The park was bustling with the sweet symphony of birdsong, harmonizing gentle breeze rustling leaves and chirping crickets. Golden afternoon sunlight was filtering through the trees, illuminating the scattered paper balls surrounding the boy's feet, each one a rejected story idea.
"Hey, Earth to paper thrower! I don't know what you're up to, but back in America, it's considered a bad habit littering in a public park. You are turning this beautiful park into your personal trash can!"
That 13-year-old boy, was sitting solitary on a swing in a park, lost in a whirlwind of creativity, finally snapped out of it to meet my gaze. He blinked, momentarily speechless, staring at me with his pen still hovering near his mouth.
A gentle breeze was flipping the pages of the boy's notebook and scattering crumpled papers around his feet. He jolted from his creative trance, face flushing red as he noticed the mess.
"Oh no! I-I didn't realize... I'm so sorry! In India, we also have strict rules about this... I was just trying to write this story and... I got carried away with it."
"Ooh, are you writing a story? I love stories! My big brother always tells me good bedtime stories! Big brother, can we help him clean up? Pretty please? I want to hear his stories," Alia, who was standing beside me tugging on my sleeve, bounced forward with childlike enthusiasm. Her eyes were twinkling with unusual wisdom.
"Well, it seems someone's having a creative crisis, more like a paper snowstorm. But these aren't trash, but stories... unfinished dreams... These stories are too good to let them stay on the ground. Alright then, let me help you to pick them up for you," I offered my otherworldly wisdom as I examined all the crumpled papers.
"You really don't have to... this is my mess..." the boy said, frantically gathering papers while stealing glances at his notebook. As he clutches his notebook tightly, a gust of wind threatened to scatter his loose papers further across the park.
Alia and I shared a knowing glance with an otherworldly nature hidden in our friendly smiles. I stepped forward with determination, making the place warmer.
"Don't worry. We would like to help."
Hearing me, the boy looked down at the scattered papers and a faint blush creeped up his cheeks.
"Thanks, guys. I... thank you for your help."
As the three of us worked together, the mountain of crumpled ideas slowly started shrinking. In no time at all, we gathered every last paper balls and threw them into the dustbin.
"Sorry about the mess... I got carried away with my new plot twist and... but thank you both. You really helped me a lot," the boy said, Clutching one of the paper balls in his hand tighter. A mix of embarrassment and a lit smile was evident on his gloomy face.
He then made his way back to the swing. Alia and I settled onto the swings beside him. The rhythmic creak of the chains was a gentle counterpoint to Saurabh's woes. I shared a knowing glance with Alia and then shifted my gaze at the boy.
"Hey, it seems you're really deep into creating something epic there. That notebook of yours is a chaotic masterpiece. What were you doing in it?" I asked, glancing at the tattered, dishevelled notebook resting on his lap.
"I... I…," the boy hesitated, clutching his notebook closer to his chest.
Some loose pages fluttered out, landing softly at Alia's tiny feet. She leaned forward, gathering the scattered pages, her eyes scanning them with curiosity.
"Ooh! Big brother, look! These drawings are amazing!"
She passed me those pages. I examined those pages and I found myself mesmerized by the detailed illustrations in it.
"Hey, you've got some serious talent there. These drawings are actually impressive. So, why are you throwing them all away?"
He paused for a moment after hearing me. His eyes dropped to the ground, avoiding mine, as he fidgeted with his fingers. I was trying to read his face. After what felt like an eternity, he whispered,
"If I tell you, you'll probably laugh and make fun of me."
"What? No, of course not. I would never do that. You have my word; I won't laugh at you, I promise," I reassured him.
Why would I ever do that? As the Guardian Deity of Earth, it is my sacred duty to listen to the prayers of mortals and offer guidance. Over the millennia, I have encountered countless strange and outlandish prayers, yet I have never once laughed at them. You hold a unique place in my heart, then why would I ever make fun of you?
Saurabh, after hearing my words, seemed to relax a bit and shared,
"Because... the story was not good enough for my manga. I'm a huge fan of Animes and Mangas. I... I want to be India's first manga artist, you know. I want to be a famous manga author, like Oda Eiichiro, Kishimoto Masashi, Hajime Isayama or even Akira Toriyama," he confessed, Clutching his notebook against his chest.
