The morning rose gently over Vasantnagri, that blessed kingdom of unending spring where the winds forever carried fragrance and music. The first light of dawn did not merely shine; it bloomed, unfurling like a divine flower across skies painted with gold and vermilion. Beneath that tender glow, the earth itself seemed to awaken with reverence. Rivers shimmered with molten sunlight, the orchards swayed as though whispering secrets to the breeze, and from every temple tower the bells rang out in a melody of welcome.
Vasantnagri was a land that had never known cruelty; ruled by Maharaj Rishvaan and Maharani Devyani, it stood as a reflection of their own hearts—pure, compassionate, endlessly giving. The people loved them as the soil loves rain. They ruled not with pride but with grace, walking among their subjects without distance, their words carrying warmth instead of command.
And on that day, when the news spread that the queen had gone into labor, the entire kingdom trembled with joy.
The palace of Vasantnagri, known as Vasant Mahal, towered in the center of the capital like a dream carved from dawn itself. Its walls were marble and gold, kissed by vines of jasmine and adorned with carvings of the gods. Each balcony opened toward a different season of beauty—one to the gardens of roses, another to the river of mirrors, and the highest to the mountains that caught the first light of every day.
Silk banners of crimson and ivory fluttered from its towers, and their shadows danced upon the courtyards below where fountains sang and doves nested among columns.
That morning, the palace was alive with a rhythm older than time. Priests moved through the corridors chanting mantras of life, maidens scattered petals of lotus across the floors, and the scent of sandalwood drifted like a song through the air. Drums began to sound from the lower halls—steady, slow, heartlike. Conch shells echoed from the temple gates, and the whole of Vasantnagri seemed to hold its breath.
Then, from within the Queen's chamber, a cry broke through the stillness—not of pain, but of life itself. It was the cry of a newborn, bright and soft, a sound that made even the winds bow their heads.
The palace erupted. The courtiers fell to their knees, the priests raised their hands to the heavens, and Rishvaan, who had stood outside the chamber in trembling silence, pushed the door open with tears in his eyes.
What he saw within would be etched into his soul forever.
The Queen lay upon silken sheets of coral hue, her body weary yet radiant like the moon after storm. Her hair, damp with sweat, framed her face in dark waves. And in her arms, wrapped in a cloth of pale ivory, lay their son—the prince of Vasantnagri, the child of dawn.
The air itself seemed to shimmer around him. His skin held the warmth of morning, his tiny fingers curved as though holding invisible stars.
Devyani smiled faintly, tears tracing her cheeks. "He smiled at me," she whispered. "Even before his eyes opened, he smiled."
Rishvaan knelt beside her, his heart heavy with awe. He bent forward and looked at his son.
The child's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes as clear and endless as the sky reflected in a river. And there, on his lips, lingered a small, serene smile—one that no newborn should yet know how to wear.
For a moment, silence filled the chamber. The child's gaze wandered upward, toward the window where sunlight streamed in, soft and golden. He seemed to look through it, beyond it, into some distance where no one else could see.
Then, as if a memory stirred within him, a single tear escaped the corner of his eye. It rolled slowly down his cheek, glinting in the sunlight like a pearl fallen from heaven.
Devyani gasped, her fingers brushing the tear. "He weeps," she whispered.
Rishvaan's voice trembled. "He smiles, and yet he weeps... as though some sorrow older than birth lies within him. As though our son hides centuries of grief behind his laughter."
Devyani looked at the baby's peaceful face and felt something stir within her heart, something she could not name. "Perhaps his soul remembers what ours cannot," she said softly. "Perhaps the gods have sent him carrying stories too ancient for us to hear."
The baby blinked, his gaze returning to them, and for a heartbeat, Rishvaan could have sworn that those eyes understood. Then the child breathed out softly and drifted back into sleep, his tiny hand still resting over his heart.
Rishvaan rose slowly, unable to tear his gaze away. "He shall be called Advik," he declared quietly, "the One Beyond Time. For there is something in him that feels eternal."
Outside the chamber, the sound of conch shells rose again, joined now by the thunder of dhols and the laughter of thousands. Word of the prince's birth had reached the city, and Vasantnagri bloomed in celebration. From every street, petals rained down; from every window, garlands hung; from every temple, prayers ascended in golden smoke. The rivers swelled with shimmering light, and the very air seemed to dance.
Men and women filled the courtyards, singing songs of blessing. Children ran with flags embroidered with the royal insignia—a rising sun cradled by lotus petals. The markets overflowed with sweets and perfumes; musicians filled the avenues with flutes and drums, and even the elephants at the palace gates trumpeted with joy, their tusks draped in silks.
