Prologue: The Rift of Pṛthvīmaṇḍala
The Grand Gate of the Varjita Kṣetra (Forbidden Zone) rose before them, steel-barred and covered with ancient runes that shimmered with hidden Prana. Here, in the heart of Bharatavarsa, science and magic worked together uneasily, but that would change tonight. Avikarh’s pulse raced like a war drum as he stood on the marble platform, addressing the gathered expedition teams.
“Remember your training,” he called, his voice clear beneath the glowing ward lights. “The crater’s radiation readings are off the charts. Stick to the plan. Enter in formation, keep your shields up, and watch each other’s backs.”
A ripple of respectful nods followed his words. Young adepts in lab coats checked their instruments, while veteran explorers adjusted their elemental gauntlets. Avikarh’s team of six fell into step behind him, their eyes bright with excitement.
Then the ground shook.
A deep, echoing boom spread across the clearing. Torches flickered. Runes dimmed and went dark. Dust swirled around them.
Avikarh’s heart raced. He didn’t need to look back; he knew the wards wouldn’t hold.
“Move out! Lead the charge!”
His voice cut through the rising panic. Before the other teams could react, Avikarh leaped forward, his boots pounding against the stone. His squad surged after him, shields raised against falling debris and wild arcs of magic.
They dashed through the Gate and into the unknown. The air inside tasted of ash and raw mana. Humming conduits lined the tunnel walls, their lights pulsing in erratic patterns. Ahead, the cavern opened into a vast city-sized caldera, dominated at its center by the Sleeping Flame—the volcano known for the most unpredictable Prana storms in all Jambudvipa.
They had barely covered half a kilometer when Avikarh paused, his gaze locked on a lone figure atop the volcano’s rim. No human or sky-craft had ever dared approach this zone; no living soul should be there.
The figure—tall and still—raised gloved hands. A ring of violet glyphs blazed around the crater’s edge. From its center fell an object about the size of a human, glowing with a menacing light.
Before anyone could react, Avikarh shouted, “Brace!”
A deafening roar burst forth as the volcano responded to the spell. Fire and shadow shot into the sky, and blackness filled their vision like a flood of night.
When the world returned, Avikarh found himself lying on jagged debris beneath a strange sun. His memories were shattered: Prthvimandal’s last tremor, the figure’s cruel chant, and then—nothing.
He pushed himself up. Wreckage of Prana engines and shattered dreams lay scattered around him. His memories were a blur, but one truth stood out clearly: whatever disaster had thrown him here was just the beginning.
Somewhere beyond the horizon, destiny awaited—calling him to master the magic within, find the others lost to the Rift, and uncover the mystery of the darkness that had destroyed his world.
