The forest was alive. Not in the way trees sway or birds chirp—but in the way something breathes when it’s watching you.

  Anshul stepped past the st stone marker, the old boundary the vilgers had warned him about his whole life. "Never cross that line," they said. "The forest doesn't forget."

  He crossed it anyway.

  Dry leaves cracked beneath his boots. Shadows curled between tree trunks like waiting fingers. There was no path—only instinct.

  The deeper he went, the colder it grew. Not the chill of weather, but the kind that seeps into your spine and makes your soul shiver. Still, he pressed on.

  His fingers twitched.

  > Again… that feeling. Something inside me stirs, like it remembers this pce.

  ---

  Meanwhile... somewhere unseen.

  Far beyond the reach of mortal eyes, in a sun-drenched sanctum surrounded by floating runes and molten stone, a figure watched him through a pool of living fire.

  The Sor Throne pulsed gently. A voice spoke—low, regal, and weary.

  > “The heir walks the path… earlier than foretold.”

  A second voice, sharper, hissed from the shadows.

  > “He must be guided—or destroyed. He holds power enough to awaken what we buried.”

  > “He is still a child.”

  > “So was the st one... and we know how he ended.”

  The fme swirled. An image sharpened. Anshul… walking alone, a sliver of golden light glowing faintly at his chest.

  Back in the forest

  Anshul stopped. There, half-buried in moss, stood a broken stone pilr carved with a bzing sun symbol—☉—the same symbol that haunted his dreams.

  As he brushed the moss aside, the stone hummed beneath his fingers. Warmth rushed up his arm, flooding his body with fire.

  Suddenly, the ground cracked.

  Fmes burst from the base of the stone, spiraling upward. A ring of golden light surrounded him. Voices echoed all around:

  > "He returns… the Sunborn…" "The seal weakens…" "He must not awaken!"

  Anshul staggered back, eyes wide. The symbol on his chest—hidden his whole life—now burned through his shirt, glowing like a living sun.

  > “What the hell is happening to me!?”

  Then—silence. The fmes died. The forest stilled. And from behind him, a whisper—

  > “You should not be here…”

  Anshul spun. A man stood just a few feet away—barefoot, eyes glowing amber, hair white as ash. His voice was calm, but his presence was not.

  > “You’ve triggered something that was meant to stay buried.”

  > “Who are you?” Anshul demanded.

  > “The better question,” the man replied, stepping closer, “is what are you?”

  Anshul’s hands clenched. Sparks flickered at his fingertips.

  > “You already know, don’t you?”

  The man smiled faintly.

  > “Oh yes, Anshul Verma. You are the key. The weapon. The forgotten son of a forgotten god.”

  And before Anshul could react—the man vanished in a burst of golden ash.

  Somewhere far away, in a temple buried beneath obsidian sands, ancient chains shuddered. A g

  reat evil turned in its prison.

  The fire had returned. And so would the darkness.

  To be continued…