5000 Years Later
The field was known as the 'Akrrit Dhwani Kshetra' - The Plain of Unspoken Echoes. A vast, silvery ground where the very air absorbed sound, leaving behind only the silent, intense energy of combat practice. Here, the finest of Swarg's warriors honed their skills.
And in its center, stood Shaurya.
His movements were a study in lethal geometry. Each swing of his sword was perfect, its arc tracing the precise curves dictated by the ancient divine combat manuals. His footwork was impeccable, never displacing a single pebble more than necessary. He was a symphony of power and control, a living weapon polished to a cold, brilliant finish.
But his face… his face was a barren landscape. No fire of passion flickered in his eyes, no frown of concentration marred his brow. It was a mask of polished stone, beautiful and utterly expressionless. He had been practicing for hours, his divine form glistening with a perspiration that smelled faintly of ozone and lotus pollen. The repetition was a penance, a desperate attempt to drown the silent scream that had lived in his soul for five millennia.
Suddenly, his foot landed on a patch of dew-slicked, celestial moss. A minor, almost impossible imperfection. His perfect balance, for a fraction of a second, was lost.
It was enough.
His knees buckled, not from weakness, but from the weight of a memory that crashed upon him in that moment of vulnerability. He fell to one knee, his head bowed, his breathing the only sound in the silent plain.
And then, they came.
Tears, hot and silent, fell from his eyes, splashing onto the pristine ground, each drop shimmering like a fallen star. He made no sound, his shoulders didn't shake. It was a grief so profound it had moved beyond sound.
His gaze fell upon his left wrist. There, against his golden skin, rested a simple bracelet. It was not made of gold or gems, but of intertwined strands of a strange, iridescent metal that seemed to hold a captured nebula within it. It was old, slightly tarnished, and clearly not crafted for a warrior of his stature.
He stared at it, his stone mask finally cracking. His fingers, usually so steady and sure, trembled as he touched the cool metal.
Flashback - 5000 Years Ago
They were in the celestial gardens, hidden from view. Advik, his eyes shining with mischievous light, was fiddling with something in his hands.
"Close your eyes," he had said.
"Why?" Shaurya asked, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
"Just do it, you stubborn Deva!"
Shaurya complied. He felt Advik take his wrist, his touch sending the usual jolt of lightning through his system. Something cool and smooth was clasped around it.
"Okay, open."
Shaurya looked down at the bracelet. It was strangely beautiful, made of a metal he didn't recognize.
"It's star-metal," Advik said softly, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I forged it myself in the heart of a dying star in the mortal realm. It's… so you never forget that even in the darkest night, there is a piece of my realm with you. A piece of… me."
Shaurya had pulled him into a kiss, his heart so full he thought it would burst. "I could never forget you," he whispered against his lips. "Not in a thousand lifetimes."
"Not in five thousand years," present-day Shaurya whispered to the empty plain, the memory fading.
The vibrant, chaotic, beautiful Swarg of the past was gone. The cheerful, fearless face of Advik was gone.
All that remained was the cold, perfect beauty of a heaven that felt like a gilded cage, the weight of the bracelet on his wrist, and the endless, silent echo of a single, unanswerable question in his heart.
He slowly rose to his feet, his face once again settling into its familiar, grief-worn mask. The practice was over. A different battle was about to begin.
His gaze turned away from the glittering spires of Swarg and downwards, towards the distant, swirling blues and greens of the mortal realm—Earth.
His true exile was just beginning.
But as he took his first step away from the training ground, a familiar, grounding presence materialized behind him. He didn't need to turn; the aura was as comforting as the first rays of Surya Dev after a long night—warm, steady, and familiar.
A large, warm hand landed on his shoulder, firm and heavy with five thousand years of unspoken understanding. It was Tejas, his elder brother.
Without a word, Tejas pulled Shaurya into a tight, crushing embrace. It wasn't a gentle hug; it was the kind that held back collapsing mountains and silenced the screams of a millennia-old heartache. He held him for a long moment, saying everything without uttering a single syllable—I know. I have always known.
Finally, he pulled back, his hands still gripping Shaurya's shoulders, his dark, perceptive eyes scanning his younger brother's face, reading the ancient sorrow etched there like scriptures on stone.
"Tum theek ho, mere bhai?" (Are you okay, my brother?)
Shaurya's gaze remained fixed somewhere in the middle distance, his voice a hollow echo from a deep well of grief. "Haan, Bhayya. Main theek hoon." (Yes, Brother. I am okay.)
It was the biggest lie ever spoken in the realms of truth that was Swarg.
Tejas knew it. He had watched for five thousand years as his vibrant, disciplined brother had turned into a ghost, a living monument to a love that had been sentenced to death by divine decree.
"Chalo," Tejas said simply, his tone brooking no argument but filled with a gentle firmness. He slung a heavy, protective arm around Shaurya's shoulders and gently steered him away. (Come.)
He led him not to the grand halls, but to his private garden, a place of resilient herbs and deep-rooted trees that offered shade and solace. A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only with the gentle hum of celestial bees.
After a long while, Tejas stopped and turned to face his brother. "Ek khushkhabri hai," he said, his voice holding a careful, measured tone. (I have some good news.)
Shaurya didn't react. News of promotions, of victories, of celestial politics—it all meant nothing. His face remained a perfect, unreadable mask of stoic grief.
Tejas understood. He stepped closer, directly in front of Shaurya, forcing his line of sight. He reached out and gently cupped his brother's chin, lifting his face until their eyes met. His own eyes, usually so calm and commanding, were now shining with an emotion so profound it finally pierced through Shaurya's numbness—a mixture of hope, pain, and unwavering love.
"Shaurya," Tejas said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, laden with the weight of the cosmos. "Advik wapas aa raha hai." (Advik is coming back.)
For a single, heart-stopping second, the entire universe seemed to freeze. The humming of the bees ceased. The leaves stopped rustling.
Shaurya's breath hitched in his throat, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound that was louder than any thunder in the silent garden. His eyes, those deep wells of ancient sorrow, widened just a fraction as they locked with his brother's, searching for the truth, terrified to hope.
Tejas held his gaze, unwavering, confirming the impossible. "Haan, Shaurya," he repeated, his voice firm with certainty, yet soft as a prayer. "Advik wapas aa raha hai. Manushya jeevan mein uska janm hone wala hai. Prithvi par." (Yes, Shaurya. Advik is coming back. He is going to be born into a human life. On Earth.)
The stone mask did not crack. There was no dramatic gasp, no cry of joy. But something far more powerful happened.
A single tear, pristine and heavy with the weight of eternity, welled up in the corner of Shaurya's eye. It trembled for a moment on his lash, a diamond of pure emotion, containing entire constellations of pain and hope, before tracing a slow, deliberate path down his cheek.
Then another followed. And another.
Tejas's own composure broke then. He pulled his younger brother into another fierce, protective embrace, holding him as his shoulders remained still, his sobs utterly silent.
"Yeh aansu rok lo, Shaurya," he murmured into his hair, his own voice thick with emotion. "Rok lo. Ab in aansuon ko bahane ka samay nahi hai. Ab toh bas uski intezaar ka samay hai." (Stop these tears, Shaurya. Stop them. This is not the time to let them flow. Now is only the time to wait for him.)
The time for mourning was over. The time for hope, for preparation, for reunion was about to begin.
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Chapter End :
For five thousand years, he had waited in silence. Now, the wait was finally over. Advik was returning. But as Shaurya stood in his brother's embrace, the tears of a millennia-old winter finally thawing on his face, a new fear took root. How do you find a single soul in the vastness of the mortal world? And what would he find when he did?