Aarav stared into the eyes of the figure behind the crystal wall.
Golden irises shimmered like polished sunstone, sharp and unblinking. The man—or what resembled a man—stood still, wrapped in flowing robes of deep indigo and black, marked with silver symbols Aarav had never seen before. His skin was pale bronze, like stone warmed by sunlight.
> "At last, the blood returns," the figure had said.
"Who… who are you?" Aarav asked, his voice echoing off the smooth stone chamber.
The figure tilted his head slightly, as if observing him through time itself.
> "You bear the mark of the Line. The Seal has responded. That is all I require to know… for now."
---
The crystal wall shimmered, then vanished like smoke. Aarav stepped back instinctively, but the figure made no move toward him. Instead, he reached down and unrolled a scroll made of thin, gold-leaf parchment, floating midair without visible support.
Symbols lit up along its surface—rotating scripts from Sanskrit to Brahmi, Tamil, Pali, and others Aarav couldn't recognize.
> "Two thousand, three hundred and one years ago, Emperor Ashoka vanished. The world believed he died. In truth, he descended—into this very vault. And he began the construction of the Archive: a sanctum of knowledge, memory, and silence."
Aarav's mind reeled. "But why? Why hide all this? Why erase history?"
The figure raised a single finger. "Because the world was not ready."
> "The Dharma he sought to spread was not merely moral. It was universal. Rooted in science, spiritual resonance, and something your era has forgotten—sankalpa. Will. Intention woven into matter."
Aarav glanced around. "This entire place... runs on will?"
The figure nodded. "Yantroids, projectors, mind-linked glyphs. The Archive responded to you because your blood carries the memory of Ashoka's chosen line. Not by birth… but by design."
---
Aarav's head spun. "You're saying… I'm related to Ashoka?"
"Not by blood. By memory." The man's golden eyes softened. "You were shaped to be a Key. A receiver. And now the Empire must rise again."
> "The signs align. The outer world fractures. The Guardians are awakening. And the other heirs… will try to claim the throne."
"Wait—what other heirs?"
The man turned away, and suddenly the chamber transformed. The floor beneath Aarav shimmered into a pool of liquid light, forming a vast map of India. Glowing sigils appeared over several regions—Delhi, Ujjain, Kolkata, and one that blinked rapidly near Ladakh.
> "The descendants of the Dharma Seeds. Hidden families sworn to protect—or corrupt—the Empire's legacy. When Ashoka disappeared, he left behind not only this Archive, but four Regalia: Crown, Wheel, Voice, and Flame."
"Artifacts?" Aarav asked.
"Keys," the man said. "To awaken the Eternal Throne. One of them has already been found. By someone… unworthy."
---
Suddenly, the chamber trembled.
Dust fell from the ceiling. Faint echoes—distant machinery, or something worse—rattled behind the walls.
The golden-eyed man frowned. "Your presence has activated old paths. You must leave this place, Aarav Sen."
"But I don't know anything! I don't even know who you are!"
> "My name… was lost when the Emperor sealed the First War. I am the Archive's Watcher. Nothing more."
Aarav felt frustration bubble in his chest. "Then tell me where to go!"
The man extended a hand.
Aarav stepped forward, hesitant. The moment their fingers touched, a wave of heat and memory surged through him like lightning.
---
Flash.
A boy running through sandstone corridors. Priests chanting. Symbols burning into his palm.
Flash.
Ashoka, seated on a throne of obsidian, whispering to a circle of masked sages.
Flash.
A war-torn India—flashes of cities in ruin, armies clashing beneath digital skies and monolithic structures. Not past. Future.
---
Aarav stumbled back, gasping for air.
"You showed me…" he choked. "The past? The future? I don't understand."
> "You will. Seek the first Regalia—the Crown of the Flame. It lies where the fire meets the snow."
Ladakh.
Before Aarav could speak again, the chamber trembled violently. Red warning glyphs flared to life along the walls.
> "They are breaching the inner Archive. You must go. Now."
---
Without warning, a circular platform rose beneath Aarav's feet. The Watcher stepped back into the shadows.
"Wait!" Aarav shouted. "Will I see you again?"
A faint smile. "The Archive remembers. So shall you."
The floor beneath Aarav rocketed upward.
Darkness swallowed him again.
---
Varanasi – Surface Level
The cave's ceiling erupted.
Stone and dust rained across the landscape as a hidden doorway behind an old temple cracked open like a wound. Locals screamed and scattered.
Aarav was thrown into sunlight, coughing, bloodied, alive.
He rolled onto his back, blinking at the sky.
Above him stood a woman—sharp-jawed, eyes stormy, holding a notepad and a pistol.
"Name's Diya Kapoor," she said. "I'm guessing you're Aarav Sen."
He sat up, stunned. "How do you know me?"
She knelt beside him, showing him the ancient symbol she'd drawn.
The one from his vault.
> "Because this same mark was in my father's notes the day he disappeared. And because you're not the only one they're hunting."
---
From the ridge behind them, a figure in black watched silently through binoculars.
He pressed a button on his headset. "Target has exited the Archive. He has made contact with the journalist."
"Orders?" the voice replied.
He smiled coldly.
> "Let them run. They'll lead us to the next Regalia."
---
⚡ To be continued...