Inside the house, the heavy thud against the door and the thin, sharp cry of a baby awoke Nand Verman from his sleep. He sat up at once, his heart racing as he looked at his wife, who was still asleep. He grabbed his lantern and hurried toward the entrance. His hand trembled slightly as he slid back the bolt and pulled the door open, the yellow light casting a long, nervous shadow across the porch.
"Who's there?" Nand called out, peering into the dark, rainy night.
He looked left and right, seeing nothing but the sheets of rain. Then, his eyes fell to the floor of the porch. He didn't notice the baby at first; his gaze was snatched by the sword. Even under the layer of dull, disguised iron, he recognized the lion-headed pommel instantly. It was a legendary weapon, a relic belonging to the best friend he hadn't seen in years.
Nand... is that...?" his wife, Smita, asked softly. She had been pulled from her sleep by the noise and was now standing in the shadows of the hallway. "I heard a sound like thunder hitting the wood... and then the crying of a child. is there a baby at our door?" She whispered as she was coming out through the hallway.
Nand didn't answer right away. He dropped to his knees, his rough, scarred hands shaking as he reached toward the basket.
There, tucked inside, lay a baby boy. As Nand moved the lantern closer, he saw a strange mark on the child's wrist—a symbol of a serpent mark. Nand's breath hitched. He looked at the lion-headed sword, then back at the child, and a cold shiver of realisation ran down his spine.
Than He turned around and looked up at his wife, his eyes shining with a strange, painful joy.
"Smita," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and wonder. "Do you remember the stories I told you? About the Great Wars, and the man who saved my life a thousand times over? Harsha! This is HARSHA'S son... but his son is no ordinary child."
Smita knelt beside him as she stepped out to the wet porch, her eyes widening as she followed her husband's gaze to the child's wrist.
"Look at the mark," Nand breathed, his rough hands shaking as he pointed to the serpent. "Harsha didn't just send us a boy to raise. He has sent us a miracle. I never have imagined that the prophecies would took place in our lives—and I never thought I'd live to see the day—but here he is. This child is one of the seven Avatar, Smita. The heavens have truly taken birth in our world."
The initial shock in Smita's eyes softened the moment she looked into the baby's face.
The infant's eyes were wide and unnervingly clear, reflecting the flickering lantern light like two deep, golden pools. Her motherly instinct kicked in, Without a word, she reached into the basket and gathered the child against her chest, shielding him from the freezing spray of the rain. The baby's tiny fingers instantly locked onto her sleeve, holding on as if he never wanted to let go.
"An Avatar or not," she said, her voice turning fierce and protective. "He is freezing. Don't speak as if he is some distant legend or a burden of destiny. He is just a little baby right now. Who just needs our love. And from now on we will keep him as our own"
"That isn't what I meant," Nand said quickly, reaching out to touch the baby's small hand.
Smita looked down at the infant, then back at Nand, a shadow of doubt crossing her face.
"But... why would he leave him here?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "On a doorstep, in the middle of a storm? Is the condition of the Devlok truly so dire? Is the Realm of Light no longer safe for its own children?"
"I fear it is worse than we imagined," Nand said. He didn't look at her; instead, his eyes darted nervously toward the dark treeline, searching for any movement in the shadows. "There is only one reason Harsha would have chosen the mortal world over the heavens. Only one reason he would risk bringing one of the seven Avatar here."
"And that is?" Smita asked, her gaze hardening as she clutched the baby tighter.
"Because the Devlok has already fallen," Nand replied, his voice barely a breath. "If he brought the boy here, it means there is nowhere else left to hide. The mortal world isn't just a choice, Smita—it's the last fortress we have to shield him from the wrath of the Great shadow, who is determined to kill his future slayers before they even stand on their legs."
"Then let the shadows watch," Smita declared, as she pressed the child close to her chest. She gently wrapped him in her shawl, drying his tiny body as maternal warmth seeped through the damp fabric. "From this moment on, he is ours. If your friend has entrusted us with his life—than we would not fail him."
Without another word, she turned her back on the storm and carried the baby into the safety of the house.
Nand remained there standing, watching his wife disappear into the warmth of the house. A faint, fleeting smile touched his lips. Seeing Smita's quiet joy acted like a balm, softening the jagged edge of fear that had been lodged in his chest since the first bolt of thunder.
