The city of Nandivana rose like a crown of marble and riverstone above the southern plains of Bharathavarsha.
Four concentric walls guarded it — the outer circle for common folk, the inner circles for guilds and nobles — and at the very center stood the gleaming Mahadurga Palace, carved with depictions of lion-riding goddesses who pierced demons with their tridents.
The city was waking.
The market bell chimed once, twice — the signal that dawn prayers had begun.
Inside the palace, however, one wing remained quiet, its windows shuttered and lamps still burning dimly.
A girl lay in her bed, tangled in silken sheets, breathing fast, skin slick with sweat.
Her dream — or vision — had shaken her again.
Tara opened her eyes with a gasp.
The chilled morning air stung her lungs. Her heart thudded painfully, like it was trying to force its way out of her chest.
She sat up slowly, clutching the chain at her neck — a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon and claw.
The boy again, she thought, teeth grinding.
For three nights straight she had seen him —
a dark-haired child in a forest, pursued by assassins whose symbols she half-recognized.
Each night, the dream grew closer, clearer, almost real.
And each night she heard the same whispered word inside her head:
"Ashkiran."
Tara swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
Her room was grand, but not ostentatious — warm carpets, carved sandalwood screens, dozens of books stacked everywhere. A long spear wrapped in red cloth rested in the corner, like a dormant beast unable to wake.
She padded to the balcony and pushed open the shutters.
Morning sunlight spilled over her face — soft gold warming her skin.
Below, the palace courtyards bustled: soldiers training in squares, maids carrying baskets of flowers for the shrine, priests raising conch shells to greet the rising sun.
Tara should have been comforted by the familiar sight.
Instead, a chill threaded through her spine.
Because the dream hadn't felt like fantasy.
It felt like warning.
A knock tapped the door.
"Tara devi?" A gentle voice. Her personal attendant, Meera.
"Enter," Tara called.
The woman bowed and set down a tray of milk, fruits, and flatbread.
"You woke early again," Meera said softly, eyeing the dark circles beneath Tara's eyes.
"I slept... poorly."
Meera hesitated, then asked, "The visions returned?"
Tara startled slightly. "How did you—"
"You talk in your sleep, Devi. Last night, you said a name."
"...What name?"
"Arjun."
The tray shook in Tara's hand.
So it wasn't imagination.
The dream-boy had a name.
Meera continued, "You know what this means."
Tara exhaled. "I don't want to believe it."
"But you do."
Tara looked out at the horizon — where the dense Vindhya forest stretched beyond sight, dark and ancient.
"I think someone is coming," she said slowly.
"Or," Meera murmured, "someone needs you."
Across the continent, that same moment, Arjun sneezed violently and nearly fell on his face.
"Ugh — do allergies exist in other worlds?" he complained, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
He trudged through muddy leaves, wolf cub tucked inside his shirt like a chubby, furry heater.
The cub poked its head out occasionally, blinking with wide golden eyes.
"Stop judging me," Arjun muttered.
"You can walk when you stop bleeding."
The cub just licked his chin.
Under normal circumstances, Arjun might have felt panic crushing him.
New world, new body, no food, assassins hunting him — that should have sent him spiraling.
Instead, a weird calm sat in his chest.
Maybe it was leftover adrenaline.
Or maybe the sigil glowing faintly on his skin was messing with his head.
He put a hand to his chest and felt warmth pulse under his fingers.
Magic. Real magic.
He should've been terrified.
But all he felt was a spark buzzing beneath his ribs — excitement and fear braided together.
"I don't know why I'm here," he told the cub.
"But I'm not dying. Not until I figure it out."
The cub's tail thumped weakly against his stomach.
Back in Nandivana, Tara dressed quickly — not in jewels or silks befitting a princess, but in fitted travel pants beneath a simple warrior's tunic.
She braided her thick hair and tied it with a red ribbon.
When she strapped the wrapped spear across her back, its weight felt right — familiar.
She crossed the palace hallway, ignoring startled servants.
Her feet took her to the Temple of Mahadurga, nestled inside a courtyard of marigolds and jasmine.
The nine-foot statue of the goddess towered above her, carved from black stone, eight arms poised in eternal battle.
Oil lamps flickered, painting the walls with orange light.
Tara knelt and bowed deeply, forehead touching the floor.
"Mother," she whispered, "is this your doing?"
Silence, except for the faint rustle of flames.
Tara clenched her fists.
"I am ready to face my destiny... but you must show me the path."
Just then, a gust of wind swirled through the temple — despite the windows being shut.
The lamps fluttered violently.
Sacred ash from the altar rose into the air... and drifted toward Tara.
The ash settled on her brow — forming a pale crescent mark.
Tara's breath hitched.
A whisper echoed in her mind — faint as wind, sharp as steel.
"Find him."
Her pulse roared.
The dream-boy was real.
Less than a mile from where Arjun stumbled through the forest with his wolf pup, a caravan was cutting through the trees — soldiers escorting a palanquin draped in royal banners.
The two threads of fate were drawing closer, unknowingly.
Arjun paused beside a fallen log, catching his breath.
His feet ached.
His stomach twisted in hunger.
He sat and closed his eyes.
"Okay. Think."
He had:
No map
No shelter
No idea how currency worked here
No clue what creatures lurked past the trees
But he DID have:
A baby wolf that trusted him
A weird hologram system-thing
A glowing birthmark that sent assassins flying
Not useless.
He put the cub down carefully.
"Don't run off."
He didn't expect an answer, so when the cub yipped softly — almost like I won't — Arjun blinked.
"You... kind of understand me?"
The cub barked again.
Arjun's lips twitched into a grin.
"Alright, Blade. Partners, then."
He stood, stretching sore muscles.
That's when he heard it — the faint clatter of hooves.
He turned sharply.
Torchlight flickered through the trees — armored men, mounted riders.
Arjun's veins iced.
Not assassins again... please.
But these soldiers carried a lion-and-lotus flag.
Different from the shadow cult symbols.
Still dangerous.
Arjun backed behind a tree, clutching Blade close.
The wolf cub whimpered.
"Shh. We hide first, talk later."
He peeked.
A palanquin rolled into sight — gold trim catching sunlight that filtered through leaves.
And for a heartbeat — just a heartbeat — Arjun saw a girl through a parted curtain.
Eyes like storm clouds.
Hair braided with marigold petals.
And a crescent-shaped mark glowing faintly on her forehead.
Their gazes met.
Her eyes widened slightly — not out of surprise or fear.
Recognition.
As though she'd known him forever.
Arjun's breath caught.
And miles away, the assassins who tried to kill him kneeled before a hooded figure.
"Report," the figure rasped.
"He awakened," the leader said. "The Ashkiran child lives."
The hooded figure smiled — chilling, hungry.
"At last."
To be continued...