After returning to home,Parth could not sleep.
It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was too many questions knotted inside him like tangled wires. Each time he closed his eyes, another thought sparked — Sia's face, the strange calm in her eyes, the way she had called him a lunatic to hide something deeper.
If she was Subhadra — and he was two hundred percent sure of it — then it all began to make sense. Aarav and Avni. Neel and Meera.
Maybe fate had pulled them together again, just like before.
Avni reminded him of someone — Vijaya, the princess of Madra. Sahadev's wife. The resemblance was more in spirit than face, but he could feel it. Meera, though… he couldn't tell.
But the question that haunted him most wasn't about them.
It was about Krishna.
Why did He come as Anant? Not as Kalki, not as the savior of the end times, but as the Serpent Lord who sleeps beneath all creation. If this was the end of Kali Yuga, shouldn't Kalki already be here, sword blazing, horse white as dawn?
Then why Anant?
Why now?
Sleep finally dragged him under like an undertow — and when he opened his eyes again, the world had changed.
He wasn't in his room. He was somewhere else.
Below the earth.
The air was thick and heavy, glowing faintly like molten gold beneath water. The ground pulsed beneath his feet, and far ahead stood a throne — vast, radiant, impossible. Crafted from jewels that glimmered with their own light: diamonds that held galaxies, rubies that flickered like dying suns.
A man sat upon it, facing away from him. His shoulders were broad, his presence immense. A golden crown rested upon his head, glinting like the edge of eternity.
Parth couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe.
Before he could speak, the man said softly — his voice deep as oceans —
> "I will see you soon."
And then the world shattered.
Parth jolted awake to the sound of screaming.
Not one voice — hundreds.
The air was filled with chaos: car horns, shouting, breaking glass, the noise of people fighting for something invisible but precious. He looked at the clock. 8:00 a.m.
His phone blinked with alerts.
The headlines were the same everywhere.
WORLD WAR III BEGINS.
The nightmare humanity feared for centuries had become real overnight. The alliances had shifted; the maps were redrawn.
And India — the land that had always tried to keep peace — had joined the stronger side.
The government had declared martial law before dawn. All citizens between the ages of 18 and 35 were being forcibly recruited into the national army. Men and women both. Students, workers, professionals — no one exempt.
Soldiers, police, and government officials were already going door to door, rounding people up. Anyone who resisted was being dragged away, beaten, or worse.
Parth barely had time to process before his parents burst into his room.
His mother's face was pale, her eyes wide. His father looked as if the ground had been pulled from beneath him.
"Parth!" his mother shouted, her voice breaking. "Run right now. Or you will never return to us alive."
"Run?" he repeated, stunned.
His father's voice was rough. "They're coming street by street. They're taking everyone your age. You have to go, son. Now."
"But—"
"No time!" his mother cried. "Go through the back door. Don't look back."
Her hands pushed him toward the window, trembling.
Outside, boots pounded against the pavement. Orders barked through megaphones filled the morning air.
>"All citizens aged eighteen to thirty-five, report immediately for service. Those who resist will be detained!"
Parth's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He was not scared of wars, he was not scared of death either. But...
He looked once at his parents — the people who had raised him, loved him, believed him — and knew he couldn't take them with him. If he stayed, they would all be taken.
So he ran.
Barefoot, heartbeat in his throat, the taste of iron on his tongue. Through the narrow back gate, down the alley where the sun hadn't reached yet.
Behind him, the heavy knocking began.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
> "Open the door! By order of the State — all able-bodied citizens aged eighteen to thirty-five are to report for immediate service!"
The voice outside was calm, official, and utterly soulless.
Parth froze in the shadow of a wall, his breath shallow, the echoes of his dream still whispering in his head.
> I will see you soon…
And somewhere inside him, he knew the King of the Deep hadn't been speaking metaphorically.
The war had begun.
And this time, the world itself was the battlefield.
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