Watching the complete obliteration of his adoptive homeworld and the agonizing death throws of his entire race,the dyingscholarwept.Scaldingtearscarvedcleanpathsthroughthe soot andbloodmaskinghisface.In the absolute nadir of his despair, he raised his voice against the roar of orbital bombardments, crying out to Lord Shiva, the Destroyer of Evils, pleading for the salvation of his people or at least a stroke of divine retributionagainstthebutchersinthesky.Yet,theheavensremaineddeaf.Nocosmicthunderboltstruckdown the hovering dreadnoughts; no miraculous shield deflected the descending pillars of plasma.
With burning hatred etched into his fading vision, and a heart collapsing under the weight of absolute grief, the man surrendered to the dark. He took his final, rattling breath and died. Yet, death was not the absolute end. After an unmeasurable duration spent drifting through a formless, silent void, the consciousness
—or rather, the unmoored soul of the man—gradually awakened from its deep slumber. A resonant, ethereal voice was echoing through the vast emptiness, calling out to him from the boundaries of creation.
The majestic voice reverberated, carrying a weight that felt older than the stars themselves: "I have heard the echo of your despair, my son. Your pure, unyielding grief has bridged the chasm of time and space, and so I have answered your call. Because your intentions are anchored in the preservation of life rather than raw vengeance, I shall grant you two distinct choices to alter the tapestry. First, you may choose the exacthistorical epoch in the past where you wish to be reborn. Second, you may choose one singular, profound ability to aid you. But heed this warning, child: it must remain within the physical and mental constraints of human capability, so as not to shatter the delicate laws of cosmic balance. Speak, what do you desire?"
The soul pondered this monumental offer in the quietude of the void. He realized that to save his people from the cosmic meat-grinder of the future, he had to build an unshakeable foundation in the past—an empire so technologically advanced, culturally unified, and militarily indomitable that no future invasion could ever uproot it.
"I wish to be reborn in medieval Bharat, during the dawn of the sixteenth century, as a prince of a royal lineage," the soul answered with absolute clarity. "And for my ability, I demand to retain the entirety of the technological, scientific, and historical knowledge I acquired during my lifetime as a teacher and researcher. My knowledge spans from basic medieval mechanics to the high-level quantum and industrial paradigms of the future. Let me retain these memories perfectly through an absolute, unblemished eidetic memory."
The primordial voice fell silent, weighing the cosmic implications of the request. After what felt like an eternity, it spoke again, lower and more solemn: "I grant you these choices, my son. However, there shall be strict cosmic boundaries. A profound seal will be placed upon your most destructive future technologies; they shall remain locked within your mind until the temporal fabric is ready, or until another human mind naturally invents their precursors. Furthermore, understand that nature demands equilibrium. To balance your anomalous presence, the historical timeline you know will undergo significant distortions and changes. Be vigilant, for history will not unfold exactly as you remember it. Now, go forth." With that final decree, a roaring silence enveloped the soul, and he plunged back into the dark waters of reincarnation.