The middle of everything was sinking into Kriday. His mind, still fogged from his prolonged unconsciousness, struggled to process the reality before him. The sterile hum of machines monitoring his vitals filled the otherwise silent underground chamber. Drona, noticing Kriday's stabilised condition, pulled his stool closer to the gurney, his sharp gaze studying the young man before him.
"I am surprised... Why after 27 years has someone appeared the same way I did? At least 27 years if I count with respect to my arrival here," Drona mused, his tone laced with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Kriday, still groggy but now more alert, frowned. "You are the same as me?" His voice carried confusion, but also a rising sense of intrigue.
"You heard me right. My name is Drona, and I am a resident of Delhi, India," Drona declared, watching Kriday's reaction closely.
The revelation sent a jolt through Kriday. He stared at Drona, his mind racing. Another man from India, from his world? What were the chances?
Pulling himself up slightly, he asked, "Then which place is this? Or what exactly is this region?"
Drona took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "This is Dwitansh, a realm of longevity and abundance. You are currently in Shangri-La, within Shambhala." He kept the explanation brief, gauging how Kriday would react.
Instead of panicking or resisting, Kriday's eyes gleamed with a spark of life. He was absorbing this information differently than Drona had expected.
"Aren't you sad?" Drona questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Kriday scoffed lightly. "Why would I be?"
"I expected you to be baffled, desperate even. People in your situation would typically say, 'I just wish to go back as soon as possible,' and mourn their loss." Drona teased, though there was a serious undertone to his words.
The air around them shifted as Kriday's expression darkened. His voice carried an unfamiliar softness as he murmured, "I wish I had someone to look forward to, back at home. I live alone... and I have been like this ever since I became conscious of myself." He leaned forward slightly, the weight of his past pressing against him. "But I am alone here too. And yet, I feel as if I've been given a second chance. A chance to restart, to fix my mistakes, and rebuild everything from scratch. That's why I feel excited rather than sad."
Drona studied him carefully. "Don't you have friends or anyone you treasure?"
For a moment, Kriday hesitated. Images of Drithra and Shishta flickered through his mind. The warmth of their presence, the memories of their time together... He was growing more aware of himself and what he had left behind. His eyes softened, but he remained silent.
Drona, noticing the shift, leaned back. "Seems like you have someone... or maybe more. Either way, even if you had declared your desire to return, chances of making it back are slim." His voice carried the weight of his own failures.
Kriday watched him closely, sensing the burden the man carried. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.
Drona exhaled, his expression shadowed with regret. "I myself have been stuck here for 27 years... and I have failed miserably as a human. I lost my will to go back and face the people I left behind. Solitude is the greatest redemption I can get for my 'karma.'"
Kriday observed him in silence before responding, "At least there is someone waiting for you."
Drona flinched slightly. The words struck something deep within him. But his logical mind took over before the emotion could settle.
"Only if they have made it this far," he said, his voice quieter now. The possibility of his family surviving all these years was unbearably low. Memories of his past surfaced in fragments—the laughter of his loved ones, the warmth of shared moments, the promises left unfulfilled. They felt like ghosts now, distant and unreachable.
"I have been here for 27 years without knowing anything about my world..." He let out a heavy breath. "Holding onto hope is easy, but if it never turns true, it haunts you. You might end up losing yourself." He looked at Kriday, a question lingering in his gaze. "Will you still tread that path?"
Kriday held his gaze, unwavering. "Losing a precious one is not always a choice. But losing oneself... always is."
Drona stiffened. The intensity of those words left him speechless. For the first time in years, something stirred inside him—a realization he had long suppressed. Giving up had been easy. Too easy. He had never tried to mend the tattered remains of his soul. He had simply let himself wither.
Breaking the silence, Drona finally asked, "Just one question... Have you ever heard of the teleportation experiment that failed?"
Kriday frowned, thinking for a moment. "No. Never."
"Was there ever a mass missing report registered?" Drona pressed, his mind starting to piece things together.
Kriday tilted his head slightly before asking in return, "Where were you in 2028?"
Drona blinked, caught off guard. "March 19th, 2028 was when I got transported to this world. Why?"
Kriday's expression shifted dramatically. His muscles tensed, his breath hitched.
"The Great Catastrophe happened on March 20th, 2028."
A silence heavier than before settled between them. Drona's fingers clenched involuntarily.
"What happened that day?" he asked, his voice low, cautious.
Kriday exhaled, his tone grim. "I wasn't born yet, but from what I've learned, something unexplainable happened. Thousands of morphed and disseminated bodies were discovered across different locations. Millions went missing. This continued for nearly four years, reducing the global population to a billion. Even today, similar cases appear sporadically."