Priests declared that seven days of festivity would follow. The birth of a prince was no small event—but this one, they said, felt touched by something greater.
"The winds themselves came to witness his breath," one of them whispered. "Such souls do not come often."
As the day stretched into evening, the palace shone brighter than the stars. In the great Hall of Blossoms, the royal family gathered for the blessing. The hall was vast and perfumed, its marble pillars carved with vines and flowers, its domed ceiling painted with the dance of creation. At the center stood a fountain that caught the last light of dusk and scattered it in trembling rainbows.
Maharaj Rishvaan entered dressed in robes of white and gold, a simple crown of silver resting upon his head, his eyes reflecting both pride and humility. Beside him walked Maharani Devyani, her silk gown the color of dawn, her face still pale yet serene with the calm of fulfillment. In her arms, she carried Advik, wrapped in cloth embroidered with suns and lotuses.
As the royal couple approached the altar, the hall fell silent. Even the torches seemed to bow, their flames bending inward.
The high priest stepped forward, his voice deep as the echo of mountains. "Born beneath the blessed sky, under the song of spring, may this child carry peace where there is strife and love where the heavens have forgotten it."
He sprinkled sacred water upon the infant's forehead.
Advik stirred, his lips curling into another faint smile, and again, a tear glimmered at the edge of his eye. A murmur passed through the crowd—half awe, half wonder.
Rishvaan whispered, "He smiles as though his heart remembers what his body has just begun to learn."
Devyani touched his hand gently. "Then let us be the home that teaches him peace."
The priest bowed deeply. "Protect this child, for he carries in him a flame that once burned among the stars."
As the blessing ended, the crowd erupted in cheers. Dancers whirled across the marble floor, petals fell from the ceiling, and music rose like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Outside, thousands of lamps were lit along the rivers, their reflections turning the waters to molten gold. From above, the city appeared like a constellation brought down to earth.
But within the Queen's chamber, far from the noise, the world grew still again.
Night had settled softly upon Vasant Mahal. The moon hung low, pouring its silver upon the cradle where Advik slept. Devyani sat beside him, her eyes heavy but her heart restless, watching her child's gentle breaths.
Rishvaan entered quietly, removing his crown and setting it aside. He knelt beside her. "He sleeps like a prayer," he murmured. "Yet even in his peace, I feel a weight—something hidden behind that innocence."
Devyani nodded, brushing her fingers through the child's hair. "Perhaps his spirit has traveled farther than we can imagine. Perhaps he carries both joy and sorrow from another dawn."
Rishvaan looked toward the moonlit window. "Then may our love teach him that joy need not end in pain."
Outside, the night wind stirred the curtains, carrying the faint scent of jasmine through the chamber.
Advik moved slightly, his tiny hand lifting as if to reach toward the light beyond the window. His lips curved again into that same soft smile—ancient, wistful, impossible—and a single tear slid down his cheek. It caught the moonlight and shimmered like a fragment of starlight reborn.
At that very instant, far above in the heavens, a solitary flame flickered beside a silent figure who stood upon a balcony of silver stone.
Shaurya's gaze lifted from his hands to the same moon that shone over Vasantnagri. A strange stillness gripped his chest; he did not know why, but something deep within him had shifted, as if a long-buried heartbeat had echoed once again.
The wind around him trembled. His lips parted, whispering a name he had not spoken aloud for ages.
"Advik..."
The sound was lost in the night, carried by the same wind that now brushed across the cradle below.
The baby stirred, and though he could not understand, a calm passed over him—as if the soul within him had recognized the call of another, far beyond the stars.
Devyani leaned close, her voice a whisper. "Sleep, my little one. Whatever sorrow you hide, let our love be your first forgetting."
The candle beside her flickered, the flame bending low as if bowing to the child.
Outside, the moon drifted higher, its light softening the shadows until everything in the room seemed bathed in silver peace.
The King wrapped his arm around the Queen; the Queen held her child closer; and the newborn, touched by the soft music of their hearts, smiled once more.
Thus was Advik, the child beyond time, born into the arms of a world unknowing of the destiny he carried—the joy of a kingdom, the light of his parents, and the echo of a love the heavens themselves could not erase.
And as the stars blinked in solemn wonder above Vasantnagri, it was said that the night itself bowed its head, for even creation recognized what had returned to it:
the beginning of love's next life.
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Chapter End :
In the silent heavens, a god whispered a name he hadn't spoken in millennia. On earth, a newborn prince wept tears from a past he couldn't remember. Two souls, separated by realms and time, were now connected again by an invisible thread of destiny - and neither heaven nor earth would ever be the same.