Ujjwal lay on the riverbank, the quiet murmur of the Ganga filling his ears. His heart thudded with a strange rhythm, each beat reverberating with an unfamiliar force. He sat up slowly, his fingers digging into the soft, damp earth. The world around him felt heavier, sharper—every sound, every scent heightened.
The ghats were empty now, shadows stretching long under the pale moonlight. A figure moved in the distance, a lone priest tending to a smoldering fire. The embers seemed alive, twisting into shapes that whispered in a language he couldn't understand. He rubbed his eyes, his breath catching.
"Am I hallucinating?" he muttered, gripping his forehead. "Or have I lost my mind completely?"
He tried to rationalize it—shock from the attack, blood loss, maybe even a fever dream. But his body felt too real, his senses too vivid. He touched his side where the beast's claws had torn into him. There was no wound. Not even a scar.
His mother's voice echoed in his memory, recounting tales of Bheem's strength and the enchanted worlds hidden within the folds of reality. He had always dismissed her stories, amused by her belief. Now, the weight of those tales pressed down on him, heavy and inescapable.
The river whispered again, its currents swirling in patterns that tugged at his mind. He staggered to his feet, feeling the river's pull not on his body but on something deeper within him—an invitation, a warning, or perhaps both.
He backed away from the water, his pulse racing. Questions burned in his mind. Why had those creatures attacked him? Why had he been saved? And what was it Vasukinandan had said? "Blood remembers, even if the mind forgets."
The air grew colder. He shivered and turned toward the city lights in the distance. He needed answers.
---
The walk home felt longer than usual. Every shadow seemed to move, every corner hiding unseen eyes. His family's house was old, its walls thick with history. He pushed the creaking door open and stepped inside.
"Ujjwal, is that you?" his mother's voice came from the kitchen, warm and familiar.
"Yeah, Maa. It's late. You should be asleep."
She appeared in the doorway, her eyes filled with concern. "I heard about the incident at the ghat. Some people said a man was attacked. Were you there?"
He hesitated. The truth felt too heavy. "No, I wasn't."
She studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Be careful, beta. The world is not always what it seems."
He forced a smile, the weight of her words settling uneasily in his chest.
---
Later that night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep eluded him. The memory of Vasukinandan's gaze burned into his thoughts. "You are tied to something ancient."
The shadows in his room twisted. He sat up sharply, the edges of reality blurring once again. A shape moved—a flicker of scales and gleaming eyes.
His breath caught. He blinked.
The shadows stilled.
But the feeling lingered. He was not alone.