It was three months after my fifth birthday. Everything had gone back to normal, or at least it looked like it. My family never talked about the prophecy again, but sometimes, I noticed worried glances shared between my parents or the silence in my grandfather's eyes when they looked at me.
My mother got an invitation to attend an international medical conference in China. Doctors, scientists, and health experts from all over the world were gathering to discuss new medical research. She wanted to stay home, but both my grandfathers insisted that she go. "Knowledge should never wait," Grandpa Raghav had said. "Take Mukul with you. It will be a good change for him."
And so, it was decided. My father had his government meetings, my brother had his routine military training under Grandpa, and my sister was at school. Mother and I would travel to China together.
I was excited. It was my first trip outside India. Everything felt like an adventure. The airports, the huge planes, and the foreign signs that I couldn't read—it was all new and wonderful.
When we reached China, we stayed in a tall glass hotel surrounded by mountains far in the distance. The city sparkled with lights at night. Mother attended her seminars every morning while I stayed close to her, drawing in my sketchbook. As always, my drawings were the same—seven stars. I didn't even notice that.
But on the third day, something strange happened.
That morning, the sky looked odd—grey clouds moving fast even though there was no wind. The air felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break. Mother stood by the window, fixing her ID badge, and said with a smile, "Looks like rain before the conference begins."
The conference hall was massive, filled with hundreds of delegates. The stage was decorated with shining banners of blue and gold. Mother went up to present her medical research. I sat quietly in the front row, clutching my sketchbook, drawing circles and stars like always.
Then I heard a loud sound.
Boom.
It wasn't thunder. The walls trembled, and the ceiling lights flickered wildly. People screamed. Smoke began to fill the air. I saw guards rushing toward the entrance, shouting something in Chinese.
My mother looked back, her eyes full of alarm. She ran toward me, but then—another explosion shook the hall. The ground cracked, and glass shattered from the windows. I remember the sound of alarms, cries, and distant gunfire.
Someone pulled me down to the floor. My mother grabbed me tightly against her chest, whispering, "Don't look, Mukul. Don't move."
The smell of smoke and burning wires filled the air. I could hear the chaos, the running footsteps, and the panic all around. My heart pounded hard, but I wasn't crying. I just held her hand tightly.
"Stay with me, baby," she said softly, her voice shaking. "Close your eyes."
But before she could move us to safety, the third blast came. It was so loud that everything went white. I felt like I was floating—weightless, spinning.
When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling was gone. Dust and smoke floated everywhere. My head rang, and my ears buzzed. I couldn't see my mother. "Mama?" I called out, coughing.
No answer.
I stumbled forward, rubbing my eyes. Pieces of glass crunched under my small feet. Through the broken wall, I saw the outside world—a burning vehicle, people running, and far behind, rising mountains covered in fog.
"Ma!" I shouted again. My voice echoed weakly.
Something hot burnt near me. I turned to run, but a strong blast of air hit me again, throwing me backwards. My head struck something hard. Pain exploded in my skull, and everything spun.
The next thing I remember, I was falling. There was a cliff, a broken path, and below—an endless green forest. My small body rolled through dirt and stones. I tried to grab a branch, but it snapped. My head hit a tree trunk, and the world went black.
For a long time, there was only darkness. I heard faint sounds—like distant water, the wind whispering, maybe my mother's voice calling my name.
Then something changed. I felt cold water against my skin. My body floated in a river, carried gently by the current. Light danced above me as if stars were shining through the water. For a moment, I felt safe again—like the river itself was protecting me.
But deep inside, I also felt something strange. The mark of seven stars on my neck began to tingle, almost as if it was glowing beneath my skin.
When I opened my eyes again, it was night. The moon hung large and bright. I was lying on a patch of sand near a waterfall. The forest around me hummed with strange sounds—chirping, rustling, and something else… whispers, maybe, carried by the wind.
I tried to stand, but my legs wobbled. The pain in my head throbbed, and I felt weak and lost. Tears filled my eyes as I whispered, "Mama… where are you?"
No one answered—no police, no planes, no people. Only the forest, alive yet silent.
I don't know how long I sat there, watching the moon drift in the water's reflection. But as I stared, something moved between the trees—shadows, tall and still. One, then two, then more.
Twenty shapes stepped out from the darkness. Their faces were half-covered, their eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight—eyes not of ordinary men or women.
I took a slow step back in fear, but they didn't move closer. The air around them shimmered, heavy but calm. Then one of them spoke, in a voice gentle yet powerful.
"Do not fear, child. We have been waiting for you."
My breath caught.
Another voice followed. "Fate has chosen its hour. You have crossed from your world into ours."
I didn't understand anything—but somehow, I knew this was no dream.
The twenty figures bowed slightly, and the leader stepped forward. "We are your masters," he said. "We were destined to find you, Mukul Sharma."
And that was the night destiny separated me forever from my family—
and the night my real journey began.