The air in the throne room, once filled with the mundane peace of a quiet kingdom, now thrummed with a palpable tension. The messenger from the Ahankari Prant had departed, but his predatory gaze and thinly veiled threats lingered like a foul odor. Karan's father, King Raynar, his face etched with a fear he could no longer hide, dismissed his advisors and turned to his wife, the Queen. Their hushed tones filled the silence, a stark contrast to the lively laughter that usually echoed through the palace. "They know," he whispered, the words trembling with a raw terror. "The messengers, their words... they know about the Seeds. Our time of peace is over."
The Queen, her loving gaze on Karan, took her husband's hand. "We have kept the secret for generations, my love. We must have faith." But even as she spoke, her voice lacked its usual certainty. The burden of this divine secret was a heavy one, and its weight now seemed to crush them both. Karan, innocent to the true nature of their fear, watched them with a child's confusion. He saw their sadness and felt a deep, instinctive desire to protect them, a feeling that was both alien and strangely familiar.
Later that evening, the King found Karan by the royal garden's pond, skipping stones. The boy's carefree joy, the simple pleasure of watching ripples spread across the water, was a stark contrast to the storm brewing within the palace walls. Taking a deep breath, the King placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Karan," he said, his voice unusually grave. "There is a truth you must know, a truth about our kingdom and about you." His voice held a reverence that made Karan's heart pound with a strange foreboding.
He led Karan down a hidden staircase behind the main fountain, a twisting stone passage that was cool and silent. The air grew heavy with a sense of the ancient and sacred. It descended deep beneath the palace, into a chamber lit by a single, shimmering golden light that seemed to pulse with life. The walls were not of stone, but of polished obsidian, engraved with forgotten symbols of suns and fertile fields. In the center of the room, a magnificent golden chalice stood on a pedestal, and within it rested a handful of glowing, pulsating kernels—the Divine Seeds. Their light filled the room with a celestial warmth, and Karan felt an inexplicable pull, a deep, resonant connection to them, as if they were a part of him that had long been missing.
"This is the source of our kingdom's prosperity," the King explained, his voice filled with reverence. "These are the Divine Seeds, gifted to our ancestor by the gods. When planted, they can bring life to any soil, a gift of abundance to the world. But this gift has always been a secret, passed down from one generation of our family to the next, to protect it from the greed of others. For centuries, our family has lived in the shadows, choosing a quiet life to guard this treasure."
He then knelt before Karan, his eyes fixed on his son's hands. "That golden light you showed years ago, the one that healed the dying flower? It was not a fluke. It is a sign. The power to wield the essence of the Seeds runs in your veins, Karan. You are the chosen one, destined to be the guardian of this sacred treasure, the one who will face the great trials ahead."
A cold weight, a sense of deep, familiar dread, settled in Karan's stomach. The word "destiny" felt heavy, alien, and yet eerily resonant. He looked from the glowing seeds to his father's fearful face. The life he cherished, the peace he had unknowingly desired, was not a given. It was a fragile illusion, protected by a secret and a power he had not asked for. The King's fears for him were not unfounded; they were a prophecy coming to pass. He felt an intense wave of rebellion against this new burden, a feeling that his soul had already carried too many.
Suddenly, a loud, piercing war-cry echoed from the courtyard above, followed by the terrible clatter of swords and the shouts of men. The sound of breaking stone and splintering wood followed. A frantic guard burst into the chamber, his uniform torn and bloodied, his eyes wide with unadulterated terror. "Your Highness! They're here! The Ahankari Prant... they're attacking! They came without warning!"
The king's fears had come true. The game of power had begun, and Karan, in his peaceful life, was now standing on a battlefield far more complex and brutal than the one he had just left behind. It was not a war for land or a throne, but a fight for the very essence of his family's legacy and his own sealed past.