The storm that heralded Mukul's birth left an unshakable silence in its wake. For three nights, the farmhouse was wrapped in stillness, as if the world itself waited to see what the boy would become.
Aditya Varma and Kabir Rathore sat across from one another in a dimly lit room, the air between them heavy with unspoken truth. Old rivals, bound by years of conflict between the Celestial Forge and the Shadow Dominion, they now faced something neither order had prepared for.
"He is dangerous," Kabir said at last, his eyes like steel. "You saw it. The air bent. The world itself bowed. If this child awakens untrained, even your vaunted Forge will not withstand him."
Aditya's jaw tightened. "Dangerous, yes. But he is also hope. The balance of this world has been teetering for centuries—empires rise and fall, secret orders clash in shadows, and blood feeds ambition. Perhaps… he is the one who will break the cycle."
Kabir gave a bitter laugh. "Or complete it."
Their wives, Ishita and Anaya, entered softly, their hands resting protectively on their swollen bellies. Both women carried life within them—three daughters each, their souls already stirring.
"Stop speaking as if you are gods," Ishita chided, her tone firm. "He is a child, and our daughters will be born into this same world. Will you raise them to fear him—or to stand with him?"
Anaya met her sister's gaze, eyes soft but resolute. "Our daughters will not fear destiny. They will share in it."
That night, a pact was forged—not in blood, but in the bond of necessity.
Aditya and Kabir swore that Mukul would be trained by both orders, tutored in every art, every science, every craft of power known to man. Where one would teach him discipline, the other would test him in shadow. Where one gave knowledge, the other would give cunning.
And their daughters—the six unborn girls—would be bound to Mukul's fate.
Vanya Varma, the eldest, destined to inherit her father's unyielding will.
Kiara Varma, whose brilliance would one day rival kingdoms.
Sakura Varma, gentle yet sharp, like the petals and thorns of her name.
Aarohi Rathore, spirited as fire, unafraid to challenge the world.
Liya Rathore, calm and clever, her silence carrying storms.
Sirisha Rathore, the dreamer, with eyes that could see truths others ignored.
Each girl carried within her the legacy of ancient bloodlines, tempered by two of the greatest masters of the age.
"They will be raised to walk beside him," Aditya said, his hand resting on the table like a seal. "Not as servants, not as weapons—but as equals."
Kabir's eyes narrowed, but at last, he nodded. "And when the time comes, they will bind with him. Not by force, but by fate. Six threads woven into the tapestry of one destiny."
Their wives exchanged knowing smiles, sensing the bond already forming in the unseen realms. For as they touched their wombs, the unborn stirred, as if answering the newborn cry of Mukul, still sleeping in Meera's arms.
That night, under the faint glow of moonlight, the two masters sealed their pact in silence.
And somewhere in the distance, hidden forces stirred uneasily, as if the world itself sensed what had been set in motion.
For Mukul Ahir had not been born alone. He had been born with six stars destined to orbit his flame—six daughters of shadow and forge, whose love and power would one day shape the fate of empires.
The child of omen now had companions.And destiny had sharpened its blade.