Samuel Yadav, one of the greatest young scientific minds in the world, held dual Ph.D.s in Physics and Biology from the prestigious Caltech. At just twenty-three, he had been a guest lecturer at Oxford and was a likely future contender for the Nobel Prize. He also had provided the military with three years of part-time service, specifically contributing to the weapon development department during his Ph.D pursuit. Yet in this moment, none of that mattered. As he plummeted from the icy cliffs of Mount Kailash, he saw his life flash before his eyes.
"Arrogance brings down even deities," he thought bitterly. "I'm just a mortal."
Wind howled around him as gravity dragged him toward certain death. He could see the mountain peak growing smaller behind him. The mission was reckless—he had attempted to prove the presence of thorium deposits in the sacred, snow-capped mountains of Kailash. If successful, it would have won him fame, fortune, and scientific glory. Maybe even a Nobel. After all, developing an instrument that can detect the presence of radioactive material from thousands of kilometers is a great invention in itself.
But he was no expert mountaineer, nor did he have excess money to hire helicopters and thorium, though radioactive, not so precious for the government to invest money in his venture. Without access to helicopters or elite gear, he had climbed with local guides. Something had gone wrong. Now he was falling.
The most foolish thing was that he wanted to win a novel prize or at least be recognized by a scientific society to show off in front of his Girlfriend's father.
As the wind tore past his ears, his mind wandered—not to science or equations, but to memories of friends, his grandmother, and her stories. "I should've made more friends," he thought. "In the end, nothing matters more than family."
Just before everything went dark, he glimpsed something impossible—a colossal trident shining above the mountain, and the distant echo of the Maha Mrityunjaya mantra.
***
Far away, beyond time and space, in the continent of Thalorath, within a crumbling palace in the county of Velmark, a one-year-old child stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, consciousness blooming like a fragile spark. He raised a tiny hand, marveling at it. Then he heard soft crying. Turning his head, he saw a woman in tattered medieval-style clothes, her face bruised and bloodied.
She smiled through the pain. "Young master Atharv, I've brought the potion. Your fever will pass soon."
Warmth filled her voice. But the boy—no, the soul or consciousness of Samuel—felt unease. Who was she? Where was he? This wasn't heaven. The furnishings were antique. Maybe a hospital? A dream?
No. This felt too real. When he woke again later, the woman was gently feeding him something bland. The taste was unfamiliar, lacking spice.
"This isn't a dream, is it?" he thought. "Am I... reincarnated?"
Despite the absurdity, it was the only explanation that fit. And he still had all his memories. "Did the gods forget to erase them? Skipped the river Lethe, did I? Or forgot to give me Soup of forgetfulness!
"This is good! almost a god given blessing!" The child thought.
A sly grin tugged at his lips. "With my knowledge, I'll rule this world."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Don't smile like that, my dear. People will think you're evil."
Somehow, he understood her—even though the language was unfamiliar. It must have seeped into his consciousness since birth.
As days passed, she told him stories every night—stories of his parents, told with a love and urgency that hinted she feared he might forget them.
But he didn't care about those unseen parents. To him, she was everything.
He noticed how the other servants treated her. He often heard her begging, sometimes being struck. Once, a voice shouted:
"How dare a filthy maid steal food from the noble kitchen!"
The woman, defiant, replied, "The young master is heir to House Ignis. He deserves spirit milk."
A loud slap. Then the butler's snarling voice:
"That cursed child needs nothing. He should've been left to die. Only you, slave, protect him. Maybe I should kill you and let the brat starve."
The boy could do nothing but listen. Later, he heard the butler whispering in the dark:
"It's not impossible, but you'll have to give me something."
"What do you want?" she asked in a trembling voice.
"What every man wants."
He would never forget that night. The cruelty. The sacrifice. He hated being powerless. But most of all, he admired her.
Six months passed. He could now crawl and sit upright. Her joy at these tiny milestones was radiant. Still, he didn't know her name.
Almost every day she would tell him a story about how his father and mother met as if she wanted Atharv to imprint it in his memory.
As far as Atharva recalled from what he heard from the girl, both his father and mother were dead. His mother was from a mixed breed, which the Ignis family did not accept. During childbirth, some complications occurred, and she died when he was born. As per the girl, his mother could have been saved, but his grandpa denied a potion, saying it's a waste to use it on a Mixblood and a cursed child.
But he has no affection for his mother or father. All he wanted was to know the name of a girl who had gone through everything for him. If he had not heard about his mother's death from her, he almost could have agreed that he was the bastard child between her and his father. After all, such treatment without blood relation was unheard of by him.
Eventually, he overheard it—Anne. And she wasn't alone. Two of her friends, Maya and Isabela, visited sometimes. They had no titles, no wealth, but they brought kindness.