For a single, fragile moment, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps the worst of the nightmare had passed.
The rain lashed against his face, cold and chilling. He turned his gaze toward the river one last time. The Kalindi flowed on, a dark and rushing muscle of water, carrying away secrets that it would never return to the world of men.
Harsha was long gone. The riverbank was empty, and the mist had swallowed every trace of the struggle.
"So, Harsha… you came all the way to my home after so long… and still chose to leave without seeing me?"
The words trembled with a quiet, hollow, aching disappointment rather than anger.
"What held you back?" he murmured into the hush of the dusk.What held you back?" he murmured, his gaze searching the empty, rain-drenched path where his friend should have been. ""Are you still upset with me over the past… or there was something so urgent that you couldn't spare even a moment for me?"
After whispering to himself Nand turned his attention back to the weapon wedged into the porch. It was a massive sword, forged from a dark metal that seemed to swallow the dim light of his lantern. He reached out, his breath held tight in his chest, and gripped the handle.
The moment his skin touched the leather-bound grip, a jolt of energy surged through his arm, vibrating like a low hum against his bones—a flicker of the power he had once known so well. With a sharp tug, he pulled the blade free from the wood of the porch.
As the sword came loose, a faint, golden smoke began to curl from the edge of the metal. It didn't drift away in the wind; instead, it hung in the air, forming glowing shapes that only an old soldier like Nand could understand.
"Is there a message?" Nand whispered, his eyes searching the fading light. "Is there a message for me?"
As if in answer to his whisper, the sword began to glow. A deep, pulsing heat radiated from the steel, and the dried blood of the monsters still clinging to the edge began to vanish into a thin, white mist. Beneath the surface of the metal, glowing symbols began to crawl like living embers, shifting and turning until they formed a message that burned in the darkness.
Nand's breath hitched as he read the words appearing on the blade:
"The cycle is restored. The blood of the cosmic entity has returned to the earth. This child is the Seventh and final Seal—the Vessel of the Eternal, the last Avatar reborn. He is destined to lead the armies of the heavens and to strike down the Great Shadow forever. Protect him, Nand Verman, for the future of the universe is now in your hands."
The light pulsed one last time, so bright it forced Nand to blink. When he opened his eyes, the glow was gone. The sword looked ordinary once more—dull, heavy, and silent. But the heat of the message still lingered in Nand's palm, a permanent reminder of the war that had just arrived at his doorstep.
Nand breath hitched in his throat, he realized that his small, quiet farmhouse was no longer just a home; it was now the most important place in all the realms.
He wasn't just holding his friend's son or just hiding a refugee. He was guarding the savior of the realms itself. The weight of the sword in his hand suddenly felt like the weight of the entire world.
The steel pulsed one last time, a soft golden light intensified at the base of the hilt, the metal vibrating with a final, urgent message. The letters didn't just appear; they seemed to etch themselves deep into the steel.
He leaned in, squinting against the glow to read the final warning:
"His name is Arjun. Let the world see only an ordinary boy until the day he comes of age. But heed this: in his twelfth year and seventh month, the shadows will find him. On that day, a great warrior must make the ultimate sacrifice to shield him from the darkness, holding the line until the Devas descend to reclaim their own."
As Nand finished reading, the light faded completely. The magical script vanished, leaving the blade dull and silent. Nand stood alone in the darkness of the porch staring at the sword, his heart sinking. The prophecy wasn't just a promise of hope; it was a countdown to a tragedy. To protect the boy, someone would have to pay down their life for the greater good.
He looked at his own reflection in the dull metal of the blade. He was a soldier. He understood sacrifice. He knew then that the peace he was about to give this boy was borrowed time—and that he was likely the one who would have to pay the price when the shadows finally arrived.
He stepped inside and moved quietly through the small house, his feets making no sound on the floorboards. He reached the bedroom door and stopped. There, by the soft, flickering glow of a single candle, he saw them. Smita was resting on the bed, the infant cradled safely in the crook of her arm.
Nand leaned against the doorframe, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the baby's chest. The storm outside seemed a world away.
"Arjun," he murmured, the name feeling strange and sacred on his tongue.
He watched the boy for a long moment, a shadow of both sadness and hope in his eyes. "Sleep well, little prince," he whispered into the quiet room. "A world of mysteries awaits you, but for tonight, you are simply home."
...