**Kashi, India – Present Day**
Ujjwal Sen had always found irony in studying cellular biology steps away from a river said to purify souls. He sat cross-legged on Dashashwamedh Ghat, his back against a sun-warmed pillar, a textbook open on his lap. The Ganges flowed lazily, its surface fractured by the dipping hands of pilgrims and the flicker of floating diyas. His grandmother's voice nagged in his memory: *"You carry the blood of rishis, beta. One day, the gods will ask you to listen."* He snorted. If gods existed, they'd left Kashi to drown in traffic and tourist selfies.
The first sign was the crows.
A murder of them erupted from the ghat's steps, shrieking as the air split with a sound like shattering glass. Ujjwal looked up—and froze. Ten feet above the river, reality peeled open, revealing a wound of swirling amethyst light. From it staggered a creature that made his breath hitch.
*An Asur.*
But not the horned, axe-wielding demon of his grandmother's tales. This one was sleek, almost humanoid, with obsidian skin etched in gold scars. His eyes glowed like dying embers, and in his clawed grip was a hexagonal box, its seams leaking molten light. The Asur clutched it to his chest like a stolen prize, scanning the panicking crowd with feral urgency.
"**Dhikkaar hai!**" the Asur snarled—*a curse*—as three arrows of pure sunlight tore through the portal after him. They struck his back, and he crumpled to his knees, the box skidding across stone until it hit Ujjwal's sneaker.
Inside, cradled in black velvet, was a pearl. No—a *miniature star*, its core swirling with galaxies.
"**Mera hai!**" the Asur growled—*mine*—crawling toward it, his claws gouging grooves in the stone. But the golden arrows flared brighter, pinning him like a specimen. His obsidian skin cracked, leaking smoke and ash.
Ujjwal reached for the box.
"Don't… touch it… fool…" the Asur hissed, his voice a blade dragged over gravel. But Ujjwal's fingers brushed the pearl—
—and the world *detonated*.
Light seared his vision. The pearl shot into his chest, burning colder than ice, hotter than magma. He gasped, collapsing as images stampeded his mind: a prism fracturing into seven shards… a war in a silver city… an Asur with this creature's face, smashing a throne to steal the pearl.
When the haze cleared, the Asur was inches from Ujjwal's face, his body disintegrating.
"**Stupid… mortal,**" he rasped, ember-eyes dimming. "You think… I wanted this? To die… a thief?" His clawed hand gripped Ujjwal's collar, trembling. "The *Jyoti Mukta*… it was supposed to… free us. Break the Devas' chains…" Blood-black tears streaked his face. "Now… it's yours. And they'll come. My kin. Your 'gods.'"
He coughed ash, then slashed his own palm, smearing black blood on Ujjwal's shirt. The droplets sizzled, forming a twisted rune.
"**A message… for my brothers,**" the Asur whispered. "The pearl… has a new host. Let them… finish what I—"
His body crumbled to dust.
The three golden arrows hovered now, morphing—a spear, a shield, a bow—before dissolving into Ujjwal's skin. His chest burned where the pearl had buried itself.
Sirens wailed. Police shouts echoed. Ujjwal stumbled back, the rune on his shirt pulsing faintly. Somewhere, in the shadows between worlds, a dozen pairs of ember-eyes snapped open.