The first light of dawn crept through the slats of his window, brushing against the face of Sabyasachi as he stirred. Eighteen now, on the cusp of adulthood, yet today he felt unusually weary. Today was no ordinary day—it was the day of his Plus Two second-year half-yearly examination at Revanshaw Higher Secondary School, and the weight of expectation pressed heavily on his shoulders.
He pushed himself upright, his thoughts muddled between anxiety and irritation. Breakfast was hurried, his mind only half on the food. Then came the bicycle—his faithful companion for daily rides. But as soon as he mounted it, the chain betrayed him. Slipped again. And again. Five times. Each failure chipped away at his patience until he finally abandoned the idea of school altogether.
Sighing, he pulled out his phone and dialed his friend's number. "Come over," he said, the words carrying the relief of someone escaping the shackles of duty.
Two hours passed unnoticed in a haze of chatter and laughter. They spoke of girls and the strange allure of their dances on Instagram, the daring of exposure, the freedom of nudity, and then effortlessly drifted into a discussion of the latest animes. They dissected power systems and imagined themselves wielding abilities that could bend reality itself.
Then, as if drawn by a shared spark, the author asked, "What if we started writing a story?"
His friend leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. "We can—but it has to have twists. Real plot twists. Otherwise, it's just… boring."
Challenge accepted, he left and pedaled home. Evening had settled over the streets like a quiet promise of solitude. He opened his books, intending to study, when a sudden fluttering pulled his attention elsewhere. The pages of an old diary, a gift from his grandfather, trembled as if touched by unseen hands.
Thoughts he had long kept hidden now surged forward, insistent, demanding. He picked up his pen, and as if guided by some unseen force, began to write a story that, in his own mind, shouldn't be written.
He called it: "ExistenceDestined."
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The story opened in a universe far removed from Earth, on a planet untouched by human comprehension: Thalrynn. A woman moved through the landscape, her husband and two children by her side, their faces obscured from view. A single sheet of paper slipped from her grasp and was carried away by the wind, vanishing like a fleeting thought into the expanse of the unknown.
Time and space bent, and the story leapt five hundred billion years into the future, to a planet known as Aeloria. Three continents dominated its surface: Vyrentha, Krythalis, and Nyxara. Among them, Krythalis gleamed as the jewel of Aeloria, its wealth and prosperity unrivaled.
But envy breeds violence. Vyrentha and Nyxara could not tolerate the brilliance of Krythalis. In the year 1154, they struck with calculated malice. Cities were reduced to rubble, families torn apart, children and women alike left defenseless. The spoils of Krythalis were seized, and before the invaders retreated to their lands, bombs were planted across the continent, a final act of annihilation to ensure nothing would rise again.
The aftermath was catastrophic. Famine gnawed at the land, clean water became a luxury, and the survivors were left in despair, mourning the destruction of everything they had known.
Yet, from these ashes, a new force emerged. The generation born in the ruins of Krythalis was unlike any before—a menacing, cunning, and resilient people. They had been forged by suffering, tempered by loss, and marked by a hunger for survival. Krythalis, though shattered, was far from finished.