Drona's breathing slowed. This was too much to be coincidence.
Kriday continued, "That's also when 'Isolated' appeared worldwide. They possessed abilities beyond human comprehension, yet instead of aiding humanity, they chose rebellion. They called it 'independence.' They even adopted the 'Swastik' as their symbol, and in doing so, the West used it as an excuse to further distort its meaning—a once-sacred sign turned into a mark of terror."
Drona's hands trembled slightly. His mind raced. His failure... had it triggered all of this?
"You being transported here is somehow my responsibility," he admitted, his voice weighed down with guilt. "I wanted to create a portal for instant travel across vast distances... but I ended up creating this."
Kriday studied him, then, with a wry smile, said, "Well. I don't mind."
Drona looked at him in disbelief.
"Didn't I tell you?" Kriday added, forcing a smirk despite the unease stirring in his gut. "I don't bear any ill will towards you. We don't even know if you triggered everything. And frankly, worrying about it won't change anything."
Drona wanted to believe those words. But deep down, something told him this was no coincidence. Some unknown force has set them.
Kriday had finally settled, at least externally. The weight of revelations still pressed against his mind, yet he remained composed, his thoughts weaving through the labyrinth of everything he had just learned. The silence between him and Drona stretched, heavy yet oddly comfortable. But one question gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored.
"How am I still alive...?" The words carried more weight than he anticipated, laced with an unspoken fear.
Drona, who had been staring into the dim glow of the ceiling, turned his gaze toward him. "Tattva."
Kriday frowned. "Tattva?"
"The essence that governs this world," Drona explained. "Elements or aspects of reality that shape human experience. This realm has seen wars far worse than ours, conflicts that shook the very core of existence. To counterbalance destruction, nature forged a force—Tattva—that sustains life in ways unfathomable to us. It heals wounds, restores vitality, and keeps one alive until the heart stops completely. The mortality rate here is significantly lower than what you know."
Kriday absorbed the information, his mind racing. "Does that mean life expectancy is higher too?" he asked, trying to make sense of it all.
Drona nodded. "800 to 1000 years, on average."
A dry chuckle escaped Kriday's lips. "That's... unsettling." His voice held disbelief, as if the mere concept of living that long defied his comprehension. "I don't think I can picture it yet."
"You will, in time," Drona said with quiet certainty. Then his expression turned sharper, his gaze intense. "Tattva has accepted you. If it hadn't, you would have died the moment you stepped into this world. This world has chosen you, Kriday. Don't waste this second chance."
Kriday met his eyes, feeling the gravity of his words. A strange sensation twisted in his chest, not fear, but something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to fate.
But his mind, ever eager to deflect, latched onto another curiosity. He leaned forward slightly. "You said you were transported here 27 years ago." His eyes trailed over Drona's face, noting the sharp, disciplined features. "But you look like someone in his early thirties. What's your secret? Strict workout routine? Dieting?" He smirked, trying to lighten the moment.
Drona exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Tattva."
"That again?" Kriday let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"We are bound by this world's laws, whether we like it or not," Drona stated. "You, too, will feel its effects. There is no escaping it."
Drona suddenly rose from his seat, his presence imposing. The shift in his demeanor made it clear, the conversation was over, at least for now.
"I don't know why," he muttered, half to himself, "but I can't just leave you to your own devices. Perhaps our fates are intertwined." He turned to Kriday fully. "Rest for a week. After that, I will engrave the basics into your mind."
Kriday's expression stiffened. "Basics?"
Drona crossed his arms. "Self-defense, politics, geography, history, sciences—everything you need to understand this world. Consider it, your enrollment into a Gurukul." His lips twitched into a knowing smirk. "And I? I am your Guru."
Kriday groaned, running a hand over his face. "Isn't there an easier way?"
"No," Drona said flatly. "And one day, when the time is right, I will ask for my due."
Kriday arched his brow. "Your due?"
Drona's gaze was unwavering. "Gurudakshina."
Before Kriday could protest, Drona turned on his heel and strode away, leaving him alone on the gurney, dazed and uncertain.
A new page in his life was about to be written. Whether he was ready or not, the story was already unfolding, and the secrets of this world waited just beyond the horizon.
Shangri-la Imperial court, judge chamber
The air in the chamber was thick with the scent of burning incense, a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the room. The hall, though grand, felt suffocatingly small for Vrisha as he stood before the towering seat of Minister Vayur, one of the most loathsome yet feared individuals in all of Shambhala.
