Aarav took the second step.
The temperature dropped another few degrees. Behind him, the cave door groaned and slowly resealed itself with a hiss and a metallic thunk, as if the very stone recognized that someone had finally answered a call left ringing for two thousand years.
There was no turning back.
His flashlight barely cut through the darkness as he descended, one cautious step at a time. The air smelled of rust, oil, and wet moss—but beneath it was something else. Faint traces of sandalwood and incense, as if this place had once been holy.
Each step was lined with ancient engravings, some in Brahmi script, some in symbols he couldn't recognize. His eyes widened at the sight of tiny gears embedded in the stone itself—like teeth of long-forgotten machines.
> "Ashoka's legacy wasn't just philosophical," he murmured. "It was technological…"
At the bottom, the stairway opened into a vast circular chamber, easily fifty meters across. Aarav froze.
In the center stood a massive metallic pillar, glowing faintly with golden etchings. It resembled the iron pillar of Delhi—but sleeker, polished, with intricate patterns that pulsed like a heartbeat. Along the edges of the room, humanoid statues knelt, heads bowed, arms crossed over their chests.
No. Not statues.
Automatons.
He stepped closer. The air buzzed softly.
> "Identity verified. Codex: Sen-Ara."
"Sequence Alpha initiated."
The pillar vibrated. Lights activated—tiny beams that glided over the automaton figures like scanners. Slowly, two of the kneeling figures raised their heads.
Aarav backed away, heartbeat thudding like war drums.
The machines stood—seven feet tall, humanoid in shape but built of bronze, obsidian, and something else… something living. Their eyes were glowing sapphires, and between their interlocked plates were thin filaments that looked disturbingly like veins.
One of them bowed deeply.
> "Heir of the Archive. Guardian of the Line. You have returned."
"I… I don't understand," Aarav stammered.
> "Two millennia we waited. The stars aligned. The voice has passed. The Empire remembers."
"Empire?" Aarav asked, voice shaking. "The Maurya Empire?"
The automaton tilted its head slightly. "It was never an empire. It was a design."
---
Suddenly, the chamber's walls flickered. Hidden projectors came alive, illuminating holographic blueprints across the ceiling—maps of the subcontinent overlaid with unfamiliar patterns: energy flows, ancient ley lines, underground cities. Faces appeared. Chandragupta. Bindusara. Ashoka.
But then another face followed.
A face that did not belong to any recorded history.
Younger. Barely in his twenties. Golden eyes. A symbol on his forehead.
Beneath it, a label: "Ananta – The Hidden Son"
---
Before Aarav could react, the main door behind him exploded inward with a thunderous bang.
Stone and shrapnel rained down. Two bullets ricocheted off the metallic pillar. The automaton lunged forward instantly, shielding Aarav with its massive arm. Sparks flew as another bullet struck its shoulder.
Three armed men stormed the chamber, clad in black and gold tactical gear. No insignia. Military precision.
"Subject confirmed," one barked. "Secure him alive!"
"Hostiles?" Aarav yelled, ducking behind the automaton. "Who the hell are they?!"
The lead attacker raised a weapon that hummed with electric charge. Not standard issue. Experimental tech. Government-grade, at least.
The automaton stepped forward, arm shifting with a faint hiss into a curved blade. Its voice boomed like temple bells.
> "Archive breach detected. Intruders will be purged."
---
The battle erupted.
Aarav sprinted to the far side of the chamber as the automaton engaged two of the soldiers in brutal, efficient strikes. The third fired at him, barely missing as he ducked behind a fallen slab. His heart slammed against his ribs.
He didn't know who sent them—but he knew why.
He had triggered something. Something big. Something ancient and dangerous.
As gunfire echoed, a voice whispered again inside his mind—not the automaton's this time.
> "Heir of Ashoka… you are not ready."
The pillar pulsed brighter. The holograms vanished. The floor beneath him shifted.
Suddenly, the stone cracked and fell away beneath his feet—and he plummeted downward.
---
New Delhi – Ministry of Culture (Restricted Zone)
Diya Kapoor flipped through the printed photo sheets someone had slid across her desk.
"Who's this?" she asked, pointing at the image of a man on a bike, heading into the outskirts of Sarnath.
The bureaucrat beside her—tall, grim, wearing a badge marked "Section D"—replied flatly, "Name's Aarav Sen. Linguist. No official affiliations. Not a threat. Until now."
"Until now?" she repeated.
He leaned in. "He activated the Ashokan Vault."
Diya's eyes narrowed. "And?"
The man slid a final sheet toward her.
It was a photo of the inscription found in the cave. She gasped softly.
There it was again—the symbol she had seen once before. A mark etched into her father's old notebook before he vanished twenty years ago.
A spinning wheel with a third eye at its center.
---
Meanwhile – Unknown Depths Below Sarnath
Aarav landed hard on a stone floor, coughing as dust rose around him.
He blinked, looking up.
Another chamber. Colder. Older.
At the far end, behind a wall of glass-like crystal, stood a silhouette. Slender. Still. Watching.
As his vision adjusted, Aarav felt a strange calm, a pressure in his mind—as if time itself had paused.
The silhouette stepped forward slightly. He could see eyes glowing gold.
A voice echoed—familiar, regal, and in perfect Sanskrit.
> "At last, the blood returns."
---
⚡ To be continued...