Chapter 1: The Echo of a Dying City
The last sensation Rohan remembered was the jarring, metallic crunch of a truck, the screech of tires on a rain-slicked street corner in Pune, Maharashtra. At 19, his life was ordinary, filled with college textbooks, cricket matches with friends, and the warmth of a loving, bustling Indian family. One moment, the vibrant chaos of a monsoon evening, the next, an abrupt, terrifying blankness.
Then, he gasped.
He was no longer falling. He was swaddled, cocooned in impossibly soft silk, in a room that smelled of jasmine and ancient incense. Above him, a fresco of dancing deities shimmered with gold and sapphire, utterly alien to the plaster ceiling of his Pune apartment. His limbs were tiny, his cries merely infant gurgles. The horror of being reborn, of losing everything, was overwhelming.
As he thrashed in panic, a translucent panel flickered into existence in the corner of his vision.
[Status Initialized]
Subject: Aarav Singh Suryavanshi
Age: 0
Active Skills:
[Language: Marathi - Level 9]
[Language: Hindi - Level 8]
[Language: English - Level 8]
[Mathematics (Modern) - Level 6]
[Physics (Modern) - Level 5]
[Engineering Theory (Modern) - Level 4]
The impossible text confirmed his horrifying reality. He was Aarav, a prince of a forgotten kingdom, but the knowledge, the skills, the very essence of Rohan, remained. He was a 19-year-old mind trapped in an infant's body, his past life's accumulated intellect his only companion.
Six Years Later – The Year 2000
The world outside Hindustan had been halted in time. The year was 2000, but technology had strangely stalled in the 1960s. Hindustan, however, existed outside this bizarre global anomaly, its isolation unbroken for millennia.
Prince Aarav, at six years old, was a marvel. He moved with a quiet grace, his eyes holding an intelligence that was unnerving in a child. He was adored by all. His elder brother, Vikram, eight years old and already a budding warrior, doted on him with a fiercely protective love. His sister, Ananya, at ten, found a fascinating companion in his curious mind, sensing a depth far beyond his years. His parents, the Maharaja and Maharani, saw in him a rare blend of wisdom and innocence, a precious jewel in their royal family. The palace staff, the guards, the gardeners – all found themselves drawn to the small prince who offered a kind word, remembered their names, or simply listened with genuine interest. He was the People's Prince, beloved without question.
One sweltering afternoon, as the royal children were practicing their rudimentary meditation under the watchful eye of a Royal Guard, a distant, muffled boom echoed through the palace walls. The guard stiffened, his hand going to his sword. Then, a second, louder boom, followed by a series of frantic shouts.
"An anomaly!" a voice screamed from the outer grounds. "The Veil! It's breached!"
The guard, abandoning protocol, immediately scooped up Aarav, Vikram, and Ananya, rushing them towards the inner sanctuary of the palace. The very air vibrated with panic. The Veil of Mists, their sacred, millennia-old protection, had been broken.
In the midst of the chaos, Aarav's mind was a whirlwind. The ghost of Rohan recognized the sound – a ship's horn, perhaps, or a boiler bursting. But more importantly, the veil was broken. After 6,500 years, the outside world had finally found them.
As they reached the secure chambers, Captain Jayan, the head of the Royal Guard, appeared, his face grim. "The Maharaja commands the immediate deployment to the southern shores! A foreign vessel, large and of metal, has appeared!"
Vikram, despite his young age, puffed out his chest. "I will go, Captain! I will lead the defense!"
"No, Your Highness," Jayan said firmly. "You are too young. But Prince Aarav..." he hesitated, then looked at the small child, a flicker of awe in his eyes. "The Maharaja believes your presence... may be required. Your insight, my Prince, has proven invaluable."
Aarav, still held in the guard's arms, looked at his father, who stood at the chamber's entrance, his face a mask of resolute calm. His father's eyes met his, a silent communication of trust and profound love. He was entrusting his youngest, most beloved son with a task of unimaginable importance.
"Put me down," Aarav said, his voice small but firm.
The guard set him gently on the ground. Aarav looked at his father, then at his brother and sister, who were already arguing with the guards about being left behind. He knew this was a moment of destiny. Rohan's knowledge, Aarav's empathy, and the love of his people were all converging.
"I will go, Father," Aarav said, looking up at his towering parent. "I will speak with them."
His father nodded, a slow, solemn gesture. "May the Dharma guide your tongue, my son. Protect our home, Prince Aarav."
As Aarav walked out of the sanctuary, flanked by guards and his ever-watchful sister Ananya, a new line of text shimmered in his mind, not a skill, but a status update.
[Mission: First Contact - Critical Importance]
[Objective: Observe, Translate, Protect Hindustan]
The outside world, with its strange metal machines and forgotten wars, was no longer a myth. It was on their shore, and a six-year-old prince, a ghost from that very world, was about to meet it.