Cold air swept through the ruins.
It carried the stench of blood.
Agonized screams echoed from every direction—layered, overlapping, never ending.
And beneath them, one sound stood out.
A child crying.
A boy, no older than twelve, staggered through the carnage.
His clothes were soaked in blood—most of it not his own.
Corpses lay scattered across the ground, every one of them pierced through the head by an arrow.
People ran past him, fleeing.
But the boy moved deeper inside.
He slipped and fell more than once, his hands sinking into blood-soaked stone.
Red streaks ran down his face—not just from wounds, but from his eyes.
Something had already broken inside him.
Then he saw it.
A man stood before a woman, slowly driving a blade into her chest.
The woman did not scream.
She did not resist.
Blood poured down as she looked past the man—toward her son.
Her face twisted with pain… and conflict.
She tried to call out.
Only a faint sound escaped her lips.
"Arjun…"
The boy ran.
He fell to his knees beside her, shaking.
Tears streamed down his face as he looked up at the man.
"What have you done?" he screamed."Why are you killing everyone… Father?"
The woman gathered what little strength she had left.
"This isn't his fault, son," she whispered.
Her trembling hand traced symbols in blood across Arjun's palm as she chanted a quiet mantra.
Her final words were barely audible.
"I know you are a healer… but this Astra will protect you."
Her body went still.
She had survived far longer than any normal person should have—after a blade through the heart.
She was no ordinary woman.
Something inside Arjun snapped.
He lunged at his father, rage swallowing him whole.
But the man only turned away.
"Why?" Arjun screamed."Why did you do this?!"
The man stopped.
For a moment, he looked back.
His voice was hoarse.
"I had no other choice, son."
Then he walked away.
An old man emerged from the shadows, his expression twisted.
"How can a child live normally," he said coldly, "after seeing his mother die by his father's hand?"
The man did not answer.
"If he remembers this," the old man continued, quieter now, "it will follow him forever."
Silence.
The man nodded once.
"…Make him forget," the old man said.
The man returned to the child.
Arjun was still crying, clutching his mother's body.
The man knelt and placed a hand on the boy's head.
A mantra was chanted—steady, controlled.
The crying faded.
As the man turned away, the old man watched him closely.
A faint smile crossed his face—brief, unreadable.
"Take him to the gurukul in the northern mountains."
Later, the old man knelt beside the unconscious boy, smiling gently.
Later, when Arjun awoke, confused and afraid, the old man knelt beside him.
"Why am I here, Grandpa?" the boy asked.
"So you can become a better healer," the old man replied gently.
"Where are my parents?"
The old man leaned closer.
"In ten years," he said, "when you reach the Rajmahal Vault, you will learn everything."
"And until then—do not ask, and do not tell anyone who your father is."
Arjun nodded, but the feeling in his chest didn't ease.
Ten years felt… too long.
He didn't understand why waiting was necessary, only that something about it felt wrong. The word vault meant nothing to him, and the promise of answers sounded distant and uncertain.
He wanted to ask more.
But the old man was already standing up.
He was left at the gurukul in the northern mountains.
With no memory of that night.
But when he first woke there, a voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"Become strong."