When the lazy father stands, the world itself catches fire.
The sun was rising, but I lay there in shock. What had happened? Why did it happen? How did it happen? I couldn't understand anything at all. But I knew one thing for certain—what had occurred last night was real. Every bit of it.
I hadn't slept the whole night. My mind kept replaying the events over and over: the lightning, the Collector's snap of his fingers, my parents falling unconscious, him vanishing into ashes. All of it was burned into my memory with crystal clarity.
Now, as the morning light filtered through the window, I would finally get answers. My parents would wake up. And then I would know the truth—whether the Collector's claim about the memory erasure was complete bullshit or if his magic had actually worked.
My mother was the first to stir. I immediately closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep, my tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. I needed to observe, to understand what they remembered and what they had forgotten.
"Ughh! My head," my mother groaned softly, pressing her palm against her forehead. "Why is it paining so much?"
She sat up slowly, confusion etched across her face as she looked around the room.
"Why... why can't I remember anything after the ceremony?" she murmured to herself, her voice trembling slightly.
What!? You don't remember anything at all? I thought, my mind racing. Are you serious?
"Dear! Dear! Please wake up!" my mother suddenly panicked. She reached over and started shaking my father urgently. "Raghav! Wake up!"
"Hmmm... What happened, Kamla? Let me sleep more. I'm so tired," my father mumbled groggily, turning away from her and pulling the blanket over his head.
"You idiot! Wake up right now!" my mother shouted, her voice sharp with worry.
My father fell off the bed with a loud thud.
"Ouch! What happened, honey? Why are you suddenly getting mad this early in the morning?" he said, standing up and rubbing his back where he'd hit the ground, still half-asleep and completely confused.
"Don't ask what happened. I can't seem to remember anything after the ceremony," my mother said, her voice shaking with confusion and fear.
My father's expression changed instantly. All traces of grogginess disappeared. "What!? You don't remember anything?" he asked, his eyes widening with shock.
Maybe what happened last night was real after all, I thought to myself. But what the hell was that guy? What kind of magic can do something like this and does magic even exist!?
"Yes, do you remember anything?" my mother asked, her worry growing with each passing second. I could see it clearly on her face—the fear that something was terribly wrong.
My father looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled gently. "Yes, of course, I remember everything," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
What? I thought. But that's a lie. I can tell.
But I also understood why he was lying. He didn't want to worry her more. He was protecting her, even if it meant being dishonest.
"Really? You remember!" my mother's face lit up with relief. "But why don't I remember anything? What happened, then?"
Inside his own mind, Raghav was panicking just as much as she was. To be honest, I also don't remember anything after the ceremony. But I can't tell her that. It will only make her more worried. I don't want to lie to her, but I have no choice right now.
"Nothing much," he said, forcing a smile despite the confusion swirling in his own head. "We ate dinner and then we slept. We were both so tired yesterday. Maybe that's why you don't remember. It's probably just exhaustion."
He was a good liar when he needed to be. But I could see right through it—the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes didn't quite meet hers, the careful choice of his words.
"Really? Just that simple?" my mother asked, still confused. "Then why can't I remember something so simple?"
My father chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Hahaha, maybe you're getting older, my cutie," he teased, making a playful expression.
"You! You stupid!" my mother shouted, pushing him away. But she was blushing now, her worry melting into irritation and affection. "You aren't getting food today!" she said, sulking and trying to hide her smile.
It was really funny to watch. I could see now that my father had definitely been a charmer before marriage. He really knew how to talk to women, how to deflect with humor and affection. That man could probably charm his way out of anything.
But beneath the playfulness, I understood something critical:
The Collector's magic was real.
My parents had truly forgotten everything that happened after the naming ceremony. The entire encounter with the Collector—the moment he held me, the strange connection he felt, the lightning strike, the memory erasure—all of it had been erased from their minds as if it had never occurred.
Which meant only one person in this house remembered the truth.
Me.
And that weight settled on my tiny shoulders like a stone.
But then, suddenly, I noticed something. Something in me. Or around me. Or maybe... everywhere in this whole place.
I could feel something that I hadn't felt in my previous life. Or maybe I was just imagining things. It was hard to tell.
What is this? I thought, trying to understand the sensation. Is it the air? It does feel fresh and nice to breathe, but... no, that's not it.
It was something else entirely. Something deeper. More fundamental.
As I lay there, pretending to sleep, I became aware of something even stranger. I had just been born—literally just born—yet I could see and hear everything around me perfectly. Crystal clear. But newborns aren't supposed to be like this. We're supposed to be fragile, confused, our senses not fully developed.
