Ch 1 (the sky that blend)
The morning fog still clung to the hills of Dolakha as prayer flags fluttered lazily in the breeze. The sound of temple bells echoed through the valley, soft and distant, like a forgotten lullaby. Life in the village moved at its usual slow pace—children chasing goats along dusty trails, old men sipping chia near the teashop, and monks sweeping the monastery steps in rhythmic silence.
20-year-old Aarav sat at the edge of a rice field, arms resting on his knees, watching the clouds drift above the snow-capped Himalayas. He wasn't anyone special—just another boy skipping school, lost in his thoughts. The sky was unusually still today. Not a single bird in sight.
That was the first sign.
He noticed it only when the second sign came—the vibration. A deep, low hum rising from the ground beneath him, like the mountain itself was growling.
Then… the wind changed.
Leaves stopped moving. The prayer flags froze mid-flutter. For a second, the entire valley held its breath.
And then, the sky cracked.
It didn't thunder. It tore, like cloth ripped by invisible hands. A long, black line opened above the horizon—high, jagged, and glowing with a strange violet pulse.
Aarav stood up slowly, heart pounding.
From the temple, a monk dropped his broom. From the village radio, a news anchor's voice cut off mid-sentence. The animals began to scream.
And then came the sound—not of thunder, but of howling. Dozens… no, hundreds of inhuman cries from beyond the rip in the sky.
Aarav crouched behind the broken wall of a roadside tea shop, heart thudding like a war drum in his chest. Dust choked the air. People were screaming—cars crashing, windows shattering, sirens wailing somewhere in the distance.
But all he could do was cover his ears and shake.
He couldn't believe what he'd just seen. A massive… thing—black, twisted, and howling—had dropped from the sky like a meteor and crushed the temple tower in a single blow. It wasn't human. It wasn't animal. It was wrong.
Aarav's eyes burned as he squeezed them shut. He couldn't stop shaking.
"My name is Aarav," he whispered to himself, like he needed reminding. "I just started Bachelor's last month."
His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the wall.
"Today at 1 PM… a black portal opened above Kathmandu. It just—ripped open the sky. And everything turned to hell in seconds."
He forced a deep breath, his chest tight with panic.
"My home… is in Janakpur."
"My mother, father… my little sister Meera. What if…"
He couldn't finish the thought.
His phone was dead. No signal. No messages. No way of knowing if his family had seen what he saw. No way of knowing if they were safe… or gone.
Aarav clenched his fists, tears mixing with the dust on his cheeks. Somewhere nearby, another explosion rocked the street. Another roar followed.
He wanted to run. To scream. But something in his chest—something small—held him still.
"Why… why am I still alive?"
That's when the light appeared.
A faint shimmer in the air in front of him, like heat waves rising from pavement. Except… it wasn't hot. It felt cold. Sacred. Ancient.
Then he heard the voice.
It wasn't loud. It didn't shout. But it echoed through his bones.
"Aarav…"
"You have been chosen."
The voice echoed again, deeper this time—almost like a growl wrapped in fire.
"Aarav…"
"Do you accept the wrath of Kali?"
Before he could answer, the shimmering air before him twisted into a dark lotus—a vision glowing with shadow and flame. It spun silently, suspended midair, and then shattered like glass.
A blinding force struck his chest. Aarav cried out and clutched his arm.
Something was burning into his skin.
He rolled up his sleeve with trembling hands—and saw it. A dark, blood-red symbol pulsing just below his shoulder. It looked like a sacred mandala made of blades and flames, with a third eye in its center.
The pain faded. The mark remained.
In his head, he felt the surge—rage, power, and grief all at once, flooding his veins like wildfire.
His breath steadied.
For the first time, Aarav wasn't afraid.
(Quick montage of others being chosen)
The sky cracked across the Earth.
In Nigeria, a lightning bolt struck a village drum, and a young girl rose, glowing with the power of Shango, the god of thunder.
In the icy plains of Russia, Perun chose a blind orphan boy by having lightning carve a rune into the snow.
In Egypt, a street thief touched a scarab pendant—and became the vessel of Anubis, his eyes glowing like desert fire.
In Tokyo, the god Susanoo awakened inside a schoolboy during a monster attack.
In Brazil, the jungle trembled as Tupã, god of creation, whispered to a quiet teenager in a treehouse.
In each land, each culture—one deity, one chosen.
Old myths returned. Gods of war, wisdom, chaos, and death all reached into the mortal realm—not as saviors, but as generals.
The world was being drafted into a divine war.
Back in Kathmandu, Aarav stood, staring at his burning mark.
The voice of Kali echoed once more.
"You are my wrath, my shadow, my justice."
And across the globe, as the sky bled and monsters roared—thousands of youths awakened to power.
The old were left untouched.
Only the young would fight.
The Age of Gods had returned.
And the first battle… had just begun.