The rain had fallen for hours, turning the quiet street into a mirror of restless silver ripples.
Arav Ashvath walked with his hood up, a grocery bag tucked protectively under his arm, each weary step splashing through cold water. He was exhausted—another late shift, another promise to himself broken.
Tomorrow, he had thought.
Tomorrow, I'll rest.
Tomorrow, I'll breathe.
Life rarely allowed tomorrows.
A sharp cry cut through the storm.
Arav stopped.
The grocery bag slipped slightly in his grip. He turned toward a narrow alley, half-concealed by overflowing gutters and the shadows cast by flickering streetlamps.
Lightning flashed—brief, white, merciless—revealing the scene.
A young boy, no more than seven, stood trembling against a dumpster.
A tall man loomed over him, knife glinting in the stormlight.
"Give it," the man snarled. "Now."
The boy shook his head in terror.
Arav's heartbeat lurched—instinct, fear, and stubborn empathy colliding inside him. He knew he wasn't strong. He knew he wasn't a fighter. But some part of him refused to walk away.
"Hey!" Arav shouted, stepping into the alley. "Leave him alone!"
The attacker turned, eyes narrowing. "Walk away."
Arav swallowed hard.
"Take mine instead."
The man lunged without hesitation.
Arav tried to block, but the ground was slick; his grip faltered. Pain exploded in his side as the blade found flesh. He gasped, knees buckling
"Run!" Arav yelled.
The child fled immediately, splashing out of the alley and disappearing into the rain.
The attacker cursed under his breath as distant sirens wailed. Panic flashed across his face; he yanked the knife free and bolted into the darkness.
Arav collapsed.
The world tilted. Cold water soaked through his clothes. His breath came shallow—too shallow. Warm blood seeped between his fingers as he pressed a trembling hand against his wound.
He blinked up at the sky.
The storm clouds churned like a living thing
—gray, heavy, indifferent.
I'm sorry, he thought, unsure for whom.
For the boy.
For himself.
For the life he had never fully lived.
His consciousness slipped.
The rain softened.
The world went silent.
Then—
Void.
A soundless, endless darkness swallowed everything. No up, no down, no heartbeat, no breath. Only drifting awareness, floating in a depth so profound it felt alive.
Then came a voice.
Cold.
Ancient.
Impossibly distant.
A thin lattice of lights flickered into existence around him, forming geometric patterns that pulsed with unfamiliar power.
[Connection established.]
[Initializing Primordial Sign-In System…]
Arav tried to move—there was no body. Only a thread of thought suspended in an abyss.
[Compatible soul detected.]
A pull tugged at him—gentle at first, then overwhelming, dragging him through unseen currents.
[Transmigration pathway opening.]
He wanted to speak, ask, plead—but the void swallowed his voice before it formed. The darkness cracked, splitting like
shattered glass.
Warmth rushed in.
Light.
Voices.
Heartbeat.
"He's here—Sharanya, look!"
"He… he's beautiful."
A soft cry left his newborn lips as golden warmth bathed him. His tiny eyelids fluttered open, vision blurred and swimming with colors.
A woman with gentle, firelit eyes held him close. Her aura shimmered faintly—warm like a hearth, soothing like moonlight.
A man stood beside her, strong shoulders wrapped in robes embroidered with flame patterns, pride and relief mingling in his expression.
Arav felt himself being held—safe, warm, alive.
Something flickered inside his chest.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Physique detected: Infernal Pulse — High Mortal Grade.]
Another tone followed—deeper, resonant, like a bell struck underwater.
[Compatibility with Primordial System confirmed.]
[Upgrading…]
[Infernal Pulse → Ancient Grade.]
For a moment, reddish-gold aether flared around his tiny form, painting the room in dancing warmth. The midwives gasped. His mother inhaled sharply, awe shimmering in her tear-filled eyes.
Then the glow vanished.
He looked like an ordinary infant once more.
[System binding complete.]
[Cognitive seal active.]
[First sign-in reward locked until Awakening.]
Arav's consciousness blurred, growing hazy beneath the comfort of his mother's embrace.
"He will be strong," his father whispered, voice trembling with restrained pride. "A true Ashvathar."
His mother touched his cheek. "His flame feels… different.
Yes.
Different.
Even in the haze of newborn instinct, Arav sensed something else—a ripple beneath reality, a hum like a heartbeat older than the world.
And for the briefest moment, he saw it:
A silhouette.
A flame without color.
A spark older than existence.
It gazed back.
Reality bent—just a fraction.
A lantern flickered unnaturally.
A basin of warm water trembled, as if something brushed its surface.
The distortion vanished before anyone noticed.
Anyone except the midwife, who shivered, sensing something she could not name.
Arav drifted into sleep, warmth wrapping around him like a cocoon.
Far beyond the estate—past the clouds, past the skies of Astraeon, past the layered boundary that separated realms—
Something opened one eye.
And smiled.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Hello everyone!
I'm a new writer experimenting with a world inspired by Indian mythology, cosmic fantasy, and cultivation-style power systems.
This is my first major story, so thank you for giving it a chance.
I'm learning as I go, improving chapter by chapter, and trying to blend:
family warmth
humor
cosmic mystery
ancient Indian-inspired powers and races
If you enjoy the story, please support it with comments, reviews, and stones.
It really motivates me to keep writing and improving.
Thank you for reading — and welcome
to Astraeon!