The sun had just begun to rise over the quiet village nestled in the hills, its golden rays slowly creeping through the wooden shutters of a small, humble home. Aryan stirred from his sleep, his eyes fluttering open, yet there was a strange heaviness in his chest, a weight he couldn't quite understand. He wasn't sure why, but something deep inside him felt... different. As if he had been awakened after a long, forgotten slumber.
A gust of wind swept through the open window, brushing his face, and Aryan's eyes narrowed as he felt an unusual connection to the breeze, a faint whisper of recognition. The air seemed to respond to him as if acknowledging his very presence. The sensation was fleeting, but it left him with an odd sense of longing and confusion.
Who am I? Aryan thought, sitting up in bed. He looked around the room, taking in the simple furnishings—the wooden floorboards, the small wooden desk by the window, and the bed where he had woken up, all of it so familiar, yet somehow distant.
His memory was a blur.
He couldn't recall his past, his identity, or anything before waking up in this place. The only clear thing was a deep connection to the wind—a feeling he couldn't explain, yet it felt like an inherent part of him as if he had known this sensation all his life.
Just then, a knock at the door broke his thoughts.
"Aryan, breakfast is ready!" came the voice of his adopted mother, a warm and kind woman named Shalini. Aryan was raised by her and her husband, a humble farmer named Ravi after a strange series of events had left him on their doorstep as an infant. They had loved him as their own, but something about his true origins remained a mystery.
Aryan quickly dressed and made his way downstairs. His adoptive mother greeted him with a smile, placing a steaming bowl of porridge on the table.
"You've been sleeping a lot lately," she said with a concerned tone. "Is everything alright?"
Aryan hesitated, unsure how to respond. "I... I'm not sure. I just feel strange. Like something's missing, or I should know something that I don't."
Shalini frowned, her brow furrowing in worry. "If you're feeling unwell, we could ask the healer to come by."
"No, no," Aryan quickly assured her. "It's just... something in my mind feels off."
As he sat down to eat, Aryan couldn't shake the feeling that something was calling to him, urging him to search for answers. He ate in silence, his mind elsewhere.
The wind seemed to be growing stronger outside, a faint howl in the distance. Aryan looked out the window, watching as the trees swayed in response to the invisible force. For a brief moment, the air felt alive, like it was guiding him toward something... but what?
Just then, a figure appeared at the doorstep, a tall and imposing figure dressed in robes that fluttered with the wind. The wind around him seemed to pulse and swirl with an unnatural energy as if it recognized him.
"Aryan," the man called, his voice carrying a sense of ancient authority. "It's time to awaken."
Aryan stood frozen in place. There was something familiar about the man, but he couldn't place it.
"Who... who are you?" Aryan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The man's eyes shone with a wisdom beyond his years. "I am Ravan, your master and guide. You are the Wind Sovereign, reborn into this world."
The words hit Aryan like a thunderclap. "Wind Sovereign?" he repeated, confusion and curiosity filling his mind. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Ravan's gaze softened, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on Aryan's shoulder. "You have been given the gift of the wind, Aryan. It is your birthright. Your past life was one of great power, but your memories were sealed when you were reborn. The time has come for you to remember and embrace your true self."
Aryan's mind raced. Memories of another life, of vast skies and storm winds, flashed before his eyes, but they were fragmented, fleeting. Who had he been before? What had happened to him?
"You've been living in the Mortal Realm, hidden from your true destiny," Ravan continued. "But now the forces of darkness are rising, and you are the only one who can stand against them. You are the Wind Sovereign, destined to protect the realms."
Suddenly, the memory of the wind—its calming touch, its guiding pull—made sense. It was calling to him, urging him to step into the power he had once wielded. He could feel it deep within, an ancient force that resonated with his very being.
"What must I do?" Aryan asked, his voice steady despite the confusion swirling in his mind.
Ravan smiled. "You must come with me. There is much to learn, and time is running out."
As Aryan stepped out of the house and followed Ravan, he turned to look at his adoptive parents. Shalini and Ravi watched from the doorway, their faces filled with concern and confusion. Aryan felt a pang of guilt in his chest, but he knew he had no choice. His true destiny awaited, and the wind was calling him.
The journey ahead was uncertain, but Aryan knew one thing for sure—his life would never be the same again.