Nothing.
Only the breathless weight of darkness pressed in from every side. Somewhere in that void, footsteps echoed—slow and unbearably lonely.
A boy emerged from the shadows. Blood stained his skin and clothes, but his wounds were not what hurt the most. The agony in his eyes came from something far deeper—an absence that could never be filled.
Still, he walked.
"I never imagined…" he whispered, his voice breaking as he stared into the endless void. "I never imagined he'd go this far."
He stopped.
The darkness felt heavier here.
His fingers curled into his palms, trembling.
"There's no time left," he muttered to himself. "I have to finish what mother entrusted to me. Right now."
A dark voice echoed behind him.
Cold. Amused. Familiar.
"So, brother…you are here. Ha."
The boy froze.
He turned sharply. "…No," he breathed. "No, this is wrong. This shouldn't be happening. I have to end this—quickly."
The voice laughed softly.
"Our world is already dust," his brother said. "What's left to hurry for?"
The boy swallowed hard.
"Mother and Father are gone," he said quietly. "There's nothing left but us."
Silence followed.
It stretched between them, thick and suffocating, as if the air itself had stopped moving.
Then the boy spoke, his voice sharp with anger.
"Don't dare say us."
His eyes burned as he stepped forward. "All of this is happening because of you."
The words trembled—not from fear, but from rage held for far too long.
For a moment, his brother said nothing.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly. Not naturally.
A slow, hollow laugh slipped from his lips as a twisted smile spread across his face—a smile filled with something dark and horrifying.
"You really don't know, do you?" his brother said softly.
The boy froze.
Tilting his head, the brother continued, his voice calm in a way that felt cruel.
"You're blaming me… but you're the one who did it."
The smile widened.
"You're the one who killed mother and father."
The words struck like a blade.
The boy's breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling as if trying to grasp reality itself. He wanted to deny it—to scream that it was a lie.
But his brother's eyes held no doubt.
Only certainty.
The truth weighed down on him, crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe. His palms felt cold, yet unbearably heavy—as if stained by something he could never wash away.
And in that moment, he realized—
Some sins do not scream.
They whisper… and haunt you forever.
The boy's lips trembled.
"I did it because Mother told me to…" boy said, his voice breaking. "I did it because of you."
His brother's smile did not fade. If anything, it grew sharper.
The boy clenched his fists, desperation spilling into his words.
"If I didn't do that, you—you would ta—"
His sentence cut off.
Something felt wrong.
A sudden emptiness spread though his body, as if his life force itself was being drawn away. His breath grew shallow. His knees weakened.
Then he felt it.
The paper.
Hidden tightly in his hand, the piece of paper his mother had given him—Fill this paper with your power, she had said.
His eyes widened.
Without realizing it, driven by fear and emotion, he had poured everything into it.
The paper began to glow.
At first, faint—like a dying ember. Then brighter. Stronger.
Light spilled out from between his fingers. Trembling as if it were alive.
His legs gave out.
The boy fell to his knees, his body weak, his vision blurred. He could barely stay conscious. The paper was taking everything—every last drop of his power.
Now, he didn't even have the strength to stand.
That was when he remembered.
His mother's final words.
A memory bloomed in his mind.
Warm hands.
A trembling smile.
"This paper carries my final blessing," his mother had said, pressing it into his hands.
"Fill it with your power. Every last fragment of it." She hesitated, then whispered, "When the moment comes… don't hesitate."
Her last words echoed.
Soon… he will be born.
Now—
The boy slowly raised the glowing paper.
Light erupted.
First came red—fierce, violent, burning like rage itself.
Then blue—calm, boundless, deep as the endless sky.
The two colours clashed, twisted, screamed silently as the glow intensified, shaking the air around
them.
Tears slid down the boy's cheeks.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered.
"I wanted us to be a family."
The paper dissolved into pure light.
Two spheres remained.
One shone pure white—warm, gentle, almost comforting.
The other pulsed deep purple—heavy, suffocating, filled with finality.
The boy extended his trembling hands.
"Live," he said softly.
With a final release of power, he sent the spheres racing toward the World Of Living.
"No—!" his brother screamed.
"So, this is how it ends," his brother said next, his voice twisting with anger and disbelief.
The boy turned.
He was weak. Exhausted. Nearly empty.
But—
A soft, bittersweet smile curved his lips.
"No," he replied quietly.
"This is how it begins."
And with that, the boy spoke his final words—
Soon… he will be born.
And with that, the God of Creation come to an end. But before he vanished by his brother, the God of Destruction, he ensured that his power would be reborn in the World of Living.