On the eve of his second birthday, something changed. The three women whispered in the corner.
"I'm done with this house," Anne said. "I'm taking the young master home. He'll live with my parents, eat well, and be happy. If fate has greatness for him, so be it. If not, at least he'll be safe."
"The way is full of monsters and bandits," Isabela warned.
"And what about the guards?" Maya asked.
Anne smiled. "I have a plan. I've saved enough to hire a Black Knife mercenary. Falcon—my horse—is coming back tomorrow. He has monster blood. He'll carry us. We leave at night."
That night, Anne started making preparations. She dug up a tile from the floor—though no one knew where she found it—and pulled out an old iron box. She showed it to him and whispered, "Young master, this is the last thing your father kept for you before he died. He brought this from the sect." Her eyes were melancholic.
She opened the box carefully and saw an ancient bone in the shape of a finger. It was about three centimeters long, with dried bloodstains. It was unclear whether it was the late master's blood or someone else's, but it gave off an ancient feeling. She believed this might be useful for the young master's future cultivation. Next to the bone was a small crystal that seemed to be a memory crystal.
She looked at it curiously, then tucked the small box inside her dress.
The next evening, Anne put him inside a cloth basket. The basket was oval-shaped and fit him a bit tightly. He looked at Anne. She told him softly, "Young master, don't worry. While I'm alive, nobody will harm you. Our bad days are going to be over soon. You'll eat your fill and live comfortably."
She then covered the basket with a cloth and checked the treasure box she had secured near her chest.
He wanted to see outside but could only accept his fate. In his mind, he thought, "Cheers to a happy and peaceful life. I hope I reach wherever I'm going safely". Then he cursed the gods and his family before falling asleep.
After what felt like four or five hours, he woke due to too much shaking. He realized he was tied to the back of a horse. But it seemed bulkier and larger than a normal horse. He could hear the sound of seven to nine horses following. They were likely the mercenaries Anne had hired.
They were out of town, in the jungle. He regretted not seeing his house or town one last time. Not because of any familial tie—but because he was thinking of nuking it in the future or releasing a biohazard. He hated it that much.
He also regretted not knowing anything about this new world. He'd never left his room due to his cursed status.
Anne noticed he was awake and grew concerned that he might cry, risking discovery. She took out a round object and put it in his mouth, whispering, "This is a spirit pill. The late master brought it. It's very precious and can provide you with nutrition for days. You don't have to worry about hunger during our journey. It will also let you sleep deeply."
He swallowed before hearing the whole thing. His mind spun. "Wait..wait..i will fall asleep….Is this nutrition or anesthesia"? What if something goes wrong along the way?
Despite being only two years old, he had his past life memories and wasn't naïve. He'd grown up poor, seen street and office politics, and knew how manipulative people could be. He sighed. "This woman is very naïve. Hope I can open my eyes peacefully". And with that, he fell asleep.
He woke again to chaos. He was now tied to the front of the horse between its neck and the saddle. Fire burned near the trees. He could hear mercenaries fighting.
Blood splattered across him. For a moment, he thought it was his and panicked. But he felt no pain. He raised his head and saw Anne.
Anne had lost a hand. Arrows pierced her shoulder. Falcon was galloping with all its might. Trees burned on one side. Behind them, mercenaries clashed with black-masked riders.
They looked like grim reapers.
Anne roared, "Black Knife mercenary group! You took my money and betrayed me!"
A hoarse voice replied, "Woman! In this situation, you blame me? Half my men are dead—I'm not sure the rest will survive!"
Corpses lay around him. The speaker, Liam, was injured, as were his remaining men.
Anne shouted, "How did they ambush us? How did they know our route?"
The mercenary yelled, "I don't know! But I, Liam, am an honorable man. We Black Knife are honorable. We either complete the mission—or die trying!"
Liam wasn't a fool. He'd shared the route two days ago with his group. Two members were missing, supposedly injured while hunting. That wasn't uncommon. But now, suspicion boiled in him.
He remembered how Anne had once saved his life with a precious antidote when her old master was alive. Whether she'd stolen it or not, he didn't care. She had helped him.
The mission seemed simple—escort her and the child through a monster-scarce area to the Moonfall Bridge in three days. No enemies. No complications.
He turned to his deputy—his brother in arms.
"Brother, accompany the madam to the Moonfall Bridge. We'll stop the pursuers."
The deputy wanted to speak but saw Liam's resolve. He nodded. "Honored above all."
Liam turned and roared to his men, "If we survive, I'll throw the best party ever! If not, we'll party in hell!"
They charged.
Atharv suddenly saw the Silver Mask Man leap 15 meters, then, with lightning speed, pierced Liam's skull with a finger. Liam exploded.