"I... I am good with illustrations, but when it comes to stories... I just keep messing up with it. The art is nothing without a good story, you know. Maybe I should just give up on it," he said as his gaze was dropping in embarrassment.
"Why are you saying that? You must keep trying. Those who try never lose. success will eventually find you. Why not ask your friends for help?" I encouraged, meeting his eyes with a reassuring smile.
"Well… the thing is… They're all away for summer vacation with their families to different places, and I'm stuck here alone," he sighed as he scrunched his nose in frustration.
"I did ask my friends for help with the stories. But they never been much help. They suggest I should just copy some existing manga plots, tweak a few elements and there and call it my own... But that feels... wrong. I want something original, something that's truly mine! I can't keep living in other people's shadows! I want to create something totally new!" He exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air.
I anticipated you would say this. You've always been the type to forge your own path, refusing to follow someone else's. No matter how difficult and challenging that path might be.
The chains of the swing creaked a gentle rhythm in the afternoon breeze. I leaned in, captivated while gently swaying on my swing. A knowing smile played on my lips.
"You know, back in California, I won some story writing contests. Not to brag or anything, but writing stories is my passion. At the moment, I do have a new story I'm working on…"
Saurabh's eyes grew wide, a spark of hope igniting deep within him, dispelling the shadows of his earlier gloom.
"Wait... you write stories?"
"Yes, Big brother's stories are magical! They're unlike you've ever read before!" Alia exclaimed, bouncing excitedly as she peeked at me.
"Really? Wow! Well, if that's the case... how about lending a hand with my story?" He exclaimed, bouncing in excitement.
His words sounded magical to my ears. These were the words I had longed to hear to initiate my plan. A knowing smile crept on my face. I tapped my chin, pretended to be in deep thinking.
"Well… I could do that for you… but sharing my latest story comes… with a price."
Saurabh felt a lump in his throat as soon as the word "price" escaped my lips. His heart raced wildly, pounding against his chest like a drum. A wave of anxiety washed over him, mingling with a flicker of curiosity about what that word "price" truly meant. Summoning every ounce of courage he could muster, he asked,
"A... a price? What kind of price?"
The afternoon sun stretched its golden rays, creating elongated shadows that danced over the park swing while Saurabh held his breath, waiting for the impossible to unfold. But building an enough dramatic suspense, I finally shrugged, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"Well, the price you have to pay will be… you must be friends with me and Alia. I can't just share my stories with anyone, you know."
Hearing my words, the initial worry of Saurabh melted away, giving way to a broad, heartfelt grin. He sighed, as if he had just dodged an unpleasant revelation. With his notebook held close to his heart, he exclaimed with enthusiasm,
"Deal! I... I'd love to pay that price… I mean, I would like to be your friend!"
He leaped off his swing a broad smile lighting up his face as he approached me, extending his hand,
"I'm Saurabh Tendulkar by the way, and I live just around the corner."
"Nice to meet you, Saurabh! I'm Andy Tennyson, and this is my little sister, Alia," I said, reaching out for a handshake while studying him with my otherworldly intensity.
Alia also greeted, waving her hand enthusiastically and her pigtails dancing. Her bright eyes shimmered with an infectious energy.
"Tennyson? That's not the last name I hear often. Are you two foreigners? Are you here for a vacation tour?" Saurabh asked curiously. I smiled and nodded affirmatively.
"Ya, sort of. We're actually here to spend summer vacation with our nanny. We are from California, you know."
"California? You mean, you're from America? Wow! That's so cool! I've always wanted to travel to America," His eyes widened in admiration as he bounced in excitement.
"But… you mentioned you are here to see your nanny. So, does that mean, you guys are, like, NRIs?" he scratched his head thoughtfully.
"Yeah, something like that. My mom is Indian, and my dad is American. It's a pretty cool mix, right?" I replied, puffing out my chest slightly.
Of course, my tale is entirely fictional. I had to hide my true identity from him to keep the promise I made to Father. The expression on Shin's face revealed that he was convinced by my narrative.
