"Rudra… wake up."
The voice was soft.
Warm.
So painfully human that for a moment, Rudra thought it was another illusion from the white void.
His eyelids fluttered.
Sunlight.
Not the crimson blaze of a burning battlefield.
Not the cold silver glow of the Witness's realm.
Real sunlight.
Golden morning rays slipped through a cracked window and fell across his face.
The smell hit him first.
Dust.
Old wood.
Faded cloth.
A trace of incense.
Nothing like blood and smoke.
His heartbeat quickened.
Rudra's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him was low and stained with age, a small fan turning lazily with a faint creaking sound.
He froze.
This room.
His pupils shrank.
He knew this room.
The old peeling blue paint.
The tiny wooden table near the bed.
The rusted steel cupboard has one broken handle.
The framed image of Lord Shiva is hanging slightly crooked on the wall.
A memory struck him like lightning.
His first rented room.
The one he had lived in when he was ten.
His breathing became uneven.
No.
No… this was impossible.
He sat up too quickly.
A sharp dizziness hit him.
He looked down at his hands.
Small.
Thin.
Childlike.
His fingers trembled.
Gone were the scarred hands that had built empires and wielded divine power.
These were the hands of a boy.
Ten years old.
His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.
He rushed toward the cracked mirror hanging beside the cupboard.
A young face stared back at him.
Sharp eyes.
Messy black hair.
A face untouched by age.
By war.
By betrayal.
By grief.
For a long moment, Rudra simply stared.
Then he touched his own reflection.
Cold glass.
Real.
He whispered, almost unable to believe it.
"I'm really back…"
A strange sound escaped him.
Half-laugh.
Half-broken sob.
His knees gave out, and he sank to the floor.
Memories crashed through his mind.
Luna's smile.
Nyla's final words.
The red sky.
The Witness.
Protect the stars this time.
His fists slowly clenched.
Then he looked toward the small calendar hanging on the wall.
The date.
14 April
Year—
His breath stopped.
It was exactly thirty years before the final war.
Thirty years.
He had been sent back to the day his second life truly began.
His gaze darkened.
Thirty years before betrayal.
Thirty years before the alien invasion.
Thirty years before the deaths of the ten stars.
His lips slowly curved into a cold smile.
"Varun…"
The name came out like poison.
"Elena…"
A storm of killing intent flashed in his eyes.
Then he forcibly calmed himself.
No.
Not yet.
The Witness's warning echoed in his mind.
Reveal your rebirth to no one.
Change fate carefully.
Rudra took a slow breath.
This time, he had knowledge.
Time.
Preparation.
And thirty years to rewrite destiny.
A knock came from the door.
His entire body went still.
A woman's voice came from outside.
"Rudra beta, are you awake? You'll be late for school."
School.
He blinked.
The landlady.
Mrs Mehta.
She had rented him this room after finding him working part-time near the old market.
A kind woman.
Alive.
Still alive in this timeline.
"Y-yes, aunty," he replied.
For a moment, he almost forgot to sound like a child.
He heard her footsteps fade.
Silence returned.
Rudra slowly stood.
He looked around the room again.
A school bag rested on the chair.
Old books are stacked on the table.
A cheap keypad phone.
And in the corner—
his old black backpack.
His expression changed.
He walked toward it.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Inside, beneath a pile of notebooks, was something wrapped in cloth.
His fingers paused.
Then he unwrapped it.
A golden pendant.
His breathing hitched.
The Desai crest.
The same pendant he had seen in the Witness's vision.
His eyes widened.
So the clue had always been with him.
All these years.
His hand tightened around it.
This time, he would not wait until forty.
This time, he would find them early.
His father.
His mother.
His seven sisters.
He would reach them before fate could tear them apart.
He turned toward the mirror again.
The reflection staring back at him no longer looked like a lost child.
It looked like a king reborn.
A forty-year-old legend hidden inside a ten-year-old body.
His voice was low.
Steady.
Terrifyingly calm.
"This life…"
Purple lightning flickered faintly across his fingertips.
"…I protect them all."
Outside, the city continued its ordinary morning.
Children walking to school.
Vendors opening shops.
Cars honking in the distance.
No one knew.
No one could imagine.
That the man who would one day shake the world had just returned.
And this time—
He remembered everything.