The monsoon that year was unlike anything the village had seen in a long time.
Rain fell relentlessly—day after day, night after night—so heavy it blurred the boundary between sky and earth. The elders whispered that it was the fiercest downpour in decades, a merciless deluge threatening to tear the village from its roots. Fear of a flood lingered in every home, thick as the clouds above.
Some villagers still worked the fields, desperate to protect what little land remained. Others dug trenches around the village, hoping to divert the swelling water away from their homes. But the rain showed no mercy. Trenches filled faster than they could be emptied.
In the end, the elders made a desperate decision.
A canal.
It would take enormous manpower—and time they did not have.
"Did you hear?" Kalam said quietly as the three of them stood beneath a half-broken shed, rain drumming loudly against its weakened roof. "They're building a canal. People say the gods themselves are angry with this village."
The three boys were inseparable.
Kali acted as their self-appointed leader, though most of his grand schemes ended in disaster—usually leaving Ajay, or on rare occasions a trembling Kalam, to clean up the mess. Kali lived by a simple rule: if you were younger than him, he was the boss. If you were older, you were the law.
"Yeah," Ajay replied, frowning as he watched the rain hammer the muddy ground. "My father said I'll be working there. Near the river. It doesn't look like this rain will stop anytime soon."
"My grandmother says this isn't even half of what's coming," Kali added grimly. "And you know—when she says something, it's bound to be true."
"Yeah, yeah," Kalam scoffed. "The village prophet—"
"Astrologer!" Kali snapped, spinning toward him. "How many times do I have to tell you? She reads stars and planets. She predicts things logically—unlike people who just claim a god whispered in their ear."
Kali's grandmother had been a respected Astrologer for as long as anyone could remember. Before planting crops, before long journeys, even before marriages—villagers once sought her counsel.
That changed when the new Sarpanch introduced another figure.
The Prophet.
No one had ever seen his face. He remained perpetually concealed, draped in layered cloth, his presence defined only by his voice—calm, measured, and unsettlingly certain.
His predictions were precise terrifyingly precise.
Not just events, but details.
Names. Dates. Times. Weather. Even surroundings.
Soon, nobles and wealthy families flocked to his residence. Offerings grew. Influence shifted.
Slowly, Kali's grandmother was forgotten.
That was why Kalam hated him.
"So," Kali said after a moment, breaking the silence, "where exactly are you assigned?"
"Near the river," Ajay answered. "They're starting the canal there."
Kalam stiffened. "That's outside the village."
Ajay nodded. "Means I'll be gone all day."
Kali's eyes gleamed.
"Outside the village walls?" His voice dropped to an excited whisper. "That's our chance."
Kalam spun toward him. "Chance for what?"
"To leave," Kali said simply. "If everyone's busy with the canal, no one will notice if we just… keep walking."
Before Kalam could protest, Ajay spoke.
"You're right," he said quietly. "It's a golden opportunity."
Kalam stared at him in disbelief. "Ajay, not you too—"
"Alright then," Kali cut in, clapping his hands together. "Let's plan it."
"GUYS!" Kalam shouted, his voice cracking with frustration.
The rain swallowed his words whole.
[Somewhere in the Universe]
"Sir, our target has gone into hiding. We can no longer trace him—or the Stone."
A man clad entirely in black knelt on the cold floor of a vast, shadow-filled hall.
"A Watcher was behind him," a voice echoed from an elevated seat below the throne. "How has he not been captured?"
"It is possible he entered a Dungeon," the kneeling man replied. "It is the only place capable of masking such a signature."
The figure seated upon the central throne spoke, his voice heavy with authority.
"He could not have entered a Dungeon without assistance. Find which creature from another dimension aided him."
"Yes, my lord."
"And the Dark Witch?" the ruler asked, his tone sharpening.
"She is searching aggressively—across this world and nearby dimensions. She understands the consequences of failure."
"Of course she does," the ruler said, flicking a finger dismissively. "She knows what awaits her otherwise. Go. Monitor her closely."
The kneeling man retreated without ever turning his back.
The ruler exhaled slowly. "And the Prince?"
Another figure stepped forward and knelt. "He remains unaware for now, my lord. We are keeping him occupied."
The ruler rubbed his temple, fatigue seeping into his voice.
"We must hurry. If the Prince learns the truth too soon… the outcome will not be favorable."
[Inside the Dungeon]
"He didn't even consider going back," the Old Man Spirit murmured, watching Ajay sleep. "He must have lived a difficult life."
"I'm starting to wonder what he endured," Meera replied softly.
Ajay stirred.
He woke from the deepest, most peaceful sleep he had experienced in years. His body felt light—free from hunger, free from fear. The safety of the cave had done wonders for his exhausted frame.
"Good… morning?" he muttered, blinking.
Meera smiled. "You slept well."
Ajay stretched, surprised by how refreshed he felt.
"Good morning," she added teasingly. "That malnutrition was really dulling your charm."
Ajay laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.
"Drink this," the Old Man said, handing him a steaming cup. "Medicated tea. It will clear your mind."
Ajay took a sip—and immediately hissed as he burned his tongue.
Meera laughed, showing him how to blow gently across the surface. The tea was herbal, sweet, and warming in a way that reached deep into his chest.
The Old Man's expression turned serious.
"Ajay," he said, "I asked you before—but I must ask again. Once you walk this path, there is no return. Are you certain you wish to become my disciple?"
"Yes, sir," Ajay replied without hesitation.
"Then place your hands upon mine."
Ajay obeyed.
The Old Man closed his eyes and began chanting softly. A magic circle flared beneath them, light surging so brightly Ajay instinctively shut his eyes.
When it faded—
"Open them."
Ajay did.
"From this moment forward," the Old Man declared, "you are my Disciple. And I am your Master."
Ajay bowed deeply, recalling the reverence he had once seen shown to teachers.
"Yes, Master."
A quiet smile touched his lips.
"Congratulations, Mr. Disciple," Meera said lightly. "But before your training begins, there are things you must understand."
She met his gaze. "You possess an affinity for magic—rare for someone from a Lower World. But rarity does not mean strength. You will need to work harder than most, especially if you ever hope to face a Watcher a Demi-God."
"A… demi-god?" Ajay swallowed.
Meera rested a hand on his shoulder. "Do not fear. First, you must master yourself."
She tapped her temple. "Humans barely use a fraction of their conscious mind. To ascend, you must expand your awareness—until even your subconscious bends to your will."
"You must open your seven chakras, master your five senses, and unify body and mind. When you achieve total control over your physical and mental self, you will reach the stage known as The Latent."
She paused.
"Only after that… can one truly Awaken."
Ajay's heart pounded.
"And the Dungeons?" he asked.
Meera gestured toward the endless darkness beyond the firelight. "They exist within dimensional gaps. Each Dungeon is divided into Stages, and each Stage contains multiple Layers. To advance, you must clear every Layer and defeat the Stage's guardian."
"The deeper the Layer," she added, "the stronger the creatures—and the safer you are from Watchers."
She smiled faintly. "Think you can manage that?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Ajay replied, eyes shining.
The Master emerged from the tunnel and regarded him quietly.
"The path is set," he said. "Are you ready, Ajay?"
Ajay rose to his feet.
"Yes, Master. I am."
His heart thundered—not with fear.
But with anticipation.
A new life had begun.