Darkness.
Then warmth. Then light.
Shon felt it all.
It wasn't a dream. It wasn't sleep.
It was birth.
But unlike others, he opened his eyes not in ignorance — but with the clarity of a soul that remembered everything.
His past life was intact in his mind:
His name — still Shon.
His mother's voice in Bihar.
His hostel bed.
The dusty smell of the medical library.
The weight of Mahabharat stories.
The chants of Om Namah Shivaya that lulled him to sleep.
And then that flash of blinding white… and now this.
His body was small, weak, fragile. But his thoughts were burning with questions.
Where am I?
Why am I here?
Was this punishment? A dream? A second chance?
---
The villagers called him Shon — by divine coincidence, or maybe destiny's design. His new parents were Raghunath, a humble Vedic teacher, and Devaki, a temple caretaker. They lived in a quiet Brahmin village nestled near the banks of the holy Ganga, inside a small northern kingdom bordered by dense forests and jagged mountains — and beyond them, a dangerous empire.
The days blurred.
He was too young to move. Too helpless to speak. All he could do was watch and listen.
Shon lay in a cradle of safety, rocked by ancient lullabies and warmed by ghee lamps.
Still, confusion burned in him. The world outside looked like it had stepped out of his mythological novels — not the modern India he had left behind. He heard no names he recognized. No dates. No news. Just prayers, cows, and dust.
Where was he?
Why was he here?
What had brought him back?
No answers came.
Only peace — brief and fragile.
But trouble was never far in a world driven by greed.
---
From the east, across the mountain borders, came whispers of war. A brutal king from old China — Liang Hu, the warlord of the Dragon Throne — had crossed into Bharatiya soil. He was powerful, feared, and consumed by a singular desire: the daughter of the kingdom Shon's village belonged to — a princess famed for her beauty, wisdom, and devotion.
She had refused his envoys.
So he sent fire.
Liang Hu didn't strike the palace first. He struck where it hurt more — the innocent. The quiet villages. The unguarded temples.
He sent soldiers ahead of his main army — raiders in black-and-red armor, ordered to destroy everything in their path to make the kingdom bow.
One night, Shon's village burned.
---
Devaki was preparing to light the evening lamp when the horns blew. Panic followed. Screams. Running feet. The smell of burning straw.
Raghunath rushed into their hut, grabbed Shon from his cradle, and turned to his wife.
"They've come. There's no time."
Devaki's eyes widened with terror. "No… he's just a baby—"
"We have to save him."
They ran through the smoke-choked alleys, the baby clutched tight in his father's arms. Behind them, homes turned to ash. Villagers screamed. Steel clashed with flesh.
When they reached the Ganga, Raghunath tore off his shawl and wrapped the baby in it. A small basket had already been prepared — woven tight, sealed with mantras and hope.
They placed Shon inside.
He didn't cry.
He just looked up at them — confused, scared, unable to speak, but somehow understanding far more than a newborn should.
Devaki leaned down, pressing her forehead to his. Her tears dropped onto his cheeks.
"May Mahadev protect you, my son…"
Raghunath placed his hand on the basket. "Live, Shon. Live long enough to write your own fate."
Then they pushed it into the river.
The Ganga took him — gently, like a mother.
From the floating basket, Shon looked back.
He saw soldiers approaching. Swords drawn. Armor gleaming red with firelight.
He saw his father stand between them and his mother.
He saw his mother scream.
And he saw them both fall.
He was only a child — powerless. Drenched in tears, shaking, unable to move — watching everything he had just begun to love be taken from him.
The river didn't stop.
And neither did fate.
---
Somewhere down that sacred current, destiny was already shifting. The soul of a boy who once read about warriors was now being forged into one — by grief, by pain, and by a future he could not yet see.
Shon had lost his family again.
But this time, he would remember everything.
And one day — someone would pay.
---