For the past week, the same dream had haunted me.
Every night, I found myself standing in an endless void, surrounded by glowing symbols that pulsed like a heartbeat.
A whisper, ancient and distant, echoed through the emptiness, calling my name. But before I could understand what it meant, I would always wake up—
drenched in sweat, my heart pounding.
And tonight, on my eighteenth birthday, everything became clear.
.
.
.
A gentle breeze rustled through the trees as I sat on the balcony, staring at the city below. Everything seemed normal—people walking, cars honking, full of bustle .
but that same unsettling feeling gnawed at me. It was as if the world around me wasn't entirely real, like I was watching a play where everyone knew their roles except me.
"Om, it's time."
I turned to see my father, Vishwajeet, standing at the doorway. His presence was always strong, but tonight, his eyes carried a weight I had never seen before.
My mother, Chitrangada, stood beside him, her expression a strange mix of anticipation and concern.
"Time for what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Neither of them answered. Instead, they led me inside. The air in the house felt different—charged, heavier, as if the very walls were holding a secret.
The air shifted. The wooden floor beneath my feet felt unsteady, like reality itself was preparing to break.
My father raised his right arm, and the tattoo on his forearm, began to glow. It pulsed with golden light, and as he chanted in Sanskrit, the glow expanded outward.
The air rippled. Strange inscriptions materialized around him, floating and rearranging like they had a will of their own. The room darkened as a golden portal tore open before us, humming with energy.
My mother took my hand.
"Come." We stepped through.
I expected something grand—another realm, a divine plane, something beyond my understanding. But when we emerged, we were still in our living room.
I turned to my parents, wanting some answer but they only watched me, waiting. just then-
A golden glow flickered from within.
Symbols—intricate and ancient—covered the walls, pulsing faintly as if alive.
In the center of the room lay a circular platform inscribed with runes, humming with a low, steady vibration.
I stopped at the threshold.
"What is this place?"
My mother placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"The real world is not what you think, Om. Everything outside—that 'normal' life—is an illusion for those who have not awakened."
My father knelt before the platform, tracing the patterns with his fingertips.
"You are about to step into the truth. This is where you will receive your divine mark—
"A… mark?"
still confused I ask both of them
My mother nodded.
"Everywhere across the world, when a teen reaches the age of eighteen, they become eligible to receive their divine mark—a gift bestowed upon them by the Gods. It is a symbol of their true purpose, their connection to something far greater than themselves. And today, Om, it's your time to awaken to your destiny."
As I instinctively stepped onto the platform, a strange warmth wrapped around me. The air vibrated, the symbols on the walls flared brighter, and for a brief moment, I felt as if I was floating—caught between two worlds.
Then it happened.
my body exploded with light. A surge of power rushed through me, hot and unrelenting, like fire pouring through my veins.
I gasped as something burned into my skin—not painful, but undeniable. as an unfamiliar symbol etched itself into my skin, glowing with a mystical aura.
My entire body trembled. A strange energy surged within me—overwhelmingly, I clenched my fist, trying to grasp the power coursing through me.
As the glow faded, I stepped out of the platform I lifted my hand, and there it was.
A symbol, glowing on the back of my palm.
Simple, yet alive, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The mark of the divine. Silence filled the room.
The glow from my hand flickered, then steadied, casting strange shadows across the walls.
My breath was heavy, my body still trembling from whatever had just happened. My parents watched me closely.
I swallowed hard and flexed my fingers. The symbol on the back of my palm pulsed, radiating warmth. It didn't hurt, but I could feel it—
"So, does this ability let me turn my hair golden or something?" I finally asked.
My father stood slowly, his sharp eyes locked onto my mark.
"You will know, once you focus on the symbol."
I looked down at the glowing symbol, my mind racing.
"Nothing is Happening, is something wrong with my Tattoo?"
My mother stepped closer, her voice calm yet firm.
"Your mark is a fragment of the gods' essence. Its power will reveal itself in time, but first—you must understand the world you truly belong to."
I frowned.
"The world I—"
Before I could finish, a sudden shift rippled through the air. The walls trembled, the floating inscriptions brightened, and the very ground beneath my feet seemed to come alive.
A strange force coiled around my skin, not painful, but testing me, like unseen eyes were evaluating my worth.
Then, just as quickly as it came, it faded.
I exhaled sharply, looking up at my parents.
"What was that?"
My father exchanged a glance with my mother before turning back to me.
"The mark has chosen you, Om. But it will take time for you to unlock its full potential."
His eyes darkened slightly, his voice lower.
"Until then, you must be careful."
Something about his tone unsettled me.
"Careful of what?"
My mother's expression softened, but there was an edge of worry in her gaze.
"Not everyone will want you to reach your full strength."
The weight of their words settled over me like a heavy cloak. I had just stepped into a world I barely understood, and already, there were warnings of danger.
I clenched my fist, feeling the warmth of the mark against my skin. A power given by the gods… and enemies who would try to stop me.
I had no idea what was coming.
But one thing was clear—my old life was over.
.
.
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To be Continued...