Seated on a high-backed chair adorned with intricate carvings of mythical beasts, Vayur barely lifted his gaze from the parchment before him. The handful of court officials present whispered among themselves, their murmurs like rustling leaves before a storm.
Vrisha exhaled sharply, standing firm, his hands clenched behind his back. He had prepared himself for this—every word, every breath measured. Yet the weight of what he had done loomed over him like a phantom.
"You decimated a Raigon," Vayur finally spoke, his voice a slow, slithering venom that crept into every corner of the chamber. "A sacred beast, revered since the time of our ancestors. And for what?" His piercing gaze finally met Vrisha's, dark and unreadable.
Vrisha stepped forward, bowing slightly before presenting the report. "The creature attacked first. I had no choice but to defend myself." His voice was even, unwavering, but he knew well that reason alone would not suffice in this court.
Vayur leaned back, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. "No choice, you say?" He picked up the parchment, eyes scanning the carefully constructed words that concealed Drona's identity behind the vague mention of a masked figure. "And this… masked man you speak of, the one who supposedly aided you,who is he?"
Vrisha's jaw tightened. "An unknown traveler, my lord. He appeared at the right moment. I did not see his face, nor did he linger."
A low chuckle escaped Vayur's lips, humorless and cold. "How convenient." He dropped the parchment onto the table before him and folded his hands together. "And yet, I find it difficult to believe that a mere traveler would appear in the dead of dawn, in the depths of the wild, and conveniently intervene in a battle against a beast revered by the heavens themselves."
The court officials exchanged wary glances, their eyes flickering between Vrisha and the minister. Silence hung like a guillotine.
Vrisha held his ground. "I can only report what I have seen, my lord."
Vayur studied him for a long, agonizing moment before sighing, shaking his head. "The death of a Raigon is no trivial matter. You are aware of the consequences?"
Vrisha nodded. "I am."
"Then you are also aware that such an act is considered an omen." Vayur's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of an avalanche. "Raigons do not attack unprovoked. They are the protectors of balance. If one struck at you first, then something has already begun shifting in the fabric of this world."
A flicker of uncertainty passed through Vrisha's expression, but he remained silent. He had felt it too that something beyond his understanding was unfolding.
Vayur stood, his imposing figure casting an elongated shadow across the stone floor. "For now, I abscind myself from punishing you for your deeds. But know this, Vrisha." He stepped forward, voice dropping to a chilling murmur. "I will be watching. And should I find the truth to be otherwise… you will pray that death finds you before I do."
A shiver crawled up Vrisha's spine, but he only bowed in response, keeping his face unreadable. "I understand, my lord."
"Good." Vayur turned sharply, his robes billowing as he made his way toward the chamber's exit. "You are dismissed."
As Vrisha stepped out of the suffocating chamber and into the cool night air, he exhaled slowly, his breath unsteady. The weight of the summons still pressed heavily upon him, but at least, for now, he had survived. The worst had passed—yet an unsettling feeling gnawed at him. Something had shifted. The chain of actions set in motion today would not stop. Drona was there, alive, moving in the shadows. And that meant Dwitansh was already changing.
The long corridor stretched before him, lined with solemn torches flickering in the quiet night. A familiar figure stood waiting at the far end, leaning against a cold marble pillar. Raghuvendra, his second-in-command, his oldest friend, and the only other person who shared the burden of the past.
As Vrisha approached, Raghuvendra straightened, his sharp eyes scanning Vrisha's expression. The silence between them was thick, heavy with words neither had spoken in years. Finally, Raghuvendra broke it.
"Commander, why did you fabricate the narration?" His voice was low, wary, but edged with something deeper concern, or perhaps, fear. "You will suffer the same fate as Drona if they ever find out."
Vrisha let out a dry chuckle, devoid of amusement. He turned slightly, gazing up at the night sky. It was vast, endless, indifferent to the turmoil beneath it.
"He has suffered more than us," Vrisha murmured, his voice carrying a quiet reverence. "That too, in solitude."
Raghuvendra clenched his jaw, as if resisting the pull of buried memories. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sheathed blade. "And yet, you protected him. You replaced him with a nameless masked man in your report. Why?"
Vrisha finally met Raghuvendra's gaze. His eyes, dark with history, reflected something far heavier than duty—remorse. "Thanks to him, you and I are yet to be branded as traitors, Raghuvendra." The words lingered between them, a quiet confession wrapped in a debt neither could ever repay.
Raghuvendra swallowed, his throat dry. The name—Drona—hung between them like an echo of the past, one they had long tried to forget, yet it refused to fade. It had been thirteen years. Thirteen years of silence, of avoidance, of pushing forward with the weight of an unspoken truth on their backs.