"Yah! That's a pretty cool mix of cultures!" he replied as his enthusiasm was bubbling over.
A gentle breeze whispered through the banyan tree, making the leaves dance in a soothing melody. Saurabh held his sketchbook closer while his eyes darting at us. His eyes were gleaming with enthusiasm.
"Hey Andy, since you are both here for the summer, why not come over to my place?"
"At your place?" I asked, feigning astonishment.
"Yes. It's not too far from here. I've got a huge collection of manga, and maybe... maybe you could share more about your new story… and about America. Oh, and my mom makes the best Samosas. I bet you've never tried one! We can munch on Samosas while brainstorming on my manga in my room," he said excitedly.
"Sure, why not? Sounds like a plan. Lead the way, Saurabh!" I said, rising from the swing.
We followed Saurabh, leaving behind the lively park bustling with energy. Two tiny squirrels scampered down from the Banyan tree, nibbling on the fallen red figs as they watched us depart.
**********
We strolled through the winding roads, trading stories of school, dreams, and little fragments of our lives. Before long, the labyrinth of alleys gave way to a quaint yellow house. Sunlight streamed across its doorway, illuminating motes of dust that twirled in the air like tiny dancers.
The door swung open before we could knock. A woman appeared — chest-length black hair tied in a low side ponytail, her lavender dress covered by a crisp white apron. A large skimmer spoon in hand, her face glistened with both sweat and simmering worry.
"Saurabh! You're late. What took you so long?" she scolded, her tone sharp but threaded with motherly concern.
"Sorry, Mom! I was just… in the park, working on my manga. I lost track of time. But look—" his eyes lit up as he turned toward us. "I brought friends!"
The anger melted from her face like ice under the sun. A warm smile bloomed in its place.
"Oh my, how lovely! Saurabh, who are these sweet young guests?"
"Mom, this is Andy Tennyson and his sister, Alia. They're my new friends! Andy's even been helping me with my manga. He's got the coolest ideas!"
"Good day, Mrs. Tendulkar." I bowed lightly. Alia mimicked me, her pigtails bouncing.
"Oh, how polite! Hello, children. Please, come in," she said, her smile brightening like a flower in full bloom.
Her modest home welcomed us more warmly than any gilded palace. Every corner gleamed with care, the simple furniture carrying the quiet dignity of her hard work.
"This is our little nest," she said proudly. "It may not be as grand, but I hope you'll feel comfortable here. Why don't you go with Saurabh to his room? I'll bring you something to eat."
"Yes, Mom!" Saurabh replied.
"Just a sec," I interjected smoothly. "I should call my mom and tell her I'll be late. Otherwise she'll be furious. Could I borrow your landline, Mrs. Tendulkar?"
Her smile deepened. "Of course, dear. And no need for formality—just call me Aunt Sangeeta." She hummed softly as she returned to the kitchen.
I lifted the receiver, mimed dialling, and pitched my voice just right, knowing her ears were tuned to every word.
"Hi Mom? Yeah, I'm at Saurabh's house. He's a new friend. We're working on a manga together… Uh-huh, Alia's here too. We'll be back later. Love you too, Mom."
I hung up, smirking inwardly at my performance. Minutes later, I slipped into Saurabh's room. His walls were plastered with anime posters, his shelves brimming with manga volumes — a shrine to his passion. Alia was already marvelling at his collection.
"Wow! Look at all these mangas, big brother!" she squealed.
Before I could respond, Aunt Sangeeta entered carrying a tray of orange juice and steaming samosas. The sweet tang of citrus mingled with the savoury spice of fried pastry, filling the room. She set the tray down and sat on the bed, her eyes resting on me a moment longer than felt comfortable. I shifted uneasily under her gaze, hiding it behind a sip of juice.
"Uh… Auntie? Is everything alright? You keep looking at me like I've got horns growing out of my head."
She blinked, then smiled gently, her voice lowering to a softer register.
"Forgive me, dear. It's just… strange. The moment I saw you, I felt as though I'd known you for years. Almost like… you were meant to be part of this family."
I nearly choked on my juice.
"Huh? That's… weird," Saurabh froze mid-bite, his samosa dangling from his hand.
