When Mukul slowly opened his eyes, the world around him was still strange. Twenty people stood in a wide circle, their eyes sharp yet kind. Men and women, each different in dress, appearance, and aura—like they had come from every corner of the earth. Their presence carried weight, like mountains, oceans, fire, and wind all at once.
Mukul blinked, nervous but curious. "Who… who are you?" he asked softly, his small voice trembling.
One of them, a tall man with calm eyes, stepped forward. "We are the keepers of this island," he said. "Every twenty-one years, this place opens to the world. And every time, destiny brings someone here. This time… it is you."
Another, a woman with a long sword resting by her side, studied Mukul's birthmark carefully. "Seven stars," she murmured. "This child is not ordinary."
Mukul clutched his sketchbook to his chest, the one where he always drew stars. "I… I got lost," he whispered. "There was noise, people screaming, and I lost my mama… then I fell into the sea. I don't know how I came here." His eyes glistened, but he held back his tears.
The masters exchanged glances. Some nodded, others sighed. They all understood that this little boy was not simply lost—he had been delivered here for a purpose.
Finally, a broad-shouldered man with thunder in his voice spoke. "This child cannot survive alone. He carries fate upon him. We will not only protect him—we will raise him as one of our own."
Mukul's eyes widened. "Raise me? Like… family?"
A graceful woman knelt before him. Her presence was soft yet commanding, like a motherly flame. "Yes, little one. We will become your teachers. Each of us carries knowledge of the world—combat, art, survival, languages, healing, even secrets of energy cultivation. We will share it all with you."
Mukul tilted his head. "All of it? But… I'm only five. I can't even finish my milk without help sometimes."
The group chuckled warmly, the heavy air lightening. One of them, a dancer-like warrior from South America, leaned closer and tapped his shoulder. "That's why we'll teach you slowly. Day by day. You'll learn martial arts like Taekwondo and Tai Chi, how to survive in the wild, and how to build things—shoes, clothes, even machines. You'll learn to use your mind and your heart. One day, you'll surpass us all."
The words felt too big for Mukul's little world, but he saw the sincerity in their eyes. His chest tightened, not from fear this time, but from something warmer—hope.
Another master, with a staff carved with ancient symbols, said gently, "You have been chosen, Mukul. The stars on your neck, the way fate brought you here—it is not chance. If you accept us, we will give you the skills of warriors, healers, artists, and thinkers. You will carry our legacy."
Mukul lowered his head, thinking of his family. He missed Mama's voice, Papa's warm smile, his brother Anand's strong presence, and his sister Kavya's gentle care. But deep inside, he felt this strange meeting was no accident.
He looked up at them with wide eyes. "If I stay with you…, can I still find my family one day?"
The calmest of them all, a Māori warrior with ocean-deep eyes, placed a hand on Mukul's head. "Yes. Every lesson we provide will make you stronger, wiser, and better prepared for that day. And when you are ready, the world itself will help you find them."
Mukul hesitated for a moment, then nodded with surprising firmness for his age. "Then… please teach me. I want to be strong. I want to see my mama again. And I don't want to cry anymore."
The circle of masters tightened, their expressions solemn. One by one, they each gave a vow.
"I will teach you the way of the sword."
"I will guide you through meditation."
"I will show you how to heal with herbs."
"I will make you a warrior of the elements."
"I will shape your mind to see truth."
Each master added their promise, until the air buzzed with the weight of destiny.
And in the centre of it all, Mukul stood—a small boy, only five years old, but already chosen to become the disciple of twenty of the world's greatest masters.
For the first time since the attack, he felt safe. For the first time, he believed he wasn't lost.
He whispered, "Thank you… teachers."
And so began the legend of Mukul Sharma, the boy of the Seven Stars, now adopted by twenty masters whose knowledge spanned the world itself.