Not me.
It was like something was wrapping around me. Enveloping me. Protecting me from the world. A shield of some kind, though I couldn't see it or touch it.
Am I special? Is this part of the fragment the goddess bound to my soul?
"Shaurya, are you sleeping?" my mother's voice suddenly broke through my thoughts as she appeared in the doorway to check on me.
I immediately closed my eyes and relaxed my body, pretending to be sound asleep.
"Oh, he is still sleeping. Good!" my mother said softly, relief in her voice. "I can do my work while he's sleeping. Honey, take care of him and call me if he wakes up or starts crying."
"But why do I have to? I need to repair the door, and he's still—" He started to protest.
My mother's glare was instant and deadly. "Did you say something, dear?" she asked, her voice sweet but dangerous.
My father immediately backed down. "Okay, got it. You go do your work," he said, sighing in defeat and slumping his shoulders like a scolded child.
She left satisfied, and my father began muttering complaints to me. "Did you hear that, Shaurya? How your mother glares at me like she's going to kill me? And I'm just trying to fix things around here..." He continued blabbering, shaking his head. "One day that glare is actually going to kill me, I swear."
Yeah, because you were running away from your duties, I thought, amused despite everything.
He kept blabbering on, but then I noticed something else. Something about my mother that made me pause.
She moved with complete ease. Her body seemed strong, energized. She was carrying water, sweeping, cooking—all the tasks of a woman who had just given birth to a child.
Why does she look so normal? Shouldn't she be weak after childbirth? Shouldn't she be resting? Or is she some kind of superwoman?
Most mothers would be bedridden for weeks, slowly regaining their strength. But not Kamla Rathore. She moved like nothing had happened, like her body hadn't just endured one of the most traumatic experiences a human could face.
Either she had an unusually strong constitution, or something else was at play here.
Damn! I couldn't understand anything ever since I came here. Everything is just becoming a mystery.
As I was thinking all of this, my father—who was supposed to be watching over me—quietly disappeared. He probably went to work on that door he kept complaining about.
I got a pretty lazy father in this life, I thought to myself while sighing internally. But at least he's a good man. That's more than I had before.
Then, suddenly, I heard a sound that made my entire body go rigid.
A blast.
"Boommm!"
It came from outside, loud and violent and unmistakable. Like an explosion had just happened right in front of the house.
"Shaurya! Shaurya! My child! Are you alright!?"
Kamla came running from the kitchen in a panic, her face pale with fear. She scooped me up and held me tightly against her chest, her hands trembling slightly as she checked me for injuries.
I immediately started crying—not because I was actually scared, but because she needed to believe I was. If I acted too calm after an explosion, questions would arise. So I wailed like a normal infant, my tiny voice piercing the tense morning air.
My mother shushed me gently, rocking me back and forth. "It's okay, baby. It's okay. Mama's here."
But her eyes were sharp. Alert. Dangerous.
"Who the hell is doing that?" she hissed, her voice dropping to something cold and lethal. "I guess someone wants to die this early in the morning!?"
She clenched her fist so hard her knuckles turned white.
I could see it clearly now—whoever had done this is not going to get away easily. I swallowed hard.
We moved quickly into the main room, and that's when we saw it.
Our main gate.
It was completely destroyed. Rubble and ash scattered across the entrance. It looked like someone had dropped a bomb directly on it. The wooden structure that had stood there for years was now nothing but twisted, charred remains.
I was honestly shocked. What the hell happened here? I thought, my mind racing. Who would do something like this?
"Oh my God! What happened to the main entrance!?" my mother gasped, her voice sharp with rage. "I'm going to kill whoever did this! I swear!"
She was furious now, her protective instinct transforming into pure anger.
Then we saw him.
And I saw something completely unbelievable.
Raghav, My father—the funny, complaining, lazy man who liked to joke around and avoid responsibilities—was standing in the middle of the courtyard.
And he was firing fireballs into the sky.
Actual fireballs. Blazing balls of pure flame, shooting from his hands into the air with explosive force, each one leaving trails of heat and light in its wake.
What... what the Fuck!?
My mind went completely blank.
I stared at my father in absolute shock. The man who had been complaining about fixing a door just moments ago was now literally throwing fireballs across the sky like he was some kind of warrior-mage.
This can't be real. This has to be a dream. I'm hallucinating. I must be.
But the heat radiating from his hands was unmistakable. The scorched grass beneath his feet. The way the air itself seemed to bend and warp around him as he channeled whatever power this was.
To be continued….