Alia tilted her head, eyes twinkling with mischief. "See, big brother? Even humans can tell when you're hiding something."
"Haha, maybe we were connected in a past life." Forcing a nervous laugh, I scratched my head.
My heart thudded against my ribs, a warning drum. But to my relief, Aunt Sangeeta joined in my laughter, waving it off.
"Perhaps! Well, I'll leave you kids to it. Call me if you need anything."
She slipped out of the room, but the air she left behind was heavy with unspoken meaning.
That look… sharper than Father's trident. A mother's intuition is dangerous. If I'm not careful, she'll see right through me.
Alia studied me silently, her head tilted, as though she too sensed the hidden current beneath Aunt Sangeeta's words.
**********
The afternoon sun poured through the window, scattering golden light across the carpet where the three of us sat. The aroma of samosas lingered in the air, warm and comforting, but the room itself buzzed with a different kind of hunger—anticipation.
"Alright! Story time!" Saurabh declared, pulling out a fresh notebook and pen, his eyes burning with excitement. He leaned forward, peppering me with questions in a single breath:
"So Andy, what's your story called? Who's the main character? Is it a magical quest, a medieval fantasy, a cyborg action, or a zombie horror? Come on, tell me already!"
Alia clapped her hands, bouncing on the carpet. "Yes, big brother, tell us! Pretty please!"
I raised my hand with a chuckle. "Whoa, whoa, slow down, Saurabh! If I try answering all your questions now, we'll be here till midnight."
He laughed sheepishly, but his eyes never left mine. Alia tugged at my sleeve again, her wide-eyed expression impossible to resist.
"Alright," I said at last, lifting my glass of orange juice for a slow sip before setting it aside. "Settle in, you two. This isn't just any story—it's a tale carried by the winds of destiny."
The room quieted, the air thick with expectation. Dust motes drifted lazily in the shafts of sunlight, like tiny stars waiting for the cosmos to take shape.
"Once upon a time," I began, my voice soft yet carrying weight, "in a land where fate and magic intertwined, there lived a boy. A peasant. Ordinary. Weak. And yet… his dreams reached higher than the heavens. He wished to become a magus—the strongest of them all. But destiny…" My tone darkened, "destiny had carved a path far greater than anything he could imagine."
Saurabh's pen stilled, forgotten in his hand. Alia's small hands clutched the hem of her dress. Both leaned closer, caught in the pull of the words.
"For when shadows gathered and an age of ruin threatened to consume the world, this boy would rise. Through trials, through pain, through fire and thunder—he would carve his name into history. Not just as a magus… but as the saviour of realms." I let the silence stretch before I whispered:
"This… is the tale of Shaun Thunderhawk. The story called Tales of the World's Strongest Magus."
A hush fell over the room, broken a heartbeat later by Saurabh's excited shout. "Whoa! That's incredible, Andy! That title—so cool!" His eyes gleamed with awe.
Alia clapped furiously, beaming. "Big brother's stories are always magical!"
I leaned back with a knowing smile, my eyes glinting with mischief. "Thanks, my friends. But trust me… what you've just heard is only the beginning. So… shall we dive in?"
And with that, the first thread of destiny began to weave itself in their hearts.
**********
Three millennia ago, the heavens trembled with dread. Lucius, the God of Hell—a name forever whispered in fear and loathing—rose in rebellion. His heart was consumed by an insatiable hunger for power, his ambition nothing less than absolute dominion. He yearned to overthrow the gods, seize their thrones, and reign supreme.
From the abyss, he summoned his dark legion—corrupted deities, monstrous beasts, fallen angels, and creatures of the underworld born from shadow. Their march shook the pillars of heaven. Golden streets, once radiant, ran red with blood as the divine realm quivered under his might.
In desperation, the gods turned to their last hope: Lord Eternus, the God of Heaven. Eternus answered. From the highest throne he rose, summoning his divine host—angels with wings of pure light, archangels bearing celestial blades, sacred beasts roaring with heavenly fury. With their radiance gathered, the greatest war of an age began—the first Ragnarok.
The clash was cataclysmic. Seven heavens quaked as Eternus' legions clashed with Lucius' horde. But the war could not be contained above; it ripped the veil of reality and spilled into the mortal realm. Cities crumbled, families were torn apart, and mortals found themselves swept into the crossfire of gods.
