(Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.)
Prologue: Shadows of an Ancient Tale
"Long ago," Usha Ma's voice wove through the darkness, "when the earth knew no machines, no towering buildings—only the pure breath of nature—the leaders of five great clans held dominion over the elemental forces. They were the Agnikul, Varikul, Vayukul, Bhoomikul, and Vidyutkul."
In the dim glow of a lantern, the children sat in silence, their wide eyes reflecting the flickering light. Ansh sat at the very front, cross-legged on the floor, a spark of wonder dancing in his gaze.
"Together, they once faced an unholy force," Usha Ma continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "a being known to us now as the Serpent Demon King, Devdansh. He had seized control of the seven primal forces—fire, water, air, earth, lightning, darkness, and nature itself."
"But the five clans rose against him, and after a battle that shook the heavens, they prevailed. His soul was imprisoned within a ring shaped like a coiled serpent—the Nagmudra. His seven swords, each embodying a stolen force, were scattered across the seven directions, hidden so deeply that none might ever find them again."
The children were entranced, but Ansh was somewhere far beyond the room—his mind painting vivid images of ancient wars and fallen kings.
Present Day: A World of MachinesThe day unfolded like any other—soft clouds wandering across the sky, the sharp whine of electric trams splitting the air, and the shrill clang of the school bell slicing through the morning haze.
Snehālaya, a small orphanage on the city's edge, was where Ansh called home. He was an unremarkable boy by every measure—average in his studies, slow on the playground, and utterly devoid of any magical spark. Everyone knew it.
At Naveen Adarsh Vidya Mandir, his school teeming with gleaming technology, students were as sharp as the devices they carried—and just as ruthless.
"Hey Zero! You managed to crawl back to school?" jeered Yashvardhan, a proud son of the Vidyutkul and the most admired boy in school. Flanking him were his ever-present shadows—Dhruv and Arjun.
"Guys like you are better suited to scrubbing floors, not wielding swords," Dhruv sneered as Arjun shoved Ansh's books onto the dusty ground.
Ansh said nothing. He knelt quietly and gathered his scattered books. On his face was a silence deeper than humiliation—an aching stillness that spoke louder than any tears.
And then—
"That's enough."
The voice was calm but firm. All heads turned.
There she stood—a girl with long, flowing hair and eyes as serene as the full moon. Upon her cloak shimmered the symbol of Vayukul. Her name was Kiara.
"The next time you lay a hand on him, I'll go straight to the Clan Chief," she said, fearless.
For a fleeting moment, Yashvardhan faltered. Then, smirking, he waved his gang away.
"Let's not waste our time."
As they retreated, Kiara knelt beside Ansh, offering her hand.
"I'm Kiara. Vayukul." Her voice was soft but steady. "Are you okay?"
Ansh nodded, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yes... Thank you."
"There's something different about you, Ansh," Kiara said with a warm smile. "Would you like a friend?"
For the first time in a long while, Ansh smiled back. "Yes... I would."
Twilight: Friendship and Dreams
From that day onward, Kiara and Ansh became inseparable. She shared her lunches with him, lent him books, and spoke of the hidden languages of the wind and earth.
"You listen to nature differently," she would say, watching him closely.
"Maybe that's why you feel... special."
To Ansh, every moment with her felt like stepping into a dream—a world where he wasn't invisible.
But one night...
As he sat alone on the orphanage rooftop, bathing in the silver wash of moonlight, a strange rustle stirred the air around him.
He closed his eyes—and a whisper slid through the night:
"Devdansh... seven swords... Nagmudra..."
Ansh's eyes snapped open, his heart pounding.
And then, he felt it—a faint, trembling shiver through the earth beneath him. So slight, yet undeniable.
His gaze was drawn towards a distant mound—a hill where, years ago, a forgotten excavation had been abandoned.
Could it be?
Could the ancient stories still be breathing beneath the soil?
Writer - 🕉