The Flight to the Mortal Realm

The night sky over the mortal realm was serene, adorned with stars like scattered jewels upon a velvet expanse. But for the handmaiden carrying the infant Nagantara, every step felt like a journey through the abyss.

The mountain winds cut through her like a blade of ice, and the rocky path beneath her feet grew treacherous with the moisture of the night air. Behind her, a distant rumble echoed through the stillness—a sound like heavy footsteps, the slow and deliberate tread of something following in their wake.

She clutched Nagantara tighter to her chest. The child slumbered peacefully, unaware of the peril that lurked in the shadows. Yet the dragon's mark upon his back continued to gleam, its silver-blue radiance illuminating the path ahead.

A double-edged blade.

A beacon to guide them through the darkness—yet also a light that could draw the eyes of their hunters.

"We are nearly there," she murmured to herself, though she knew none could hear her but the wind.

But then—

Her steps halted abruptly as a sound cut through the hush of the forest.

A branch snapped.

Leaves rustled.

Her pulse quickened. She turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat.

"Who goes there?" she called out, her voice laced with fear.

From the shadows of the trees, a figure emerged.

It stood tall, its form resembling that of a man—yet its head bore the visage of a wolf, its eyes glowing red like smoldering embers.

A hunter.

One of the Council's enforcers.

A beast that would not rest until its quarry was slain.

The handmaiden stepped back, her body trembling. She knew she had no power to stand against such a creature—but she would not surrender Nagantara.

With what little courage remained, she raised her chin, her voice steadier than she felt.

"You shall not touch this child."

The beast did not reply.

It only growled, a deep, guttural sound—before lunging with terrifying speed.

The handmaiden screamed, shielding Nagantara with her body, bracing for the impact.

But before the beast could strike—

A brilliant blue light burst forth from the infant's back.

The force of it sent the beast reeling mid-air, its body convulsing as if struck by an unseen hand. It let out a snarling cry of pain before collapsing into the shadows, retreating into the night.

For a long moment, the handmaiden remained frozen, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Then, as the dragon's mark slowly dimmed, her breath shuddered in relief.

Tears welled in her eyes.

"You are truly special," she whispered, holding the child closer. "No matter what happens—I will protect you."

After what felt like an eternity, she finally reached the village at the foot of Mount Mahameru.

The flickering glow of oil lamps shimmered through the night, casting golden halos around the thatched rooftops—like fallen stars resting upon the earth.

With weary steps, she made her way to one of the homes, lifting her hand to knock upon the wooden door.

Her breath came in ragged gasps.

And as the echoes of her knock faded into the stillness, she whispered a silent prayer.

For hope.

For safety.

For the future of the child cradled in her arms.

An old man opened the door, his weathered face lined with age, his eyes gleaming with both curiosity and suspicion.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse and rough with years.

"I seek refuge," the handmaiden replied. She adjusted her grip, revealing the infant nestled in her arms.

The old man's gaze widened as his eyes fell upon the dragon's mark glowing faintly on the child's back.

"This… this is the child of prophecy."

He did not say more. Instead, he stepped aside, pushing the door open wider.

"You are safe here—for this night," he said, though hesitation tinged his voice. "But we must speak of the child."

Inside the humble dwelling, woven mats covered the floor, and the scent of burning oil filled the air as the old man lit a small lamp in the corner. The flame flickered, casting long shadows upon the bamboo walls.

The handmaiden sat with her back against the wooden beams, Nagantara held securely in her arms.

At last, the old man turned to her. His face was grave, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—curiosity, wariness, and something deeper, something close to reverence.

"Who is this child?" he asked at last. "And why have you brought him here?"

The handmaiden let out a slow, weary breath. "His name is Nagantara," she said. "He is… the one foretold in prophecy."

The old man frowned, but before he could speak, she continued.

"He is of divine blood—born of the heavens. But not just any heir… he is the bridge between the three realms: the world of men, the dominion of gods, and the abyss of darkness. That is why he is hunted. The Council of the Gods seeks to erase him from existence."

At her words, the old man fell silent.

Slowly, he turned toward the small window, his gaze drifting beyond the modest home toward the distant peak of Mount Mahameru, its silhouette standing solemn beneath the moonlit sky.

"Then you have brought danger upon this village," he murmured. "If the child is found here, we may all be doomed."

The handmaiden lowered her head. Tears shimmered in her eyes, though she willed herself not to weep.

"I know," she whispered. "But I had no choice. I swore to protect him—no matter the cost."

The old man studied her for a long moment. Then, with a weary sigh, he turned away.

"Very well," he muttered. "You may stay for now. But not for long. This village is small, and whispers travel faster than the wind."

