The sun was melting into the horizon, its last golden light spilling across the broken skyline. The world had changed beyond recognition, half-alive, half-ruined, held together by fragments of hope. The only light that truly existed now was the sun, and even that seemed tired of shining on a world where greed had devoured goodness.
As Prabhas walked into his home, his heart was anything but calm. Questions chased one another through his mind like restless shadows. His father's still unable to attain moksha. What could possibly be binding his father to the earth? Prabhas had sworn to find out. No matter what it took. No matter what truths it broke open. But for now, he had to follow his father's words, "Seek the truth in the Book of Silver, for it holds the seven stages of your own birth."
The thought haunted him. The Book of Silver… the ancient text his father guarded all his life, sealed within the old family library, locked behind celestial codes. And what frightened Prabhas wasn't the mystery of the book, was what it might reveal about him.
The evening sky was painted in a bruised blend of gold and crimson, as if heaven itself wept for humankind. The final star blinked faintly before dissolving into the dusk, a silver grain of eternity lost in time.
Prabhas entered his room, the warmth of home greeting him like a forgotten melody. His wife's laughter echoed faintly from the next room, and his young son's voice filled the silence like a song of innocence. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of their happiness. "This… this is what I must protect," he whispered. "The world they deserve."
Outside, the city hummed with chaos. Refugees roamed in search of new beginnings, survivors of a planet poisoned by its own ambition. Humanity had once soared with technology, but in its hunger for power, it had burned its wings. Civilization crumbled, empathy disappeared, and the Earth's heart was left scarred.
Prabhas gazed at the faint reflection of his father's portrait in the glass window. "If change must come," he murmured, "someone must step forward. Maybe that someone… is me." He sipped the bitter coffee from his cup, his thoughts heavy and tangled. Why do people look to me? Why do they trust that I'll bring change? What have I done to deserve such faith?
The weight of expectation pressed on his chest. But deep down, a whisper stirred, a voice older than his lifetime. "You've done this before, Prabhas… many times before."
That night, the moon rose pale and watchful. Prabhas entered the old library a place untouched by time. Dust floated like golden spirits in the lamplight. The walls were lined with scrolls and relics, each whispering secrets of forgotten ages. At the center stood a pedestal of marble, and upon it rested a book bound in shimmering silver leather, the Book of Silver.
As he opened the cover, a surge of energy pulsed through the room. The air trembled. Symbols glowed like fireflies across the pages, rearranging themselves into words written in divine script. His hands trembled as he read the first page.
"The Seven Stages of Birth – The Journey of the Eternal Soul."
Page by page, the book revealed what no mortal should ever see. He saw himself, Prabhas, not as he was now, but in seven different lives across ages. Each life, a mirror of pain, purpose, and penance. In his first age he was Arjun Dev, a healer who betrayed his vow for love and lost both his beloved and his soul's peace. In his Second Life he was as Viraaj, a warrior who fought for the wrong kingdom, blinded by loyalty. In his third life he was as Aditya, a monk who abandoned truth for fame.
In his Fourth Life he was AryanAryan, a scholar who tried to rewrite destiny and perished in his own illusion. In his Fifth Life , he was as Ramakanth, the saint who cursed himself and his beloved Seraphina, binding their souls for centuries. In his Sixth Life he was as Rohit, a scientist who tried to restore Earth's lost nature but was killed before completing his mission.
In his Seventh Life he was as Shashank, a dreamer and archaeologist, whose search for the truth led him unknowingly back to himself. It was the life which he lived in the past before the third world war ll. Tears blurred his vision. "So this is what you meant, Father," he whispered. "You wanted me to see the cycle… to remember who I was." Then the book shimmered once more, revealing one final line.
"The Eighth Life shall be the last. The soul shall rise as the Restorer, and through unity of the past, balance shall return to the world." The words burned into his mind.
The Eighth Life… that's me and I was reborn into the future to change this world. A jolt ran through him, shock, awe, and realization merging into one blinding truth. He wasn't just Prabhas. He was the final form of an ancient soul, reborn to correct what his past selves had broken. If he want to do that, he needed to bring together those whose souls were once part of his journey—Akshatha, Aparajitha, Rohit, and Shashank. Only when their fates intertwined again would Seraphina's and Ramakanth's restless souls attain moksha and return to the Netherworld in peace.
The night deepened. The silver book closed by itself with a whispering hum, as though it had completed its duty. Prabhas sat in silence, overwhelmed by visions, the faces of those he had once loved, fought beside, and lost across centuries In a vision, Prabhas saw two scenes playing out simultaneously across the world.
Shashank stirred in his bed as morning light filtered through his window. His head throbbed with a strange ache, a familiar pain that belonged to another lifetime. Rubbing his eyes, he groaned, "Ugh, why so early?" Beside him, a hand appeared out of nowhere and snatched his pills away. It was Rohan, his younger brother. "Bhai, how many times have I told you? No pills on an empty stomach! You'll ruin your health." Shashank sighed. "My head's been killing me for two days. I can't focus."
Rohan frowned. "You've been studying nonstop for those archaeology exams. You're burning yourself out. Let me get you some ginger tea. Tulasi, jaggery, and Mom's love, it'll fix everything." As Rohan left for the kitchen, the morning light reflected off a photo frame on the wall, an old picture of their late father, Siddharth. The name hit differently today. Somewhere deep inside, Shashank felt an ache not of grief, but of recognition.
In another part of the world, two girls sat in a quiet laboratory surrounded by holographic screens. Akshatha and Aparajitha were decoding fragments of ancient inscriptions retrieved from a temple ruin. Aparajitha glanced at her sister. "Do you ever feel like these scripts are calling to us? Like we've seen them before?"
Akshatha smiled faintly. "Every night. I dream of a man named Prabhas and a woman named Seraphina… They're trapped somewhere, waiting." Before Aparajitha could reply, the hologram flickered, and an old Sanskrit verse appeared on the screen, words from the Book of Silver: "When the Healer, the Warrior, the Dreamer, and the Keeper unite, the Earth shall breathe again." The sisters looked at each other, realization dawning. Somewhere, somehow, their lives were connected to something far greater.
Back in his dim library, Prabhas shut his eyes as tears rolled down his face. "Father," he whispered, "I finally understand. You weren't trapped by fate, you were waiting for me to awaken." He could almost hear his father's voice echo through the stillness."End what we began, my son. Restore what was lost. Unite them, and free us all."
The silver book pulsed once more and dissolved into light, merging into Prabhas's chest. A mark appeared on his wrist, a radiant sigil of infinity, the symbol of rebirth. His breath trembled. His purpose was clear now.
He would find Akshatha, Aparajitha, Rohit, and Shashank. Together, they would restore nature, humanity, and peace. They would awaken the forgotten energies of Earth, purify the remnants of greed, and open the celestial gate that leads the lost souls, Prabhas looked out at the darkened horizon. The city flickered with dying neon lights, but beyond it, he could feel the Earth breathing faintly, weak, but alive. He whispered into the night,"This time, I won't fail. This is my eighth life… and my last chance to make the world whole again."
As dawn broke over the planet, faint silver lines connected across the world, one at a library in Prabhas's home, another in a temple ruin where Akshatha and Aparajitha stood, and another at a small home where Shashank looked into the photo of his father, unaware that destiny was already calling. Four souls…Four lives…Bound by a single thread of eternity. The Book of Silver had awakened them all. And so began the journey of rebirth, redemption, and reunion—to heal the world that had forgotten how to breathe.