The night sky above the small village shimmered with the glow of countless diyas, their flames dancing gently in the warm breeze. Strings of marigolds hung across the narrow lanes, their fragrance mingling with the sweet aroma of freshly made jalebis.
Children ran barefoot on the stone streets, chasing each other with sparklers in their hands, their laughter echoing like bells in the night. It was a festival night, one of those rare evenings when the entire clan gathered together, celebrating not just tradition, but the unspoken bond of blood and heritage.
Among the crowd of children was a boy of eight year old, his name was Arjun. His wide eyes sparkled with the reflection of the lamps, his laughter bursting out as he tried to outrun his elder sister's playful chase.
"Arjun! Stop running near the rangoli, you'll spoil it!" his sister Meera called out, half laughing, half scolding, as she adjusted the folds of her dupatta and tried to catch him.
Arjun giggled, dodging past her. "You'll have to be faster than that, Didi!" His bare feet slapped against the cool stone as he darted through the courtyard, weaving around uncles, cousins, and elders who were watching the festivities.
His mother, sitting near the threshold of their ancestral house, called out lovingly, "Bas, Arjun, bas. Come here, eat something. You've been running the whole evening." She held out a small steel plate filled with laddoo and kachoris, the kind of food that only tasted this good during festivals.
Arjun slowed, panting heavily, and came running into her arms. She ruffled his thick hair. For a moment, everything seemed perfect—safe, warm, eternal. The entire courtyard glowed golden with lamps, laughter, and the sound of dhols from nearby houses.
But behind this warmth lingered a tension that only the elders could feel. Hidden eyes were watching from the shadows beyond the fields, and not all who looked upon this happiness wished it well.
Inside, his grandfather, Raghunath Singh, the clan leader, sat cross-legged before a sacred fire. His silver hair glowed in the flickering light, his forehead marked with sandalwood paste. Though age had curved his back, his presence was like a mountain—immovable, ancient, commanding. He had led the clan through wars, famine, and betrayal. Tonight, though he smiled faintly as the chants of children reached him, his eyes carried a storm.
"Dadaji," little Arjun said, running into the room, laddoo still clutched in his hand. "Look! The sky is full of lights. It feels like even the stars are celebrating with us!"
Raghunath looked down at his grandson, eyes softening. "Yes, Arjun. Tonight the heavens are bright. But remember, child… light always calls the shadows closer."
The boy tilted his head, not understanding. "Shadows?"
The old man chuckled faintly, hiding the weight of his words. "One day you'll know. But for now, go play. Tonight is yours."
---
The evening deepened. The music grew louder. Families gathered in circles, exchanging stories, sharing sweets, and offering prayers. Arjun's father, Veer Singh, stood tall among the men, his muscular frame and sharp eyes radiating authority. He was a gifted warrior, like many in the clan. His younger brother teased him, "Veer Bhaiya, one day your son will outshine even you."
Veer laughed, patting Arjun on the head. "He's stubborn enough, that's for sure."
Arjun puffed his chest proudly. "I'll be stronger than everyone! Even Dadaji!"
The elders laughed. His grandfather's eyes, though proud, flickered with something else—an unspoken fear, or perhaps a knowing.
---
The attack came when the lamps burned their brightest.
A strange stillness swept over the village. The dhols stopped. The sparklers fizzled out. A cold wind cut through the warm night. Then—
A horn, deep and terrible, shattered the silence.
From the shadows of the surrounding forest, dark figures emerged—cloaked men, their faces hidden behind bone-white masks painted with red streaks. Swords glinted in their hands, flames flared in their palms. They came like a tide, their footsteps rumbling against the earth.
"Protect the children!" Veer's voice thundered as he drew his blade.
Chaos erupted. Screams filled the air as families rushed to hide. The attackers stormed the village, cutting through decorations, smashing lanterns, setting fire to homes. Sparks and smoke rose, drowning out the laughter of moments ago.
Arjun's eyes went wide as he clutched his sister's hand. "Didi, what's happening?"
Before she could answer, one of the masked warriors leapt forward. His voice hissed like venom. "Kill the heirs! Leave none of the bloodline standing!"
Meera screamed as the man raised his blade, but before it fell, Veer appeared like lightning, his sword intercepting with a shower of sparks.
"Over my dead body!" Veer growled, forcing the attacker back.
Another masked man sneered from the flames. "That can be arranged."
The clash of steel filled the night. Arjun's heart pounded. Everywhere he looked, he saw his family fighting desperately. His uncles wielded spears glowing faintly with ancestral energy. His cousins hurled burning arrows. His aunts chanted protective mantras. This was no ordinary family; they were gifted, guardians of powers passed down through blood.
Yet the enemy… was stronger.
The leader of the masked warriors stepped forward. His presence made the air itself feel heavy. His voice was low, mocking. "Raghunath Singh! Old lion… you've hidden your cubs long enough. Tonight, your bloodline ends."
From the burning house, Raghunath emerged, staff glowing faintly in his hand. His voice thundered across the battlefield. "You dare desecrate this sacred night? You will not have them. Not while I breathe."
The leader laughed. "Then you'll breathe your last."
---
Arjun clung to his sister, tears blurring his vision. "Didi, why are they doing this? Why us?"
Meera tried to stay strong, though her own tears betrayed her. "I… I don't know. Just stay close, Arjun. Don't let go."
But as the flames raged, Arjun felt something strange within him. A pressure. A heat. His chest burned as though something inside him wanted to burst free. He stumbled, clutching his heart, but no one noticed. Not yet.
Above the chaos, Raghunath raised his staff. His body shook, his aura expanding like a storm. Veins bulged in his neck, his voice cracking like thunder. "If it is my life you want… then take it. But my bloodline… my grandchildren… they will live!"
The forbidden energy surged. It was unlike anything the attackers had expected—raw, ancient, destructive. His body began to wither as the life force drained from him, but the power he unleashed carved through the night like fire through dry leaves.
Masked men screamed as the blast struck, their bodies reduced to ash. Even their leader staggered back, eyes wide. "Impossible… you would burn your own soul for them?"
Raghunath's eyes blazed with both fury and sorrow. "For them… I would burn the heavens themselves."
Arjun watched, horrified and awed, as his grandfather's body began to collapse, skin turning to dust, hair falling like ashes. His last words echoed, carried by the wind—
"Live… Arjun. One day, awaken… and avenge us."
The blast consumed the battlefield. Light blinded everything. The night that had begun with songs ended with silence.
---
When Arjun opened his eyes, he was lying in the ruins of his home. Smoke curled from the broken walls. Bodies lay scattered—some family, some enemies. His sister held him close, trembling. His father stood nearby, bleeding, exhausted, yet alive.
But his grandfather was gone. Only the staff remained, charred and broken.
Arjun clenched his fists, tears carving lines down his dirt-streaked face. That strange burning inside him pulsed again, fiercer than before, as though his very soul had been scarred.
That night, amidst the ashes of his clan, a child made an oath—
Silent, unshakable, eternal.
"I will destroy them. Every last one."
The flames flickered around his small figure, reflecting in his eyes. Eyes that no longer belonged to a child.
The story of Arjun, the boy who carried a hidden power greater than his entire clan combined, had just begun.
And somewhere far in the distance, unseen by all, a faint whisper stirred—like the voice of a system waiting patiently for the day its host would awaken.