"Thirteen years already…" Vrisha's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the sorrow of a lifetime.
Raghuvendra lowered his gaze, the memories stirring once more—the day they last saw Drona, the betrayal they had not been able to stop, the friend they had abandoned. And now, he was back, stepping into a world that had already condemned him once.
Regret was a cruel thing, it did not demand immediate penance, but it never allowed one to forget either.
Vrisha exhaled sharply, pulling himself together. His tone hardened, a shield against the emotions clawing at his insides. "Let's leave it at that."
Raghuvendra flinched at the finality in his voice but said nothing. They both knew contemplating the past would change nothing. The mistakes had already been made. The only question now was—how long before their consequences finally caught up with them?
The torches flickered as the wind picked up, casting long shadows against the walls. Without another word, they turned and walked away from the chamber, stepping forward into an uncertain future, one where Drona was no longer just a name buried in their past but a force that would soon demand reckoning.
As Vrisha and Raghuvendra stepped out of the suffocating confines of the royal court, the crisp night air did little to ease the weight pressing upon their shoulders. Their entourage stood at attention outside, their expressions tense, as if sensing the burden their leaders carried.
Ahilya, sharp-eyed and ever composed, adjusted her glasses as she stepped forward. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of urgency.
"We've received intel—'Nirvana' is planning another raid."
A sharp silence gripped the air.
"Damn it! One thing after another. Those hooligans," Raghuvendra exhaled in frustration, his fingers twitching at his side.
Vrisha, however, remained unnervingly still, absorbing the information without so much as a shift in expression. His mind was elsewhere, haunted by the specter of past decisions, sacrifices long buried. The attack didn't faze him—not when his thoughts still lingered on the man they had once called comrade.
The entourage's gaze instinctively fell on their commander, awaiting his verdict.
"If it's Nirvana… without him, we'll be fine," Vrisha finally stated, his voice laced with a quiet certainty that sent a ripple of confidence through the group.
Without another word, he turned on his heel, leading the way back to camp, his stride purposeful but his thoughts tangled in the ghosts of Raigon's blood and Drona's silent torment.
The entourage followed, their disciplined formation snapping into place.
As they moved, a stout newcomer in their ranks hesitated before murmuring to Ahilya, "Who exactly is 'he'?"
Ahilya halted for a second, inhaling sharply as if the very name carried weight. "Shreesh."
The name landed heavily, stirring unease.
The recruit blinked, recalling the reports he had studied. "Ahh… The leader of the terrorist group."
Ahilya gave a dry laugh, devoid of humor. "Leader? He's far worse. A phantom in the shadows, a man who bends fate itself. And yet…" she hesitated, her voice laced with something between awe and frustration, "…not once in all these years has he ever faced Commander directly. Whether by sheer cunning or something else, he always evades him."
Her words left a lingering chill in the air as the group continued their march into the darkness, shadows of old battles looming over the horizon.
Somewhere at the Southwestern Borders of Shambhala
The night was eerily still. A thick veil of mist rolled across the rugged terrain, swallowing the distant echoes of rustling leaves and the distant cries of nocturnal creatures. The moon, veiled in ominous clouds, cast long, fragmented shadows over the land.
And then—he stepped forward.
A figure emerged from the darkness, his presence alone sending a ripple of unease through the gathered soldiers. His lean yet muscular frame moved with an effortless grace, each step carrying an air of controlled chaos, as though the very fabric of the world trembled beneath his will. The dim torchlight flickered over his face, revealing sharp, chiseled features identical to Kriday's—except for the deep, jagged scar carving through his right cheek.
The moment recognition struck, a strangled voice broke the silence.
"Shreesh…"
A single name was all it took to ignite panic.
The Shambhalan soldiers tensed, hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. Their bodies stiffened, their minds scrambling to process the sudden presence of a ghost they had only whispered about in hushed tones.
But it was already too late.
Before they could react, shadows moved—quick, precise, merciless. Figures emerged from the mist like phantoms, their blades glinting under the fractured moonlight. The Nirvana insurgents had surrounded them, encroaching like an unrelenting tide.
Shreesh stood unmoving, his eyes gleaming with a wicked amusement as his men tightened their grip on the prey. He tilted his head slightly, his shorter, tousled locks falling messily over his forehead, accentuating the untamed aura that surrounded him. Unlike Kriday, whose gaze bore curiosity and defiance, Shreesh's eyes held something far more terrifying—the promise of destruction.
As the tension thickened, the scent of fear mingling with the crisp night air, Shreesh finally spoke, his voice smooth yet laced with underlying volatility.
"Care to Join us."
His smirk deepened, reveling in the chaos that was about to unfold.