As Narayana finished telling the tale, the quiet evening shattered at once.
Question burst out from every corner.
"Narayana! Why did he want to kill his own brother?"
"And… what did he want from him?"
"Who is going to be born soon?"
"And… the boy killed his own parents?"
"What was that paper?"
"And that light—what was it?"
The children spoke over one another, voices filled with excitement, confusion, and wonder.
Hearing their endless questions, Narayana chuckled. A gentle smile spread across his aged face as he raised his hand.
"Okay, okay," he said warmly. "Slow down. I'll answer—one by one."
The children slowly quieted.
That was when Narayana noticed Asha.
She sat apart from the others, lost in her own thoughts, her gaze distant.
He leaned slightly toward her.
"What are you thinking about, Asha?" Narayana asked softly.
Asha looked up, her eyes wide and troubled.
"But Narayana…" she said hesitantly, "when the God of Destruction killed his family, why didn't our hero stop him?"
Before Narayana could reply, another child laughed loudly.
"Oh, Asha, you're so stupid!" he said. "When that happened, our hero wasn't even born yet—right, Narayana?"
Narayana let out a small laugh.
"Hahaha… right. Right."
The children fell silent for a moment, slowly digesting the story they had just heard.
Then Asha looked up again, her voice soft—but hopeful.
"Okay… okay, Narayana," she said. "That story is finished now, right? But you promised us something."
Her eyes shone.
"You said you'd tell us the story of the Stone Man—our hero—next."
Some of the children cheered, while others groaned.
"Narayana didn't even answer all our questions!" one complained.
But Asha and a few others tugged at his robe, their excitement impossible to hide.
Narayana watched them, smiling as if savouring the moment.
"Alright, alright," he said, pretending to surrender.
"I'll do both."
The children froze.
"I'll tell you the story of the Stone Man—our hero," he continued, "and in that story… I'll answer everything."
Warm light from the setting sun touched his face, catching in the deep lines carved by time.
Narayana smiled gently.
"Yes," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"I promised."
He looked at the children once more.
"And a promise must always be kept."
"Yes! Yes, Narayana!" the children shouted together, unable to contain themselves.
"You promised us!"
Their eyes glowed beneath the soft orange hue of the setting sun, excitement spilling from every face.
"He saved us!" little Anu piped up, standing on her toes.
"He saved our lives from that bad man… the one who locked us on this island. We couldn't even walk freely until two weeks ago."
"Yeah!" another child added quickly.
"He sacrificed himself for us!"
"And… and his friends too!" someone else said.
"They did the same!"
The old man smiled.
Time had softened his face, but the warmth in his eyes remained unchanged.
He nodded slowly.
"Hmmm… yes," Narayana said gently.
"The Stone Man and his friends saved the people of this island. They fought bravely…"
He paused.
"But they did not die."
The children blinked.
"But—" one boy interrupted, frowning. "Our hero is a statue now. That means he's gone, right? He isn't alive anymore…"
Narayana chuckled softly and shook his head.
"No, Harit," he said kindly.
"He is not dead."
The children leaned closer.
"His body turned to stone," Narayana continued, "but his heart still beats—within that stone. And his friends…"
He smiled faintly.
"They are in a deep, eternal sleep."
Harit hesitated before asking, "Then… when will they wake up?"
"Who knows?" he whispered.
"That decision rests with them."
The children fell silent, staring at the ground, letting his words sink deep into their hearts.
"But Narayana!" another child suddenly cried.
"Tell us his story—please!"
The old man looked around at their eager faces.
Then he nodded.
"Alright… alright," he said, settling more firmly into his seat.
"Let me tell you the story of a man who only wanted to live peacefully with the people he loved."
The wind stirred softly.
"But fate had other plans."
The children listened, breath held.
"He did everything to protect them. Again and again, the world forced him to change. He saved people… then began saving strangers… and one day, he found himself walking a path where everyone looked at him as a god."
The old man's voice grew heavy with meaning.
"And so, after countless trials and unbearable sacrifices, he did not become a god because he wished to be—"
He paused.
"But because he had to be."
Narayana lifted his gaze.
"This," he said softly,
"is the story where a darkness itself became a guiding light for the people—the Stone Man."
A hush fell over the children.
"…whose name," Narayana finished,
"is Ahaan Cyan the Kaal Gray."
A collective gasp escaped their lips.
"Ohhh…!"
"I'm so excited…" one whispered, clutching their chest.
The sun slipped fully below the horizon.
And beneath the first star of the night, a legend was about to born.
To be continue...