History and philosophy were the only things that gave Arjun a reason to open a book.
He was seventeen, an ordinary boy at Delhi Universal School, but in these two subjects, he was extraordinary. Even when teachers scolded him for ignoring mathematics, science, or languages—even when his own history teacher warned him to "pay attention to everything else"—nothing could shake his love for the past.
When others dreamed of the future, Arjun dreamed of the past.
Often, as he read, a single question burned in his mind:What if I had been born in Ancient India?
It was all he thought about as he walked home that evening, September 21st. In his schoolbag was the newest volume of royaumes régionaux, a fantasy-inspired retelling of the rise and fall of Indian kingdoms. He had bought it with the small salary from his part-time job; money was always tight in his family, but a book was a treasure he could not refuse.
He hurried down the quiet street. The sun dipped behind the buildings, the air heavy and still.
Then it struck.
A sharp, stabbing pain exploded in his chest.
He froze. He could not breathe, could not shout. The world tilted, and he fell to his knees as the pain swallowed him whole.
No one was there to see. No one heard his strangled gasp.
His vision blurred. He stumbled forward—and saw it: a length of rusted iron sticking out of a pile of rubble. His body collapsed, too weak to stop the fall.
The impact was brutal.
There was blood.
So much blood.
Agony tore through him like nothing he had ever known. He lay on the ground, his own blood soaking his uniform, the taste of iron in his mouth.
Is this how it ends? he thought. Without living a single dream?
As darkness closed in, regret filled his fading heart. He had wanted so much—to travel, to study, to change his life. Now all of it would die with him on this lonely street.
And then… nothing.
Silence.
He floated in a place without ground or sky. There was no pain now, only endless black stretching in every direction.
His thoughts echoed in the emptiness. Am I in heaven? Hell? Or is this death?
He tried to move, but his body no longer existed.
And then, in the void, something appeared.
A shape.
A shadow.
Tall, shifting, made of smoke and darkness. It drifted toward him, slow but unstoppable.
As it came closer, the temperature dropped. The blackness seemed to hum, a deep sound he could feel in his bones.
Arjun's breath—or what felt like breath—caught.
What… is that?
The shadow stopped inches from him. Two eyes, bright as molten gold, opened in the darkness.
And a voice whispered:
"So… you wish to see the past?"
(To be continued in Chapter 2)