The Relentless Flow of Time
In the cosmic design woven by Anant, time was not a single river but many, each flowing at its own pace. In the celestial realms of Swarg, it moved with the grace of a gentle stream—a single day in Heaven witnessing the bloom and withering of a hundred human lifetimes on Earth. For Shaurya, standing on his balcony in Swarg, only a few weeks had passed since he had seen Advik as a newborn. But on Earth, the torrent of time had rushed forward with unforgiving speed.
The Growth of a Prince: A Timeline
Age 5: The Curious Child
Advik was a burst of energy, his laughter echoing through the marble corridors of Vasant Mahal. Even as a child, there was a strange depth in his sky-blue eyes. He would often be found staring at the moon, a faint, unidentifiable sadness flickering across his face before disappearing as quickly as it came. He was fearless, climbing the highest trees in the palace gardens, his movements unusually agile. The Asur senik, cloaked in shadows, watched from a distance, ensuring no harm came to the young prince, a silent guardian sworn to his father's command.
Age 10: The Restless Boy
His restlessness grew. While other princes learned poetry and politics, Advik was drawn to the training grounds. He wielded a wooden sword with an instinctive, almost savage grace that surprised his instructors. He was kind but reserved, his smiles never quite reaching his eyes. At night, he would sit by his window, the moonlight painting his face silver, a silent tear sometimes tracing a path down his cheek without any reason he could understand. The hidden Asur scout observed, noting the demonic blood that began to stir within the human shell.
Age 20: The Brooding Youth
Now a young man, Advik was the epitome of fierce beauty. His features were sharp, his jawline strong, and his eyes held storms no one could comprehend. He took to wearing black—a color that contrasted starkly with the vibrant hues of Vasantnagri. He wore black silk tunics embroidered with silver thread that mimicked constellations, black trousers tucked into polished leather boots, and a black velvet cloak that billowed behind him like a dark banner. The color suited his somber, intense demeanor. He was a skilled warrior, but his heart wasn't in royal duties. He felt like a stranger in his own life, haunted by a past he never lived.
The Present: Age 24 - The Crown Prince
Now, at twenty-four, Prince Advik stood as the future king of Vasantnagri. His younger brother, Prince Veer, now twenty-one, was his complete opposite—sunny, outgoing, and fully embraced his royal role. Their bond was strong, with Veer often trying to pull Advik out of his silent reveries.
Advik's persona was now defined by his unwavering preference for black. Tonight, he wore a finely tailored black angarkha made of the darkest silk, with minimal silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar. A heavy, silver amulet set with a dark, smoky crystal rested against his chest. His jet-black hair, longer now, was tied back, emphasizing the sharp lines of his face and the profound melancholy in his eyes.
Scene: The Rooftop Under the Moon
The world below was asleep, but Advik stood on the highest balcony of Vasant Mahal, his figure a stark silhouette against the brilliant full moon. The warm, fragrant air of Vasantnagri, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine, did nothing to ease the chill in his soul.
His gaze was locked on the celestial orb, as it had been for countless nights. A deep, unexplainable ache filled his chest, a longing for something—or someone—he could not name.
Kya hai us aakash mein? (What is there in that sky?) he wondered, his voice a whisper stolen by the wind. Kya hai jo mujhe har pal apni taraf kheench ta hai? (What is it that pulls me towards itself every moment?)
He placed a hand over his heart, feeling its frantic beat against his palm. Yeh chand... kyon? Kyon meri aankhein har raat ise dekhar roti hain apne aap? (This moon... why? Why do my eyes well up on their own, looking at it every night?)
A single, hot tear escaped, tracing a path down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away. Jabki mujhe pata hi nahi hai... ki main ro kyon raha hoon. (Even though I don't know... why I am crying.)
The connection was a physical pain, a hook in his very being, tugging him relentlessly towards the heavens. He felt like a compass needle desperately seeking its true north, lost in a world that, for all its beauty and love, felt like a gilded cage. The moonlight seemed to whisper secrets in a language his soul recognized but his mind had forgotten.
The Hidden Watcher and The Stirring Power
In the deepest shadows of the garden below, the Asur senik watched his prince. His mission of protection was complete; the boy was now a man. But the second part of his king's command remained—to guide him back to his true home, to stir the demon blood that ran in his veins.
Seeing the prince's profound connection to the moon, a symbol so deeply tied to the heavens, the scout knew his task would be difficult. The pull of Swarg, the memory of a lost love, was a chain stronger than any he had known.
Suddenly, Advik's hand clenched into a fist. The silver amulet at his chest glowed with a faint crimson light. A week ago, when a visiting noble had insulted his father, Advik's eyes had flashed with that same crimson hue for a split second. The noble had inexplicably stumbled back, fear etching his features, though he couldn't explain why. The scout had seen it all. The Asuri blood was awakening, reacting to strong emotion. The prince's human shell could not contain his true heritage forever.
Advik stood there until the moon began its descent, his black clothes soaking in the pale light, his heart silently weeping for a love story he had lived but could not remember. The night held its breath, keeping the secret of the demon prince who loved a god, and the moon remained the only witness to a tragedy etched across time itself.
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Chapter End :
He was a prince of spring, dressed in the colors of night, his heart tethered to a moon he couldn't forget. But as Advik finally turned to leave the rooftop, the silver amulet at his chest flared once more—this time without any anger or provocation. A whisper, not from the moon, but from the depths of his own blood, echoed in his mind: "Remember..." The first crack in his human facade had appeared, and the demon prince of Patal was beginning to awaken.