Scene 1 – The Island and the Prophecy
The wind whispered across the ice-crowned peaks like a voice long forgotten, brushing down over the jagged cliffs and pouring through snow-draped pine forests. To the east, the sea stretched endlessly blue and cold, mirroring the sky until horizon and ocean became one. The sun rarely showed its face here, and when it did, it cast long, haunting shadows over the pale land.
Cradled between these natural titans sea, forest, and ice lay the village of Sthirantar, home to no more than five thousand souls. A thin band of warmth and life pressed between nature's harshest walls.
Its wooden houses stood resilient in rows, their sloped roofs piled with snow like a burden they bore proudly. Thin trails of smoke curled into the sky. Children's laughter was rare. Silence was a more familiar companion.
Memories from Past....
Atop the highest slope overlooking the village, two figures stood beside a carved stone arch, half-buried in snow and old ice.
One was ancient. The Clan Elder, his hair white as the surrounding frost, eyes dulled by time but filled with unreadable weight. His hand rested upon the stone, fingers trailing its forgotten glyphs like one remembering a story buried deep.
The other was Veer, his cloak stiff from the cold, face drawn in worry.
"You saw it again," Veer spoke softly, voice nearly lost in the wind.
The elder did not respond immediately. His breath hung in the air, like incense from a dying flame. Finally, he whispered, "The sky cracked. And something looked back."
Veer's jaw tightened. "You said that dream died with the last solstice."
The elder shook his head. "Dreams don't die. They wait. And when they wake, they demand payment."
Silence wrapped around them.
Below, the village stirred oblivious.
Veer's voice dropped. "Is it… time?"
The elder turned, and for the briefest moment, his eyes gleamed with something fierce, something afraid. "Not yet. But the bridge… the Setu... it stirs. And the child... is already walking toward it."
"The boy?" Veer asked, nearly a whisper.
The elder gave no answer only a slow, grave nod as he looked again to the horizon, where the ocean met sky. There, far beyond the reach of men, the truth waited.
And perhaps, so did the end.
Memory Ends...
—
Scene 2 – The Sentinels' Vigil
Current timeline...
A shrill whistle broke the stillness of morning.
On the southern ridge where pine met stone, two figures crouched low, cloaked in thick fur and wrapped in silence. Their eyes scanned the white expanse below a faint trail of movement carved across the snow by a beast's heavy tread.
"Third trail today," muttered Tarun, wiping snow from his cheek. His nose was red from the cold, but his eyes were sharp, glinting like steel under the dull sun.
Beside him, Ishan raised a single hand and made a silent gesture. His breath came slow, measured. "It's heavier than a ridgeback. Not local. Possibly from beyond the frostline."
Tarun clicked his tongue. "That's twice this week. Something's pushing them toward us."
The two brothers weren't of blood, but they shared a bond deeper than blood. Both had been among the 100 Sentinels since the age of fifteen the select few in the village gifted with heightened senses and instinct. While most could barely see past the falling snow, Ishan could hear the heartbeat of prey beneath ice, and Tarun could sense movement from a mile away through the subtle shift in air pressure.
Overhead, a soft signal echoed across the valley a single beat of a horn. The watchtower was alive.
From the tallest wooden spire near the forest's edge, scouts leaned out with polished lenses, tracking the movement of wild beasts. Below, runners darted across connecting paths, relaying signals from the watchtower guards to the patrol units, who in turn informed the hunting squads already moving to intercept.
Every person moved with purpose. Every gesture was practiced. This was no mere force it was a breathing, sensing machine built from instinct and discipline.
As Ishan and Tarun moved out, blending seamlessly into the snow-covered foliage, they passed other pairs nods exchanged, hand signs whispered between movements.
Beneath the trees, three hunting squad members were already kneeling beside a beast track. One of them, a tall woman with braided silver-streaked hair, touched the mark and whispered, "Fresh. Five minutes at most."
A boy beside her sniffed the air. "Musky. Male. Aggressive."
The lead, a wiry man named Niren, tapped his fingers three times against his chest — a silent command. The team split immediately, moving in a fan formation.