The handmaiden bowed deeply, her voice trembling with gratitude. "Thank you. I will never forget your kindness."

That night, the village lay in uneasy stillness. Though nothing stirred in the streets, a quiet tension loomed in the air.

From the far side of the village, beneath the old banyan tree, a small gathering of villagers spoke in hushed tones.

"Strangers arrived tonight," one murmured. "A woman, carrying a child."

"A child with a dragon's mark upon his back," another added. "That is no ordinary child."

A third voice, heavy with unease, muttered, "I have heard the stories. The dragon's mark is a harbinger of prophecy. If the tales are true… that child could bring ruin."

Whispers spread swiftly, yet none dared to approach the home of the old man.

For though the village was small, its people still held fast to the ways of their ancestors—and the dragon's mark was a symbol both revered and feared.

Within the humble dwelling, the handmaiden gently laid Nagantara upon a soft cloth, one she had brought from the Celestial Palace.

The infant remained in peaceful slumber, but even in sleep, the dragon's mark pulsed faintly, its glow casting a warm halo upon his tiny form.

From the corner of the room, the old man sat, puffing on a bamboo pipe, his thoughts lost in the flickering glow of the oil lamp.

At length, he spoke.

"He will grow into something great," he mused. "But the path you have chosen will not be an easy one."

The handmaiden nodded solemnly. "I know. But I have sworn upon his mother's name—I will protect him."

The old man gave a slow nod. But he said nothing more.

Outside, the wind stirred through the trees, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and leaves.

For now, Nagantara was safe.

But in the distance, amidst the shadows beyond the mountains, a darkness was stirring.

The hunt was far from over.

In the heart of the night, the village lay in stillness.

A cold wind whispered through the trees, sending ripples through the leaves, their rustling the only sound in the quiet expanse. The villagers had long since retreated to their homes, their oil lamps flickering dimly behind shuttered windows.

But beneath that silence, something stirred.

From the forest at the base of Mount Mahameru, shadows stretched forth, long and formless, gliding between the trees like living smoke.

They moved swiftly, noiselessly—phantoms birthed from the void.

These were the sentinels of the Celestial Council, dispatched to hunt the light that pulsed from the dragon's mark upon Nagantara's back. They had no faces, only twisted forms cloaked in darkness, their eyes smoldering red like embers in an eternal fire.

One of them halted abruptly, its hollow voice slipping through the night like a whisper of wind through stone.

"He is here."

The others converged, drawn like specters to the beacon of energy that pulsed faintly in the dark.

Without a sound, they swept into the village, slipping past the homes of sleeping mortals, leaving no trace of their passage.

Until at last, they came upon the small house at the village's edge—the dwelling that harbored the child they sought.

Inside, the handmaiden shuddered. A chill crept up her spine, an instinctive warning that something unnatural lurked beyond the walls.

She peered through a narrow slit in the bamboo wall—but the night revealed nothing.

Yet she knew.

Something was coming.

Behind her, the dragon's mark upon Nagantara's back shone brighter, its glow flickering like a silent warning.

"No," she whispered, her voice tight with dread.

Swiftly, she gathered the child, wrapping him in a soft cloth. "I will not let them take you."

From the corner of the room, the old man watched her closely.

"What do you sense?" he asked, his tone grave.

The handmaiden shook her head.

"I do not know what they have sent," she murmured. "But they are close."

A faint rustling sounded beyond the walls. The air grew dense, thick with something unseen.

The old man reached for a wooden staff that rested against the wall, his grip firm.

"If they come, we will fight."

"No," the handmaiden interjected, urgency laced in her words. "You have done enough. If they know you have helped me, they will not hesitate to destroy this village."

The old man stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"Go," he said. "But tread carefully. They will not relent."

Beyond the walls, the shadows loomed, gathering before the house.

One of them drifted forward, its crimson eyes burning brighter as it sensed the pulsing energy within.

The mark of the dragon was near.

And it would not escape them.

"Open the door," one of the shadows hissed. "He is inside."

But before they could advance further, a sudden burst of blue light erupted from within the house.

It was not from Nagantara, but from the warding sigils the handmaiden had placed. The barrier flared to life, an unseen force surging outward, hurling the specters back with an unseen might.

For a moment, the shadows recoiled, their forms writhing against the invisible resistance.

One of them growled. "This will not hold forever. We will break through."

Inside the house, the handmaiden knew she had only moments.

She rushed to the back door, pushing it open with trembling hands. The cold breath of the night greeted her as she stepped into the shadowed embrace of the forest.

For a brief moment, she turned toward the old man, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you. For everything."

The old man did not smile. His voice was resolute.

"Go. Do not look back."

And so she did.

