.
So it was this time.
The war against the Asur clan.
He remembered.
A brutal five-year conflict.
Blood.
Ambushes.
Political manipulation.
And strangely enough—
His father never visited.
Not once.
No letters after this.
No contact.
At the time, child Rudra had thought he was abandoned.
Now?
He knew better.
Something had happened.
Something was wrong.
And someone—
Had made sure distance remained.
His mother smiled again.
"He also sent your name."
She made a playful expression.
"It's far too dominant for my liking... but unfortunately, I lost the bet."
Neha giggled nearby.
His mother looked down at him lovingly.
"So you will be called..."
She paused dramatically.
"Rudra."
Then softly—
"Rudra Shreysth."
Silence.
Then Neha clapped happily.
"Good name, miss! I like it! Young Master Rudra!"
His mother laughed.
"Yes... it suits him."
Rudra remained calm outside.
Inside?
He smirked.
At least Father had good taste.
His mother continued.
"Get ready, little Rudra. Your naming ceremony will be held in ten days. Everyone from the clan will be there."
Her voice softened.
"Your grandfather—the previous patriarch. Every elder. Your father's brothers, your uncles, your aunts..."
Then she hesitated slightly.
"...though there are some differences between them."
Neha awkwardly looked away.
His mother smiled anyway.
"But I'm sure they'll love you. How could they not? You're too cute."
Rudra gave the best innocent baby smile he could manage.
Inside—
He was cold.
Differences?
That was putting it lightly.
They were wolves wearing silk.
Everyone in that clan was tearing at each other for the patriarch's seat.
Smiles outside.
Knives behind backs.
And somewhere among them—
Was the one poisoning his mother.
His eyes darkened slightly.
I'll find you.
But before he could think further—
His baby body betrayed him.
A heavy wave of sleepiness crashed over him.
He internally sighed.
This body is useless.
Neha carefully placed him back into the golden cradle.
The bells above him swayed softly.
And slowly—
Rudra slept.
Night.
Silence ruled the mansion.
Moonlight entered through open windows, painting silver across the room.
Rudra opened his eyes.
No crying.
No movement.
Only focus.
This was his true time.
While everyone slept—
He worked.
He stilled himself and entered meditation.
This time, unlike within the womb, something had changed.
His mother's body no longer restricted him.
He reached outward.
And felt it.
Karmic energy.
Karma-Shakti.
The invisible flow connecting all beings—the essence formed from action, destiny, consequence, and existence itself. And as the wheel showed him to absorb Karma-Shakti he did so. Leaving Panch-Tatva Shakti aside as his soul is already strengthen enough.
Finally.
He could touch it.
It was faint.
Slow.
But real.
Carefully, he began absorbing it.
Tiny strands.
Minute amounts.
Almost laughably little.
But enough.
He guided it carefully toward his Muladhara Chakra, stabilizing the opened point at the base of his spine.
The poison bead remained there.
Silent.
Dangerous.
Watching.
But under control.
Night after night, he repeated the same process.
Tiny gains.
Slow progress.
No shortcuts.
Because survival was built on patience.
And Rudra—
Had learned patience the hard way.
Far away—
Very far away—
Another night burned red.
The battlefield stretched endlessly beneath a blood-colored sky.
Fire.
Smoke.
Steel.
Death.
The land itself seemed soaked in blood.
Thousands clashed beneath torn banners.
On one side—
The army of Rudra's father.
Soldiers clad in deep crimson battle robes, their armor engraved with golden patterns like burning flames. Their bodies radiated fierce red spiritual energy, violent and destructive like living fire.
Their swords glowed.
Their spears burned.
Their battle cries shook the earth.
On the other side—
The Asur clan.
Dark-clothed warriors wrapped in black iron and shadow. Their skin seemed darker under the battlefield flames, faces scarred and brutal, many marked with ritual burns and twisted symbols. Corrosive black-purple energy seeped from their weapons like poison given form.
To these men slaughtering the innocent, raping the children was pure entertainment. They fought for their purpose to serve only one god the non believers to them were less than animals.
Axes.
Chains.
Massive blades.
Cruel laughter.
They did not fight like soldiers.
They hunted.
And at the center of it all—
Stood one man.
Tall.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Rudra's father.
Six feet five inches of controlled violence.
Broad shoulders wrapped in battle armor of crimson steel, his physique powerful yet refined—not bulky, but forged like a blade. His skin was bronze under the battlefield firelight, marked faintly by old scars earned, not displayed.
Sharp jawline.
Straight nose.
Dark thick eyebrows.
Eyes like burning embers—intense, calculating, impossible to lie to.
A trimmed beard framed his face, along with a sharp mustache that only added to the commanding aura around him.
His long black hair was tied behind him, though several loose strands moved with the battlefield wind.
Before him—
Embedded into stone—
Was his sword.
A massive crimson blade with veins of gold running through it, embedded with glowing purple jewels near the hilt.
It did not look elegant.
It looked final.
A weapon made not for beauty—
But for endings.
A soldier approached quickly and knelt.
"Commander!"
The man turned.
"The matriarch has given birth successfully, sir."
Silence.
Then—
Everything about him changed.
The cold battlefield commander disappeared.
Only a man remained.
"A boy?"
The soldier smiled.
"Yes, sir."
For the first time in days—
He smiled.
A real smile.
Warm.
Proud.
Almost disbelieving.
"...I'm a father."
Then immediately—
His expression shifted.
Concern.
"How is she?"
The soldier answered carefully.
"She is weak... and a little sick. But from what I heard... she is safe."
The man's grip on his sword tightened.
"I know her. She hides pain so I won't worry."
His voice lowered.
"It must have been difficult..."
He looked toward the distant sky.
"I should be there."
Silence.
Then quietly—
"I hope he grows quickly enough to protect her."
A bitter smile.
"I know it's unfair to ask that from a baby..."
His gaze turned fierce.
"But I hope he never faces hardship."
The soldier stood straighter.
"Everything will be alright, sir. Your father is still there."
That—
Relaxed him.
He pulled his sword free.
Its crimson light exploded across the battlefield.
Then he roared—
"I AM A FATHER!"
Every soldier turned.
Cheers exploded instantly.
"You have gained a new member of this family!"
His sword pointed toward the enemy.
"Let us clear these damned Asur dogs—and go home to meet him!"
The battlefield erupted.
"For the Young Master!"
"For the Commander!"
"Kill them!"
"Terminate the evil!"
The crimson army surged forward like wildfire.
Even wounded soldiers rose again.
Because tonight—
They fought for more than victory.
They fought for family.
Then—
BOOM.
A massive explosion erupted from the rear battlefield.
The earth cracked.
Soldiers were thrown aside.
The commander's eyes sharpened instantly.
Without hesitation—
He moved.
His sword ignited with terrifying red energy, glowing like molten magma pulled from the heart of the earth.
He leapt.
The ground shattered beneath him.
Straight toward the rear line.
There—
Waited a monster.
Fifteen feet tall.
Massive.
His skin was dark black like burnt stone, corrosive energy constantly leaking from cracks across his body. His muscles looked carved from ruin itself.
In his hands—
A mace.
Larger than men.
Covered in spikes.
Dripping black energy.
The Asur General.
They collided.
Sword.
Mace.
Impact.
The sky split.
Clouds tore apart from the force alone.
A shockwave blasted outward, throwing soldiers from both armies like leaves in a storm.
Dark corrosive energy against violent red destruction.
Deadlock.
Both weapons trembling.
Neither yielding.
The giant grinned cruelly.
The commander looked him into his eyes coldly.
And the battle was just starting
To be continue...