Samriddhi’s POV:-
Tomorrow
That word echoed in my head all night like some dramatic Bollywood background score. “Tomorrow, I’m going back,” I mumbled to myself as I paced around the house like a caffeine-fueled squirrel.
That book—that strange, ornate thing with golden engravings—wasn't just a book. It was a whisper, a shiver, a pull I couldn’t explain. It had chosen me. And God, I was all in for the drama.
“Samriddhi, stop daydreaming and eat your dinner!” Maa snapped, breaking me out of my daze.
“I’m not daydreaming, Maa. I’m... strategizing,” I said with a dramatic flourish, stabbing a poor aloo in my plate like it was my destiny.
“Strategizing for what? You’re going to the library, not a battlefield.”
“You never know, Maa,” I muttered with a grin. “Libraries can be dangerous places.”
Papa chuckled from the other side of the table, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let her be, Renu. She’s always been a little... extra, just like her father.”
“Exactly,” I said, tossing my hair back proudly.
Morning came too slowly.
I woke up before my alarm, left my hair open, wore a beautiful kurti and earrings, and all set... I practically jogged through breakfast. Maa barely had time to lecture me about skipping protein before I grabbed my jhola bag and rushed out the door.
“Don’t forget your phone!” she yelled behind me.
“I’m going to a time before phones existed!” I shouted back, laughing at my own joke, though I had no idea how true that would soon become.
I don’t know what pulled me toward that book again. Maybe it was the weight of its presence, or the way it almost hummed in my thoughts ever since I first saw it. But I knew, the moment I stepped into the library again, that I wouldn’t leave without opening it.
The librarian smiled at me warmly as I walked in.
“Back again so soon, Samriddhi?”
I smiled, brushing hair behind my ear. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that one book in the corner. The one with the golden engravings.”
As I stared at the golden engravings shimmering faintly under the dusty beam of afternoon light, something about the book felt… off. Not just old, but ancient, like it had been waiting for someone. Me.
“You’ve got a good eye,” he said, folding his arms as he stood beside me. “Most people don’t even notice that book.”
“Why? What is it?” I asked, eyes still fixed on the intricate carvings—lotus vines, celestial symbols, and a delicate motif of water ripples embossed into the spine.
He hesitated for a beat too long. “It’s... unique,” he said carefully. “No one really knows where it came from. The records say it’s part of the collection, but I’ve been here for over two decades, and I’ve never seen anyone borrow it. Heck, I’ve never even seen it out in the open.”
My curiosity spiked. “So how did it end up here?”
A crooked smile crossed his face. “Some books find their way to people. Others wait until the right hands reach for them. This one... it feels like it’s been waiting.”
I gave him a polite nod and turned away, though something about his tone lingered in my ears.
As I walked toward the back shelves, everything around me faded into silence. The rows of books, the specks of dust floating in sunlight, even my own heartbeat felt distant. And then I saw it—lying exactly where I’d last seen it. That thick, ancient book with a cover that looked as though it was woven from stories of the past. The design etched into it seemed to shift, just slightly, like it was alive. Watching me.
I swallowed.
My fingers hesitated above it.
“Come on, Samriddhi,” I whispered to myself, forcing a shaky breath. “It’s just a book.”
I took a deep breath.
And touched it.
The moment my skin met the cover, it felt like everything stopped. Like the air had been thrown out of the room. My vision swirled, the world dissolving into golden light. The floor beneath me gave way, and a thunderous ringing filled my ears—as though a thousand ancient bells were tolling all at once.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t move.
It felt like I was falling… but not down. Through time.
The golden light gave way to pitch darkness. And then—
Water.
Freezing, relentless, rushing over me in waves.
I gasped, but no air came. My arms flailed on instinct, and my body thrashed against the unfamiliar current. I was in a river—wide, deep, wild. The chill cut through me like a blade. I couldn’t tell which way was up. My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming louder than the roar of the water.
Was I drowning?
No... no, I had to fight. But how is that even possible...I kicked my legs, pushed against the current..
And just when I thought the water would consume me entirely—
Everything went black.
Meanwhile...somewhere where she just reached....in 14th century.....
The soon to be king sat astride a black stallion, its coat gleaming under the harsh sun. The entire valley lay silent beneath his gaze. Around him, soldiers stood in still rows, awaiting command. His armor shimmered—deep bronze, carved with symbols of power passed through generations. But his face—his face was sharper than a blade, unreadable yet magnetic.
Rudra Raj Varman.
He was not just a king. He was a storm. A name whispered by enemies with trembling lips and spoken by his people with pride and fear. He was not a man one simply looked at—he was a presence one felt. Like thunder before the storm.
He dismounted with a single, fluid movement, the heavy sword at his hip swaying like it was part of him. Servants and generals parted in his path like they love their lives most...
He paused before an injured soldier being dragged back from the front.
“You fought well,” he said, voice low and thunderous. “What is your name?”
“T-Tej, my lord,” the boy croaked.
Rudra nodded once, then looked at his general. “Ensure he’s treated. Feed his family until he returns.”
With that, he rose again, his presence swallowing the space around him. He was ruthless, yes. But he was fair. And his kingdom stood tall because he bore the weight of every stone that built it.
His grey eyes, deep and unforgiving, swept over the valley with the cold precision of a falcon. Behind him stood rows of soldiers—silent, disciplined, motionless. None dared to speak in his presence unless spoken to. None dared meet his gaze for more than a second.
At twenty-eight, he ruled half of the region's kingdoms, the rest kneeling in fear or admiration. His name was a whisper in courtrooms, a warning in lullabies, a ghost in the nightmares of traitors.
They said he had no heart. That his enemies were buried without names, and those who crossed him lived only as examples. But He wasn’t cruel for the sake of cruelty—he was methodical, sharp, and merciless because the crown demanded it.
He had only one rule: Loyalty must be complete—or crushed.
Today, he stood over a small burned to ash by rebels—traitors who had dared lay hands on his tax collectors.
“Their bloodline ends today,” he said coldly, dismounting without a glance at the flames behind him.
“But… their wives and children—” his minister began cautiously.
Rudra turned his head slightly. That single movement made the man fall silent.
“I said, their bloodline ends. I will not rule over fear—I will rule over order.” His voice was calm, detached. Like he was discussing crops, not executions.
Yet…
Moments later, he strode past the villagers, and when a trembling child clutched his mother’s leg, eyes filled with silent terror—he paused. Just for a second.
“Take the children to the monastery,” he said to his guards, not even turning around. “They will serve under my reign. They will learn discipline. Let them grow under my watch… and never forget who spared them.”
There was silence again. The kind that followed after a storm had passed but left the land forever changed.
But today, there was a shift in the air. A ripple in time. The hawk circling above gave a shrill cry, and Rudra’s grip on the reins tightened. He didn’t believe in omens.
Little did he know, far from his battlefield, in the heart of a forest near the sacred river, fate had just delivered something—or rather, someone—who would challenge everything he believed in.
Someone whose world was not his own.
Someone who would change the course of his destiny.
Forever. Yet something told him—something was coming.
Or someone.
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