She vanished into the darkness, cradling Nagantara in her arms. Though the child did not stir, the mark upon his back glowed faintly, casting a soft luminescence upon the path before them. A beacon in the night.

At last, the shadows breached the barrier.

The energy shattered in a final burst of blue flame, and they surged inside the house.

Empty.

One of them let out a guttural snarl of frustration, its fiery gaze turning toward the forest beyond the village.

"They have fled," it seethed. "Hunt them down."

With that, they poured into the night, slipping through the village like smoke, trailing the faintest remnants of the handmaiden's passing.

But Mount Mahameru's forest was no ordinary wood.

The ancient trees stood tall, their gnarled roots shifting, as if whispering to one another. Vines coiled and twisted, closing pathways, while the sounds of the night grew louder, an unseen force stirring against the intruders.

The hunt had begun—but the forest itself was no ally to these creatures.

Meanwhile, the handmaiden pressed onward, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could not stop. She would not stop.

"I will protect you," she whispered, the words almost a prayer. "No matter the cost."

The night slowly began to yield.

The eastern sky shifted, dark hues giving way to the soft glow of dawn.

Light pierced through the dense canopy, golden rays dancing across the moss-covered ground.

And yet, she did not stop.

She could not afford to.

Her legs trembled, her breath came in sharp bursts, yet she carried on.

Each step—each heartbeat—was a battle against time itself.

In her arms, Nagantara remained still, the mark upon his back now pulsing softly. A warmth radiated from him, warding off the lingering chill of the morning air.

The handmaiden gazed down at him, a mixture of awe and fear clouding her weary eyes.

"You are a miracle," she murmured. "And I must protect you."

The shadows had not relented. The danger had not passed.

But the first light of dawn had come.

And with it—a sliver of hope.

Yet behind them, the darkness still moved.

The creatures pursued without rest, their crimson eyes burning through the thick veil of trees. Their footsteps were soundless, mere whispers against the earth—but the handmaiden could feel them. A creeping presence, drawing ever closer.

She knew.

She could not run forever.

"There is nowhere left," she whispered, her gaze darting through the shadows.

Then, ahead—

A narrow crevice between two colossal moss-cloaked stones.

It was small, barely more than a sliver of space. But it was enough.

Without hesitation, she pressed herself into the gap, her body wedged tightly against the cold rock.

She clutched Nagantara close, willing herself into silence. The stone was icy against her back, but she did not care.

Outside, the specters halted.

They stood still—listening, sensing.

One of them moved forward, its wolf-like head tilting, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air.

It had found something.

It took a step closer—

And then, the sky erupted.

A sudden storm of wings filled the air.

The sky, painted in hues of rosy dawn, became a maelstrom of birds, their bodies streaking through the trees in a frenzied torrent of movement.

They circled the dark beings, their cries piercing and urgent.

The creatures recoiled, snarling.

They clawed at the air, but an unseen force rippled through the forest, keeping them at bay.

One of them let out a furious growl.

"We will return."

And in a blur of shadow, they withdrew—vanishing into the forest like mist upon the wind.

In the crevice, the handmaiden did not move.

She waited.

One breath.

Two.

Then, silence.

Only when she was sure—truly sure—did she finally step forward, her eyes scanning the forest with wary precision.

The darkness was gone.

She exhaled shakily, exhaustion crashing upon her like a wave.

She looked down at Nagantara, still sleeping soundly in her arms. His face was untouched by fear, his breathing calm. Yet upon his back, the dragon's mark still pulsed, as if whispering to the world—a call that had not gone unheard.

"You saved us," she murmured, though she knew the child could not yet understand.

"Somehow, you summoned a force I have never seen before."

The first light of dawn had come.

The golden sun rose, piercing through the dense canopy, casting shimmering reflections upon the dewdrops.

For the first time since her flight began, the world seemed at peace.

She pressed forward, her body weary but her resolve unbroken.

At last, she reached a quiet river, its surface a glassy mirror of the sky above.

She knelt at the edge, dipping her trembling hands into the cool water.

It was a fleeting relief, but she savored it nonetheless.

Sitting upon the riverbank, she gazed down at Nagantara.

He was still sleeping, his tiny chest rising and falling, oblivious to the dangers that loomed beyond the trees.

A small smile flickered across her lips.

For the first time, she felt something that had eluded her since the beginning of this journey.

Hope.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she traced her fingers over the child's tiny hand.

"This world will not be kind to you."

Her eyes lifted toward the distant flow of the river, her voice a soft murmur upon the breeze.

"But I believe you will be something great—something far greater than any of us."

Beyond the horizon, Mount Mahameru stood silent, its ancient peaks bearing witness to the birth of something greater than itself.

The world had changed with Nagantara's arrival.

And now—

His journey had begun.