And yet, humanity did not yield. With nothing but courage and mortal steel, they rose in defiance. The gods, moved by their bravery, forged an alliance with mankind.
For twenty days and nights the war raged, the skies ablaze with fire and the earth drowned in blood. At last, under Eternus' command, the tide turned. Lucius and his commanders were struck down and bound within a relic of unfathomable power—the Prison Stone, a vessel forged to seal even the mightiest of celestials.
When the dust settled, silence fell. The heavens endured, but at a terrible cost. More than half of existence was lost.
And so, to prevent such devastation from ever rising again, the Prison Stone was hidden in the farthest reaches of the universe, beyond the grasp of gods or mortals.
**********
With Lucius' defeat, a fragile peace descended upon Earth and Heaven alike. The Elemental Gods, moved by humanity's valour—mortals who stared into the abyss without flinching—bestowed upon them a divine gift.
They shared secret knowledge, a shard of their own essence, awakening within humans the power to command the elements themselves: fire and water, earth and wind… and the elusive aether, the breath of creation.
Thus, the world was forever changed. Imagine a realm where mortals danced with flames at their fingertips, conjured storms with a whisper, and sculpted the very earth beneath their feet. For a time, the gods themselves walked among humanity, guiding, teaching, protecting. It was an age draped in light—a golden chapter of prosperity and wonder. But golden ages never last.
As swiftly as they had come, the Elemental Gods vanished, dissolving into mystery. No farewell, no trace. Whispers rose to fill the silence. Some claimed the gods had returned to Heaven; others that they journeyed across the endless void, seeking survivors of worlds long fallen. Yet none could answer, and the silence only deepened the uncertainty in mortal hearts.
Still, from that silence rose guardians. Those who had inherited the divine spark, who had mastered the elemental arts, stepped forth. They became the Magus of Earth, protectors and torchbearers of the legacy left behind. Generation after generation, the flame of knowledge was passed down, ensuring the memory of the gods did not fade.
Civilization rose anew, like a phoenix from ash, stronger and wiser than before. And yet—beneath triumph and rebirth—the unanswered questions lingered like shadows at the edge of the light.
Where had the Elemental Gods gone? Had they forsaken mortals forever? Or… were they simply waiting, biding their return?
**********
Three centuries slipped into shadow… three long centuries since the voices of the Elemental Gods were swallowed by the abyss of silence. Their memory lingered like fading starlight—bright, but ever distant. Mortals clung to the illusion that peace had returned.
But was it truly peace… or merely the calm before another storm? History is a cruel mirror, and it reveals a truth older than time itself: humanity is its own greatest adversary. Without the gaze of the gods, unity fractured. What once bound mankind together unravelled into mistrust, ambition, and the gnawing hunger for dominion.
Empires rose like towers of glass, only to shatter upon themselves. The magi—once saviours clad in glory—became weapons, pawns in the hands of kings. Their spells, forged to protect, were now wielded to annihilate.
And so, the world bled through the Three Great Magus Wars. Wars that scorched the earth, drowned cities in flame, and turned brothers into executioners. The sky itself seemed to weep as blood and fire mingled, blotting out the light of hope.
Yet, humanity endures—even in ruin. From smouldering ashes, new cities rose, their walls higher, their sorceries sharper, as though mankind sought to outlast even its own folly. But suspicion hardened into walls, and walls into boundaries. Thus the world fractured, divided into Ten Great Regions, each clutching its power, each waiting for the spark that would ignite it anew.
And yet… in the darkest hour, even silence whispers. A prophecy untold lingers in the marrow of the world. Hope, fragile yet unyielding, flickers like an ember refusing the wind. For in one such region, a hero would rise. A boy, bound not by the sins of the past, but by a destiny to mend humanity's shattered fragments… to challenge the tides of chaos… and perhaps, to restore true peace.
Who is this brave soul? What trials await him upon his perilous path?
Brace yourselves, for this is where the tale truly begins— a tale etched in flame and shadow, in laughter and tears, in bonds of love unbroken… and in the eternal question: can peace truly be restored?
**********