THE LEGEND OF LORD ARJUN
2997 A.D. — Shanghai Megacity
The neon-lit streets hummed with hover-traffic as Himanchu, a small boy with ink-stained fingers from school, squeezed through the crowds. His daily shortcut home took him past the Forgotten District, where relics of the Old World gathered dust between chrome towers.
Then he saw it.
A 90-foot statue, its surface cracked by time but still radiating authority, loomed over the ruins. The plaque at its base bore three words that made his pulse spike:
"LORD ARJUN — SAVIOR OF SHAMBALA."
Himanchu's fingers trembled as he touched the engraving. A jolt of energy shot up his arm—like the statue recognized him.
THE REVELATION
He sprinted home, where his grandfather sat peeling synthetic fruit in their floating apartment. The old man's cybernetic eye glinted as Himanchu burst in:
"Grandpa! Who is Lord Arjun?"
The air thickened. His grandfather set down the knife, voice grave:
"Not 'who,' boy. 'When.'" A hologram flickered to life between them—a dragon's silhouette against a dying sun. "Arjun was my grandfather. And now? His blood runs through your veins."
Himanchu's breath caught. The hologram zoomed into a hidden realm of floating mountains and two colossal dragons—one bleeding gold, the other coiled protectively around ten glowing diamonds.
"Sit," his grandfather commanded. "I'll tell you how a street orphan became a god... and why the dragons are waking again."