The sky burned red.
Cities split open as if the earth itself had turned against humanity. Towers crumbled into dust, their lights flickering out one by one. Giants of shadow and flame strode over the ruins, their footsteps shaking the world.
And in the middle of it, he saw himself.
Not the frail boy he was now, but a man. Tall, commanding, radiating an aura that bent reality itself. Stars seemed to bow before him, and colossal machines of steel and light moved at his command.
The man's eyes—his own eyes, but colder, sharper—turned toward him. Their gazes locked across time.
His lips moved.
And though the world was ending, though screams and fire filled the air, the boy heard it as clearly as his own heartbeat:
"Prepare."
The vision shattered.
---
Krisan's eyes snapped open. His thin body jolted upright on the straw mattress, sweat dripping down his brow.
The smell of smoke was gone. The shadows were gone. Only darkness remained, and the faint sound of his father's steady breathing beside his mother in the other room.
His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts.
Prepare.
The word echoed, refusing to fade, carving itself into his mind.
"Prepare…?" he whispered into the night.
No answer came. No voice, no fire, no shadow. Only silence.
But Krisan Veer knew, deep in his bones, that it was no ordinary dream.
It was a warning.
Or perhaps… a command.