The alarm screamed.
Veda's hand shot out from under the blanket. His fingers found the button and pressed it.
Silence.
6:30 AM glowed on the clock in soft red numbers.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. It was the ceiling of his room. Not the cracked, peeling ceiling of Puri. This one was smooth and white. A small ceiling fan spun lazily above him, its blades casting slow shadows.
Another day.
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold tile, clean and smooth, not the rough concrete he was used to. A thin carpet lay beside the bed. A wooden wardrobe stood against the wall. A desk held books stacked neatly.
Normal.
Too normal.
He stood and walked to the bathroom.
The mirror showed his reflection from the chest up. He did not look at his face. He simply grabbed the toothbrush, squeezed paste onto it, and brushed. He rinsed, then splashed cold water on his face.
It woke him.
He used the toilet, washed his hands, and stepped into the small shower stall. Hot water poured over him. Steam filled the room. He stood under the spray for a long time, letting it wash away the sleep.
You will change your mind.
Young Veda's voice echoed somewhere in the back of his head.
Veda shook the water from his hair and turned off the tap.
He dried himself with a soft towel, thicker than any he had ever owned. The fabric smelled like jasmine, like his mother.
Back in the bedroom, he opened the wardrobe.
His college uniform hung there, pressed and ready.
A white shirt, crisp and clean, with a high collar. Over it, a navy blue Nehru jacket with brass buttons and a small pocket on the left chest. The jacket fit perfectly, tailored to his shoulders. Dark gray trousers, straight-cut, with a black leather belt. Brown leather shoes, polished to a dull shine.
A maroon tie hung from the hanger.
He took the tie, looped it around his neck, and fumbled for a moment. He had never worn a tie like this before. In his old life, he had worn army fatigues, then torn suits. Never a college uniform.
He pulled the knot tight and adjusted it. The tie sat snug against the white shirt's collar.
There.
He looked at himself in the small mirror on the wardrobe door, from chest to chin.
The white shirt. The navy jacket. The maroon tie.
He did not look up at his face.
On the wall behind him, a calendar read:
2015.
March.
He was nineteen.
His mother was alive. His father was here. Gita... Gita would be somewhere. A child. Not yet met. Not yet lost.
Stop.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
"Beta! Breakfast is ready! Come down!"
His mother's voice floated up from below, bright and warm.
Veda opened his eyes.
"Ha, Maa. I'm coming."
His voice was steady and calm.
He walked to the door, paused, and rested his hand on the handle.
This is your new world.
He opened the door.
The house.
Not the single rented room near the Jagannath Temple. Not the cramped space with peeling green walls and a window that looked out at a blank wall two feet away.
This was a home.
A real home.
He stood at the top of a wooden staircase, looking down into a living room bathed in morning light. The walls were painted a soft cream, warm and inviting. Family photographs hung in neat frames: his parents' wedding, a young Veda in school uniform, a trip to the mountains.
A brown leather sofa sat against the far wall. A television stood in the corner. A bookshelf held old books and small clay figurines. Plants in terracotta pots lined the windowsill, their leaves green and healthy.
The floor was polished wood, dark and rich. A woven rug in blue and gold lay in the center.
Everything was clean. Loved. Alive.
Veda walked down the stairs. His shoes made soft sounds on the wood.
The dining area connected to the living room. A wooden table, big enough for four, was covered with a white cloth. Plates and cups were laid out.
His father sat at one end, a newspaper spread in front of him. He wore a simple white shirt and gray trousers. His glasses sat low on his nose as he read.
The kitchen was open, separated by a low counter. His mother moved inside it. The clatter of pots and the hiss of the stove filled the air. The smell of spices and fresh bread made Veda's stomach tighten.
He sat down at the table across from his father.
The newspaper's headline was dark. His father read aloud.
"Yesterday, two people got corrupted by dark energy in Kashipur district. It is happening often now."
He picked up his tea and took a sip.
"Thank heaven the King's Defense Court handled it well. If they hadn't arrived in time..."
His voice trailed off.
Veda listened but said nothing.
His mother came out of the kitchen carrying two plates. Steam rose from them. She placed one in front of Veda and one in front of his father.
Luchi.
Golden, puffed, and soft, arranged in a small pile on the plate. Beside them sat a bowl of aloo tarkari: potatoes cooked in a thick, spiced gravy, the smell of cumin and turmeric filling the air. A small cup of sweet, milky chai sat next to the plate.
"These accidents are getting worse," his mother said as she sat down with her own plate. "Every week, someone new gets corrupted."
She paused. Her face brightened.
"But did you hear? Tower Command Force finally sent the Fifth Demi Squad. They reached the seventh floor end zone."
His father nodded and folded the newspaper. "Yes. Finally some good news. It has been twenty-eight years since the King started his march to the seventh floor. Maybe in the next few years, they can clear it."
