The sky burned red.
Ash fell like snow as screams echoed through a battlefield lit with flames. Blades clashed. The metallic stench of blood mixed with the sound of war cries and the growl of something... inhuman. Amid the chaos, a lone warrior stood, his back scorched, his breath shallow, his weapon dripping with fire and fury.
His eyes—glowing, wild—searched for something. Or someone.
Then he heard it. A voice, ancient and deep, like thunder in a cave:
"You are not finished yet, Shatrantak..."
Before he could react, a searing pain shot through his chest. He looked down to see a blade—black, jagged, and glowing with an eerie blue—piercing through him. His body collapsed. His eyes rolled back. Darkness swallowed the world.
And then—
Light.
"Rivu! Wake up, beta… paratha's getting cold, come before I stop warming it up!"
Rivet jolted awake, his breath sharp and heart pounding like a war drum. His room, small and cluttered with books and clothes, was quiet except for the distant clatter of utensils and his mother's voice from the kitchen.
He rubbed his eyes and looked around, disoriented. It took a few seconds to remind himself that he wasn't in some burning warzone—just his cramped room in a middle-class Delhi apartment.
He sighed, a soft smile forming. Only maa still called him that — Rivu.
To the world, he was Rivet. But to her, he was still that little boy who needed reminders to eat.
Dragging himself out of bed, he walked to the mirror and stared at his reflection. The dream still clung to him like smoke—his pulse still racing, palms still slightly sweaty. This wasn't the first time he'd had that nightmare. But today… it had felt real. Too real.
He couldn't shake the voice.
"You are not finished yet, Shatrantak..."
Who the hell was Shatrantak?
At school, things didn't get better. During history class, right when the teacher was ranting about ancient Indian warfare, something strange happened. Rivet felt a vibration—no, a hum—right inside his ears. Like the beat of a drum. Fast, rhythmic, primal.
His pen slipped from his fingers. His eyes lost focus. The room blurred for a moment.
"Rivet!" the teacher barked. "Care to join us in class or are you meditating?"
The whole class chuckled.
Rivet blinked rapidly, embarrassed. "Sorry, sir."
"Stand outside. Maybe the hallway can teach you history better."
As he stood in the corridor, arms folded and head buzzing, the only thought that echoed in his mind was:
"What's happening to me?"
He didn't know yet…
But the fire had been lit.
And something—someone—was awakening.