The Kingdom of Joy had once been a realm of lullabies and laughter, where the walls were painted with dreams and the air smelled of sandalwood and spice. But kingdoms, even magical ones, are not immune to storms—especially the kind that brew quietly in the hearts of families.
As TrueFace began to grow from a wide-eyed child into a curious boy, the winds of change stirred. His limbs stretched, his questions multiplied, and his eyes—once filled with wonder—began to notice the cracks in the castle walls.
The Cheek-Twist Incident
It began with a twist. Not of fate, but of a cheek.
One afternoon, while the royal cousins played in the courtyard of ancestral echoes, Lady Thorncheek—his uncle's wife, known for her unsolicited cheek-pinching—descended upon TrueFace's younger brother. Her fingers, sharp as talons and scented with turmeric, twisted the boy's cheek with such force that he cried out like a startled phoenix.
The cry echoed through the halls.
Periyamma, the guardian of TrueFace's early years, heard it. And she did not take it lightly.
"How dare a sister-in-law lay hands on my son?" she roared, her voice shaking the mango trees and rattling the spice jars. Her fury was not theatrical—it was ancestral. She had raised TrueFace with love, discipline, and slipper spells. She had fed him stories and sambars. She had stitched his soul with quiet strength.
And now, her sanctuary had been violated.
The drama that followed was worthy of a bard's ballad. Scrolls were torn, tears were shed, and words flew like enchanted arrows. Periyamma, with her head held high and her heart heavy, made a decision that would change everything.
She left.
She walked away from the kingdom built by TrueFace's grandfather—the palace of memories, the garden of childhood, the walls that had once echoed with lullabies. And with her departure, the Kingdom of Joy lost a piece of its soul.
The New Realm
TrueFace, along with his parents, younger brother, and radiant sister, packed their belongings and left the ancestral kingdom. They journeyed to a new realm—The Suburban Circle of Whispering Winds—a place less magical, more modern, filled with neighbors, noise, and novelty.
The houses stood close, like gossiping aunties. The streets buzzed with bicycles, cricket bats, and the occasional ice cream cart that sang like a siren. Boys his age roamed freely, and girls gathered in clusters, giggling like fairies casting spells.
TrueFace, still mourning the loss of Periyamma's daily warmth, wandered through this new kingdom with cautious steps. He missed her terribly. Her food, her stories, her slipper spells. Every weekend, he would return to her cottage—a sanctuary of spice and softness. She welcomed him with open arms and dosa shields. In her presence, he felt whole again.
The Playground Chronicles
Back in the new kingdom, life began to shift.
TrueFace made friends—boys who taught him street games and girls who taught him how to laugh again. After school, he would drop his bag like a warrior shedding armor and run to the playground, where he played until the sun dipped below the rooftops like a golden curtain closing on childhood.
They played cricket with broken wickets, hide-and-seek in alleys, and invented games that involved magical stones and invisible monsters. The girls, meanwhile, introduced him to the art of sarcasm, storytelling, and the mysterious power of hair flips.
TrueFace was no longer just the Starborn. He was becoming a boy of the world.
The Forbidden Scrolls
But as the age of thirteen approached, the winds of change blew stronger.
One evening, beneath the banyan tree of secrets, a neighbor boy handed TrueFace a forbidden scroll—a romance novel, filled with tales of intimacy, longing, and mysterious feelings that stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. Others followed. The stories were thrilling, confusing, and strangely magnetic. They opened doors in his mind that had never been unlocked.
He began to see the world differently. The girls he played with were no longer just companions—they were mysteries, each carrying a spark of the stories he read. His thoughts grew tangled, his focus blurred, and his grades began to slip like enchanted scrolls caught in a storm.
The Fall of the Scrolls
When the exam results arrived, they were not scrolls of triumph. They were parchments of disappointment.
His mother, already burdened by the weight of relocation and family wounds, reacted with fury. The beating was swift, not cruel, but sharp enough to leave a mark—not on his skin, but on his soul. TrueFace didn't cry. He didn't rebel. He simply retreated into silence, the kind Periyamma had once taught him to master.
That night, he stared at the stars, wondering if they still remembered the prophecy of the Starborn. Was he still destined for greatness? Or had he become just another boy lost in the crowd?
But deep within, a voice whispered:
"This is not your fall. This is your forge."