Chapter 1: Shadows by the River
The late afternoon sun dipped low over Dharavanar, painting the semi-urban district in hues of amber and gold. The Niravari River flowed gently beside the cobblestone path, its surface shimmering like a sheet of glass kissed by the dying light.
Ariv adjusted the strap of his schoolbag, his sneakers scuffing softly against the stones as he walked home. The air carried the faint scent of incense from a nearby temple, mingling with the savory aroma of street vendors grilling skewers over open flames. Children laughed somewhere in the distance, their voices weaving through the hum of bicycle bells and the occasional honk of a scooter.
Dharavanar wasn't a sprawling metropolis like the capital, nor was it some forgotten village. It sat comfortably in between—a place where modernity and tradition danced an uneasy waltz. Temples with curved roofs stood alongside concrete apartments, and the river, ever-present, seemed to whisper secrets to anyone who lingered too long. Ariv liked it here. It was predictable, safe. School, home, the occasional arcade trip with friends—his life was a simple rhythm, like the steady flow of the Niravari.
But predictable can get boring, he thought, kicking a pebble into the river. It sank with a soft plop, sending ripples across the water. Maybe I should've joined Ravi at the arcade today. He sighed, imagining the flashing lights and the satisfying clunk of tokens in the machine. Instead, he'd stayed late at school, helping the librarian shelve books for extra credit. Lame.
His gaze drifted to the horizon, where the first stars were beginning to peek through the twilight. Something about the sky tonight felt… different. He couldn't place it, but there was a weight to it, like the air before a storm. He shook his head, dismissing the thought. Probably just tired.
The path curved closer to the river, the sound of water lapping against the banks growing louder. Ariv slowed his pace, letting the serenity sink in. The spiritual hum of Dharavanar always had a way of calming him, like a lullaby he didn't fully understand. His mother would say it was the river's blessing, a gift from the old gods. Ariv wasn't sure he believed in all that, but he couldn't deny the peace it brought.
Then he felt it.
A pressure, heavy and cold, pressed against his chest. His breath caught, and his steps faltered. The air grew thick, as if the world had suddenly tilted off its axis. He froze, eyes darting to the riverbank. There, just beyond a cluster of reeds, stood… something.
It was humanoid, but wrong. Its form was cloaked in shadow, like ink spilled across the air, with edges that flickered and blurred. Two glowing eyes, sharp as crescent moons, stared directly at him. The creature—the Kalarak, though Ariv didn't know its name—seemed to pulse with an unnatural hunger. The river's gentle flow went silent, and the world narrowed to those eyes, boring into him, peeling away layers of his soul.
Run, his mind screamed, but his legs wouldn't move. The pressure grew, a vice around his heart, and a low, guttural hum filled his ears. It wasn't a sound—it was a feeling, like despair given form. His schoolbag slipped from his shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the creature vanished. The pressure lifted, the river's sound returned, and the world snapped back into focus. Ariv gasped, stumbling backward. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst. What… what was that?
He didn't wait for an answer. Grabbing his bag, he bolted down the path, sneakers slamming against the cobblestones. The temples, the vendors, the river—all blurred past as he ran, driven by a primal need to get home.
"Mom!" Ariv burst through the door, chest heaving. The small apartment smelled of curry and jasmine, and the clatter of dishes came from the kitchen. His mother, Leena, poked her head out, a wooden spoon in one hand and a bemused look on her face.
"Ariv, you're going to wake the neighbors with all that noise," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "What's got you so worked up?"
He dropped his bag by the door, still catching his breath. "I saw… something near the river."
Leena raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a teasing smile. "Something? Like what, a fish? Or maybe one of those fancy new drones the kids are flying around?"
"No, it wasn't—" Ariv groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. "It was… I don't know, like a shadow, but alive. It had these eyes, Mom, and it looked at me."
She chuckled, turning back to the stove. "You're exhausted, Ariv. Maybe your mind's playing tricks. Long day at school, all those books you were shelving—bet you're seeing ghosts now." She waved the spoon dismissively. "Go wash up. Dinner's almost ready."
Ariv opened his mouth to argue but stopped. She wouldn't believe him. Heck, I barely believe me. He trudged to his room, the image of those glowing eyes burned into his mind.
That night, sleep wouldn't come. Ariv lay on his bed, the window cracked open to let in the cool night air. The stars glittered above, brighter than usual, arranged in patterns that seemed almost deliberate. One constellation, a jagged arc of light, caught his eye. It pulsed faintly, or maybe that was his imagination. Galaxy Zenith, he thought, recalling a phrase from a half-forgotten story his grandfather used to tell. Something about the stars holding secrets, guiding those chosen by fate.
He snorted softly. Chosen by fate? Yeah, right. I'm just Ariv, the kid who trips over his own feet in gym class. But the thought lingered, heavy as the pressure by the river. What was that thing? And why did it feel like it knew him?
He rolled over, staring at the ceiling. The stars outside seemed to whisper, their light spilling into his room like a promise—or a warning.
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Somewhere far beyond the Niravari River, in a place where shadows held court and time bent under the weight of ancient truths, Eryon watched the skies.
The man stood atop a crumbling spire, his cloak billowing in a wind that carried no sound. His eyes, sharp and silver, traced the same constellation Ariv had seen—the Galaxy Zenith. Its light pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, a silent call across the void.
"So," he murmured, his voice low and edged with something like reverence. "The Galaxy Zenith… So the bloodline still exists."
He turned, his gaze piercing the darkness below, where unseen things stirred. A faint smile curled his lips, equal parts anticipation and dread. The game had begun, and the boy by the river was its first piece.