Tarun glanced at Ishan. "Still think we're guarding sheep?"
Ishan gave the faintest smile. "If they were sheep, they wouldn't growl at night."
A low roar echoed faintly through the trees, distant but clear. Not close enough to be a threat but close enough to be heard by those with trained ears.
High above, the watchtower horn beat twice more.
Ishan stood still, his breath slow. "Change in wind. Another one's circling."
Tarun nodded. "We'll need the third patrol to push from the northwest."
The signal was sent with a series of mirrored flashes and hand symbols a silent language understood by the entire force. Within moments, the next team was moving into position. Precision. Trust. Instinct. That was the essence of the Sentinels.
And high on a smaller outpost, near the edge of the ridge, an young man stood silently Veer's younger brother, grey-flecked and scarred from years of watch. He observed everything with quiet pride.
As the squads encircled the approaching threat, no command was shouted. No drumbeat of panic sounded. There was only the quiet pulse of protection old, constant, and unbroken.
At the heart of the village, while the rest remained unaware, the 100 Sentinels kept the wild world at bay.
But not all eyes were on the outside.
From a nearby rock, a boy watched unnoticed, silent.
---
Scene 3 – The Silent Watcher
The wind softened as the sun began to rise higher, casting long golden rays across the snowy expanse. The hunters faded back into the trees, and the rhythmic signals of the watchtowers stilled. The village was calm again, for now.
And in that lull just before the first hearths were lit and morning stew was stirred a single figure stood at the edge of the eastern ridge.
He was small.
Only five years old.
But his presence, somehow, bent the air around him.
Mani stood barefoot on cold stone, facing the sea that stretched endlessly to the east. His black hair fluttered gently in the morning breeze, and his deep blue eyes shimmered, reflecting light in an eerie, almost unnatural way as if they absorbed not just what they saw, but what they sensed.
He was motionless, hands clasped behind his back. His breath didn't shiver. His skin, though pale, didn't betray discomfort. If one looked too quickly, they might miss him entirely but once seen, they wouldn't forget.
Below the ridge, the watchtower lights blinked out one by one. The Sentinels returned to their barracks. The snow stilled.
And Mani… he tilted his head slightly.
A murmur in the wind.
A pressure in his chest.
Nothing visible stirred.
But Mani turned sharply, precisely as if he'd just caught a whisper not meant for him.
From behind a nearby tree, a man watched him. Veer, once the head of the 100, now little more than a muttering hermit, his eyes wild with memory and madness. His cracked hands held no weapon. Only a piece of dried fruit. He didn't speak. He never did when he looked at Mani like this.
And Mani, as always, said nothing in return.
He didn't know where he'd come from. Only that he'd been found half-frozen near the old ruins, wrapped in silence and stars.
But Veer's eyes unblinking, half-broken always held one thing when he looked at the boy.
Recognition.
The wind blew again.
This time Mani closed his eyes. Just for a moment.
Then the village bell rang breakfast fire.
And the boy turned, walking down the snowy path.
Back into the world that knew nothing about Avya-Saar Setu…
Not yet.
—
Chapter 01 Ends here
Knock knock :
Sthirantar - Village surrounded by sea, ice-mountain and forest covered in snow, inhabitants for 5000 people.
Elder - Leader of Sthirantar
Sentinels - 100 selected people with highest sense, the guardian of the sleeping village.
Veer - Previous leader of Sentinels now a mad man.
Niren - Leader of Hunting squad one, Heightened reflex and hearing
Tarun - Heightened smell and heat change, Age 17, Tower guard, youngest in Sentinels
Ishan - Heightened vision and awareness, Age 19, Tower guard, Veer's younger brother
Mani - Age 5, Found half frozen at age of 3 months.
Mind Here:
Avya - from Sanskrit word Avyaakta means beyond perception, invisible or unmanifested.
Saar - from Sanskrit meaning essence, core or true-nature.
Setu - from Sanskrit meaning bridge
Shitranter - from Sanskrit meaning Cold Passage or Frozen Within
Avya-saar - Hidden essence of invisible world.