"What the...! How can humans move so fast!" Atharv was surprised
All the mercenaries except the deputy were dead.
Atharv looked at the deputy. "Only he is alive...! Don't tell me he is the one who leaked the route. It must be him. After all, the villain remains the last one standing."
"I am dead...! Definitelt dead..! Gone...! My world domination dream gone...!" Atherva scrammed inside.
Falcon ran. Kain, the deputy, looked at Anne. "Madam, you shouldn't have questioned the Black Knife. Look—the Moonfall Bridge is 300 meters ahead."
He looked at the cloth basket. "Remember my name. I am Kain, brother of Liam, deputy of Black Knife. For us, honor is above life. I cannot go with you to the end. Forgive me."
He turned and rode back.
Atharv remembered his eyes—clear, sad, pure. He felt guilty for doubting him.
Another explosion. Kain was gone.
Anne looked at the bridge and then at Atharv.
"Young master, I cannot accompany you to the end."
Atharv turned. The view stunned him. A wide river roared on the left. A massive water body—perhaps a sea or a lake—stretched right. Ahead, a cliff and a full moon glowing over the bridge.
It looked like the road led to the moon.
Anne took the treasure box, removed the memory crystal and a letter, and placed both into the basket.
"You are my young master, but forgive me this one time—and let me call you son."
She continued, "The late master wanted you to become a cultivator. That bone may help you—or curse you. I believe it's why we're being hunted. So I'm making a choice—as your servant and as your mother."
"Farewell, young master. May you reach home safely and lead a peaceful life."
With that, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, leaped off the horse with the iron box in hand, and sprinted toward the cliff overlooking the river.
Falcon, sensing her urgency, galloped toward the bridge as if driven by instinct.
The Silver Mask Assassin, who had already distanced himself from his men, witnessed everything from a distance. He faced a choice: pursue the horse or the servant girl, who seemed intent on jumping from the cliff.
He glanced down at the compass-like instrument in his left hand, which directed him toward Anne.
Without hesitation, he dismounted and bolted toward her, moving with a speed that resembled a bullet train, far beyond anything Atharva had ever imagined.
As Falcon reached the bridge and began to cross, Atharva stole a final glance back at Anne.
His heart sank at the sight that met his eyes.
There, at the cliff's edge, Anne was stricken, a hand protruding from her chest. Blood trickled from her mouth, and the bloodied hand clutched the open iron box that contained the finger.
The assassin's gaze locked onto the Falcon, nearly across the bridge, as moonlight glinted off his mask.
Atharva looked back.
A dragon was carved into the right side of the mask, while three cross-shaped marks adorned his forehead. The engravings sparkled in the moonlight, providing a glimpse into the shadowy distance.
He saw the assassin's hand that had pierced her heart—it was missing a little finger.
The Silver Mask Assassin observed the Falcon, now merging with the moon's light after crossing the bridge.
From behind, his men caught up, some injured but still alive.
They all looked at the Silver Mask Assassin, and a lady-like voice emerged.
"Forget it. We have what we need. Even if that trash kid survives, what can he do without the opportunity his bastard of a father set up for him? His chances of survival here are near zero. After all, beyond the bridge lies the Night King's territory. Chasing him would be fruitless; we would simply become his next meal. There are plenty of powerful beasts roaming the forest—both boy and horse would be a delightful feast for them."
She chuckled, confident of their demise.
A man chimed in, "Even if he survives, who will steer the horse? A two-year-old?"
Laughter filled the air.
The Silver Mask Woman then added, "I want this matter kept quiet. Report that we killed the boy. No one must know we left him at the mercy of monsters. It will tarnish my record—after all, we took money from the Ignis family."
They all turned their gaze upward, toward the moon.
The Falcon had vanished into its light, leaving no trace behind.
Suddenly, a wave of coughing broke out among the assassins.
They looked toward the Silver Mask Woman in confusion, realizing they had been poisoned.
She mumbled under her breath, "Only the dead can keep a secret," before casting her eyes to the moon once more.
"It may leave a mark on my career, but no one will know."
A satisfied laugh escaped her as she poured a mysterious liquid onto the corpses of her followers.
As they melted into the ground, disappearing without a trace, she rode away toward the town, leaving the scene undisturbed.
In the quiet aftermath, the unknown deaths of a few county soldiers mattered little in the grand scheme of things.
With her status, there was no need to mention it in her report. Even if she did acknowledge their killings, she doubted anyone in the higher echelon would care.
Behind her, at the Falling Moon Bridge—under such beautiful scenery—no one would imagine or know such a tragedy had happened.
The flowing wind over the vast water body created a sighing noise.
It felt as though only the moon knew the tragedy that had occurred… and was quietly sighing.