The ocean was swallowing him whole.As Ishan sank into the endless blue, his life flashed before his eyes — every triumph, every wound, every dream that had built the empire called him.
He saw the boy the Ashram had saved from nothingness.He saw the young man who had built his destiny with bare hands.He saw the empire that rose from his sweat, his ambition, his fury.He saw Rashika.And the betrayal that shattered everything.
He wasn't afraid of death. He was angry at the way it came.This wasn't how his story was meant to end — not by treachery, not by poison, not in silence. He wanted his death to be earned — in war, in adventure, in something that mattered.
But all he could do was watch as darkness crept closer.His chest burned. His mind screamed. And then, amidst the crushing silence of the sea — he whispered a single thought:
"If I ever get another chance... I'll learn to read people better. I'll find love that doesn't betray. I just... want another chance."
And then — a flicker of light.A shimmer of blue tore through the water beside him — moving with a force that was not of this world.It passed near him like a divine current, and before he could comprehend it, his vision faded to black.
The same light twisted itself into a storm.A sphere of spinning energy — its edges white as starlight, its heart a swirling abyss of deep blue.It looked like a black hole, yet it pulsed with control, as if bound by an invisible hand.
And the sea itself bent toward it.The waves curved, the light distorted, and Ishan's body — lifeless and drifting — was pulled into the spiral.Then everything went still.
A memory — a flash.He was on the yacht again. Rashika's hand offering him a drink.The laughter. The warmth. Then Ronnie — stepping out of the shadows, smiling that wicked smile.Truths spilled. Deceit unfolded.A gun flashed. A struggle.One man fell.A bullet tore through Ishan's chest. Another hit his shoulder.He staggered to the edge, clutching the railing, his body trembling under betrayal's weight — and then the final bullet struck.
The ocean embraced him.
"No...!"
Ishan gasped awake — drenched in sweat, clutching his chest.He wasn't drowning anymore.He was breathing.
He blinked.Water flowed beneath him — clear, cold, alive.A waterfall thundered in front of him, spilling silver light through the darkness of a cavern.
He tried to stand, but pain lanced through his shoulder and chest.When he looked down, the bullet wounds were still there — raw, bleeding, real.
Memory hit him like a wave.The yacht. The betrayal. The fall.
Rage burned through him."Ronnie... Rashika... I'll never let you walk away from this— aah!"
Pain shot through his arm, forcing him to his knees.He screamed, the sound echoing through the cave, then bit his lip and steadied his breath.Slowly, the pain dulled. The fury turned cold. Focused.
He looked around.A cavern, lit only by the waterfall's pale light. The walls glistened with moisture.And across the stream — wild plants. Some he recognized from his Ashram days, herbs once used for healing.
He exhaled sharply. "At least the gods haven't turned completely against me."
He crossed the stream — icy water biting at his skin — and knelt before the plants.A jagged stone caught his eye; he sharpened it against the wall, turning it into a crude knife.
Then, gritting his teeth, he cut into his wounds — digging the bullets out one by one.The pain was excruciating, but Ishan didn't flinch.He'd endured worse. He'd trained to survive worse.He crushed the herbs into a paste, coated two large leaves with it, and tied them over his wounds using vine strips.
The sting faded into a deep, burning warmth — healing had begun.
By now, the poison that had once clouded his veins was fading.He didn't know why — maybe fate wasn't done with him yet.
He rose, unsteady but determined.The waterfall above was unreachable — his only way was forward, into the depths of the cave.
He took a deep breath."I don't know where I am, or how I'm alive," he murmured, "but I'm not dying here."
And so he walked — limping, cautious, every sense sharp.Because, as he muttered to himself,
"The God of Death doesn't grant vacations twice."
Minutes passed. The air grew warmer. Then — a faint light appeared ahead.He moved toward it, hand over his chest, heart pounding.
The glow grew stronger, flooding the narrow tunnel.When he stepped into it, the brilliance blinded him for a moment.
A chamber.Circular. Ancient.The source of the light — a radiant orb at its center, like captured sunlight.Around the walls, strange inscriptions pulsed faintly, breathing with the room itself.
And before him — a man.Not alive, not dead.An old figure seated upright against a pillar, his body dry and preserved by time, surrounded by a cocoon of silver webs.
Ishan stared, frozen.The man wasn't a skeleton. He wasn't decaying.He was... waiting.
A voice echoed through the chamber — low, calm, ancient:
"So, the warrior finally awakens."
Ishan spun around, eyes wide. "Who's there!?"
No one.
He turned back to the body — and his heartbeat quickened."Impossible..."
The lips of the old man had not moved. Yet the voice spoke again, this time deeper, almost inside his mind:
"Tell me, Ishan... are you ready to begin your new journey?"