Veda ate quietly. The luchi was soft with slightly crispy edges. The aloo tarkari was perfect: warm and spiced just right. He had not tasted food like this in years. Not since...
Not since before.
His mother sighed. "Well, we are weak people. All we can do is pray for the warriors to be safe."
She looked at Veda. Her eyes softened.
"Are you okay, beta? Your memories still haven't fully come back. Are you sure you can go to college? If you want, I can ask the principal for more time."
Veda swallowed his bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
He smiled.
It was a small smile. Gentle. Not the feral grin of the Ghost of Death. Not the cold smirk of the hunter.
Just... a smile.
"It's okay, Maa. I will do my best to fit in. It has already been seven days."
He finished the last of his luchi and drank the chai in one long sip. Warmth spread through his chest.
"Thank you for the meal."
He stood up and pushed his chair in.
"I'm going now. Maa, take care."
His mother stood too. She brushed his jacket sleeve and straightened his tie. Her hands lingered on his shoulders.
"Bye, sweetie. Be safe. If anything happens, call us, okay?"
"Okay."
He walked to the front door and opened it.
Morning light flooded in.
The door closed behind him.
His mother stood at the window, watching him walk to the garage. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers twisting together.
"He is so changed," she said softly. "I still can't believe he is our Veda."
She turned to look at his father, who had picked up the newspaper again but was not reading.
"I remember how he used to come to breakfast. Always stuck in his room, reading those old books. Always angry. Always snapping at us."
His father put the paper down. His face was heavy.
"He always told me... 'Because of you, I am weak.' Those exact words. Every time I tried to help him. Every time I tried to get close."
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"But this Veda... he is calm. Cold, even. Always smiling. But I feel that smile... it's not genuine. It's like he's wearing a mask."
His mother walked over and sat beside him.
"The old Veda hated me," his father continued, his voice cracking. "But at least he called me 'Dad.' Every day. Every argument. He still said it."
He looked at the front door.
"It has been seven days. Seven days, and he hasn't called me 'Dad' once. Not once."
His eyes filled with tears. He wiped them quickly, embarrassed.
His mother wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her cheek to his back.
"It's okay, honey. He is adjusting. When his memories come back, he will call you 'Dad' again. You'll see."
She held him tighter.
"I'm just glad his soul didn't get corrupted by the Void. That's what matters. He is alive. He is here. The rest will come."
His father nodded but said nothing.
They sat there in the morning light, holding each other, while the clock ticked on the wall.
Veda rode through the city.
The garage was attached to the side of the house. Small but clean. A motorcycle sat inside: black, sleek, with a silver tank. Not old. Not new. Just... his.
He swung his leg over it. The key was already in the ignition. He turned it. The engine purred to life.
He backed out and turned onto the road.
And rode.
The city unfolded around him like a painting.
The streets were wide and smooth, lined with trees he did not recognize: tall, with leaves that shimmered silver in the light of two suns. Buildings rose on either side. Some were old with stone carvings; others were new with glass facades that reflected the sky.
Cars moved beside him. Some had wheels, like the ones he knew. Others had no wheels at all. They floated a few feet above the ground, gliding silently, their engines humming a low, electric note.
Above him, people flew.
Not in planes. Not in helicopters.
On creatures.
Winged lizards with long tails. Giant birds with feathers that shone like metal. Small personal gliders strapped to backs, their wings translucent and buzzing. A woman in a red sari sat cross-legged on a floating disk, reading a book as she drifted past.
Children played in a park below. A boy kicked a ball that glowed blue. A girl rode a small robotic dog that wagged its metal tail.
The buildings here were tall. So tall they seemed to touch the clouds. But none of them mattered.
Because in the distance, always in the distance, the Tower stood.
It blocked the sun.
One of them, at least. The larger golden sun sat behind it, casting the Tower in silhouette. Its edges glowed. Clouds wrapped around its middle like white silk. The top vanished into the sky, impossible and infinite.
Veda looked at it as he rode.
The Tower.
Heaven's door.
Or Heaven's cage.
He did not know which.
The college gates appeared ahead.
UTKAL DIVINE UNIVERSITY
The name was carved into a massive stone arch, the letters filled with gold leaf. Below it, smaller words read:
The First Step to Heaven's Door
The campus sprawled behind the gates: buildings of white stone and blue glass, connected by covered walkways. A fountain in the center shot water high into the air, and some kind of energy rippled through the spray, making it shimmer with colors.
Students walked through the gates. Some wore uniforms like his. Others wore casual clothes. A few wore robes with symbols on the back: clan markings or guild insignias.
They laughed. They talked. They carried books and tablets and weapons.
Weapons.
Swords on backs. Daggers on belts. One girl carried a bow nearly as tall as she was, its string glowing faintly.
Veda parked his motorcycle in a row of others. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment.
He looked at the name again.
The First Step to Heaven's Door.
Veda took a breath.
Then he got off the bike and walked toward the gates.
The crowd swallowed him.