The morning sun filtered through the carved stone lattice, scattering golden patterns across the polished marble floor. Pratap stood before the mirror once more, his reflection still catching him off guard. The young face staring back was regal yet unfamiliar — the same sharp jawline, the same piercing eyes, yet… the awareness behind them was different now.
He breathed slowly, feeling the steady rhythm of a body that was no longer from his old world. So this is really happening... I'm alive again. And not just anywhere. His gaze shifted toward the intricate Rajput emblems etched into the mirror's frame. Mewar.
A knock echoed at the chamber door.
"Kunwar Pratap," came a respectful voice. "Her Majesty, Rani Jaiwanta Bai, requests your presence."
So it's true. The name struck through him like a jolt. He had studied this woman in history books — a queen known for her strength, her grace. And now… she was his mother.
He composed himself quickly, walking toward the doorway. The palace corridors stretched wide and tall, the walls painted with scenes of valor and gods. Servants bowed deeply as he passed. Their reverence felt strange — natural to them, but foreign to him. In my past life, I used to rush through airport gates. Now, people lower their heads when I walk.
When he reached the inner hall, the heavy curtains parted, revealing Rani Jaiwanta Bai seated upon a cushioned dais. She was dressed in flowing silks of crimson and gold, her eyes sharp yet filled with warmth.
"Pratap," she called softly, her tone both commanding and affectionate. "You seem lost this morning. Are you unwell, my son?"
He bowed instinctively, unsure whether it was memory or instinct guiding him. "I… just woke with strange dreams, Maa-sa."
Her expression softened. "Dreams of warriors, perhaps? You've always been restless, even as a child. Your father says your spirit burns brighter than most."
At the mention of his father, something stirred inside him — an echo of memory, a flicker of a name: Udai Singh. His heart quickened. So it's true… I really am him. Maharana Pratap.
She rose gracefully and stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. The gesture was tender, yet her posture never lost its dignity. "You will make Mewar proud one day, my son," she said. "Your path is not ordinary."
He smiled faintly — a mix of reverence and irony. If only you knew, Mother. I've already lived and died once.
But aloud, he only said, "I will try, Maa-sa."
Her gaze lingered, as if she sensed something different in him, a depth too mature for his age. "The gods have blessed you," she murmured, almost to herself.
As he left the hall, the young prince turned his eyes toward the distant Aravalli hills visible beyond the palace terrace. So this is my new beginning… Maharana Pratap, the Lion of Mewar.
A slow, determined smile curved his lips.
Let's see how history unfolds — this time, on my terms.