Guardians Of the Ancient Bharat

The priest standing at the threshold was unlike any Ujjwal had seen before. Clad in saffron robes frayed at the edges, he carried no ceremonial staff or beads. His eyes, sharp and restless, glimmered with an intensity that made the air feel heavy. His presence filled the small room with an aura of quiet menace.

"Namaste," the man greeted, his voice low and measured. "May I come in?"

Ujjwal glanced at his mother, who watched with a wary expression. She gave a subtle nod, her fingers tightening on her dupatta. Ujjwal stepped aside.

The priest entered, his gaze sweeping over every corner before settling on Ujjwal. "You carry something you do not understand," he said. "It binds you to forces that even gods fear."

Ujjwal clenched his jaw. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I am Vashishtananda," the priest answered, his name rolling off his tongue with practiced gravity. "A seeker of truths buried beneath the world you know. And I am here because the river whispered your name."

Ujjwal swallowed, the cryptic words striking too close to the events of Naglok. "What do you want from me?"

"Not what I want," Vashishtananda corrected. "But what fate demands. You have crossed a threshold few return from. The beasts that attacked you were not mere creatures. They were bhayanaksura—hounds of darkness sent to destroy those whose very existence threatens the balance."

"Why me?" Ujjwal's voice rose, frustration bleeding into fear. "I'm no one. I have no ties to this… whatever this is!"

The priest's eyes burned with sudden ferocity. "You are wrong. You are far more than you believe. Blood remembers, even when the mind forgets." He gestured toward the parchment Ujjwal still held. "That is a key. But a key without knowledge can be a curse."

Ujjwal stared at the folded paper, its weight far heavier than mere parchment. "What does it unlock?"

"Your past. Your destiny. And the truth of the name that binds you."

The room grew colder. His mother, silent until now, spoke. "My son deserves answers, not riddles. What is this name? What truth are you hiding?"

The priest's gaze softened, but only slightly. "There is a name older than this age, tied to a power that predates time itself. You, Ujjwal, bear its mark. That is why the shadows hunt you."

"Tell me the name," Ujjwal demanded.

The priest hesitated, his eyes flickering with something close to pity. "The name is hidden by design, for even speaking it aloud would summon forces that cannot be contained. But know this—your journey begins not in the world of men, but in the forgotten realms of legend."

Ujjwal's heartbeat thundered in his ears. The questions multiplied. The mysteries deepened.

"I don't want this," he whispered.

The priest stepped closer. "What you want is irrelevant. What you are cannot be denied."

The weight of the truth—or its shadow—pressed down on him. Ujjwal's breath came in ragged gasps.

"How do I fight them?"

Vashishtananda's expression darkened. "You do not fight shadows with fists. You fight with knowledge. Find the place where your bloodline began. The answers lie in the roots of your family tree—twisted and ancient."

Before Ujjwal could ask more, the priest turned, his footsteps silent as he disappeared into the dawn, leaving behind more questions than answers.

The silence in the room stretched. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch trembling. "There is something I have to tell you."

The shadows seemed to grow deeper around them.