It was midnight when I reached my destination — Nagarā, the city that refused to sleep. Lamps burned in every direction, dripping gold across the streets like constellations pulled down to earth. Even the people glowed; they wore bright colours — mostly red — making the night look like dawn trapped inside silk.

For me, Velan Dayanandh, it had been twenty-seven days since I entered the Kaalam — that divine realm where time was supposed to flow in a clean, obedient line. Yet it was broken then, dragging me from 3021 CE to a time nearly three thousand years earlier.

I stood still for a moment, overwhelmed. Nagarā at midnight felt more alive than the present I came from. Merchants shouted over each other. Buyers haggled with hands and eyebrows. Goods were exchanged for goods — no coins, no currency, just trade in its rawest form. The air tasted of spice, smoke, and salt.

Above all of it, the moon hung full and sharp, bright enough to paint shadows. It didn't feel like night. It felt like the world had paused just to greet me.

I stepped through the city gate, dressed in a black vētti and a loose scarf draped around my neck.

To my right, beside the gate, a fisherman-merchant squatted beside a shallow puddle where live fish swam in slow circles. I paused. Then my breath hitched.

Venpavalā.

A creature extinct in my own time, here swimming under lamplight as casually as a carp. Long like an eel, white as pearls, its scales shimmered with a soft fluorescence — absorbing the sunlight of the day, releasing it now in gentle waves. Its blind-looking eyes gave it an almost sacred dignity. The merchant's face glowed blue from the creature's radiance.

No wonder this thing became the crest of the Bāndhas, I thought.

And I wasn't wrong. Killing or eating a Venpavalā was a crime punishable by death. Yet here it was, alive and divine, waiting for someone worthy.

"How much for one?" I asked, opening my palm. Pearls rolled forward — smooth, perfect, hypnotic.

The merchant's eyes widened. "Those are flawless…" He swallowed. "Two pearls for one Venpavalā."

I handed them over without hesitation.

I didn't buy the fish for its beauty — though its beauty was undeniable. Venpavalā held abilities most people of this age didn't even know existed. Two pearls were a steep price, but worth it.

This was one of the reasons I'd come to Nagarā. And I hadn't expected it to fall into my hands so easily.

Now came the second reason — the harder one. But I had to complete the mission or my timeline would be in grave danger. That was what my master had said.

I needed the Venpavalā to refill my copper kada, the relic that allowed me to enter the forbidden depths of Kaalam, where only one being held dominion:

The Time Emperor Yaali.

A monstrous being — two arms, four legs, the body of a lion, and human-like arms ending in claws. Instead of a nose, it bore tusks and a curling trunk like an elephant's. Yaali was the keeper of time itself, a judge older than kingdoms. Its features were etched into my memory after seeing it just a single time.

If I refilled the energy of my copper kada, the second mission would be done.

I had to do it for the sake of the existence of the future.

The mission my master gave me was to…

kill the king of the Bāndhas

I asked one of the merchants near the gate if I could stay with him for a week.

The old man didn't even hesitate.

"Stay as long as you want," he said. "Share my work at night, and I'll share my food."

A fair deal — and perfect for me.

The merchant's hut sat right behind his shop, small but warm, with a straw roof and clay walls. His son handled the morning trade while the old man slept, and they swapped shifts every sunrise and sunset. In a city that never slept, their earnings never stopped either.

I agreed to work with him at night and sleep during the day.

Or at least pretend to sleep.

Morning hours were the best time to harvest the Venpavalā — the perfect time to refill my copper kada.

Sleep could wait.

I kept the glowing fish in a small brass pot. It shimmered without dimming, its pearly body drifting silently in the water.

It didn't breathe.

It didn't eat.

It simply… existed.

For something so divine, I wondered how it ever went extinct.

The old man sat in the corner stitching his torn shirt with a needle and thread. His hands were old, but steady.

"You're thinking, why I would wear this torn thing?" he muttered without looking up. "My wife made it… long ago. And she's no longer here."

I nodded politely, not sure why he decided to share that with me.

"Alright," the old man finally sighed. "Let's eat."

He handed me a clay jug filled with something white and cloudy.

I blinked.

Booze? Should I ask?

No — I couldn't ask. Questions meant suspicion.

I drank.

And immediately burped.

It was delicious — warm, slightly sweet, tasting faintly of rice and spices. Way too good to be alcohol. Must've been the infamous kànji. (Kànji - Rice porridge water that is famous in rural Tamilnadu)

Within minutes, a light dizziness rolled over me.

The old man was already snoring.

I forced myself upright. I needed to complete the kada ritual before sleep claimed me too.

The Venpavalā shone brightly inside the brass pot, its glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat. There was something undeniably divine about it — its light, its strange blind eyes—

BOOM!

The ground trembled.

A thunderclap outside jolted me to my feet.

I rushed to the tent flap and threw it open.

The bright morning had vanished.

The sky was pitch black.

Clouds swirled like boiling ink.

Thunder roared again.

"Rain? Summer doesn't even end for another month…"

Then a thought struck me — sharp, insane, brilliant.

A storm.

A sudden one.

Right when I needed it most.

I didn't have to wait.

I could kill the Bāndha king now.

I snatched a palm-leaf manuscript from my satchel — mantras written by my master.

The king of Bāndhas was a kind man, gentle and respected.

My chest tightened.

Guilt hit me like a stone.

Master said it must happen. The timeline demanded it.

Still… murder was murder.

I closed my eyes and began chanting the mantra for Vānam, one of the five Elemental spirits.

A storm-bound technique.

A mantra that demanded lightning.

And consequences.

The Thunder Guide.

If I used it, my chakra system would destabilize.

I wouldn't be able to refill my kada for a week.

Thunder cracked again, shaking the city.

I grabbed the needle the old man had been using, focusing my breath and spirit into its tiny metal frame. The needle warmed, then glowed yellow.

My vision blurred from the strain.

Not much time left.

The Thunder Guide Technique was notorious for killing its users long before it killed their targets.

I pushed harder.

The needle burned bright.

One more step:

I had to mark the king before the time window closed.

Nobody knew how long that window lasted — it shifted with every storm.

Only my master was able to manipulate it.

I couldn't.

I sprinted out of the tent, clutching the glowing needle, rain exploding around me in sheets.

The castle rose ahead, dark against the raging sky.

I tightened the scarf around my neck, exhaled once…

and charged straight into the storm.

I sprinted through the rain and reached the castle’s outer walls.

Guards everywhere.

No gaps.

No shadows to slip through.

Rain poured down along with the sweat running across my face.

The needle glowed fiercely in my hand.

The Thunder Guide sends lightning to whatever the needle marks —

but the timing is never exact.

The only warning is that the needle stops glowing a moment before it strikes.

So I kept staring at it, waiting for the glow to die.

The castle was massive. Guards lined every walkway, every corner, every doorway.

If only I knew which quarter the king slept in, I could mark that spot and let the thunder do the work.

But I didn’t.

The only option was to scale the walls.

I took one step forward—

The needle’s glow vanished.

My heart froze.

Already?

It was faster than I expected.

In a few nanoseconds the lightning would fall.

The clouds above me churned, ready to crack the sky open.

Blink.

The world twisted.

My body felt like it was being ripped apart between dimensions — pulled sideways, stretched thin, thrown across layers of space.

Then—

Warm ground beneath me.

Silence.

The rain was suddenly distant, like it belonged to another world.

I opened my eyes.

I was inside a grand bedroom — vast, luxurious, glowing with soft lamplight.

The bed I landed on felt unreal, softer than anything I had touched in this era.

Confused, I spun around.

Who used that kind of power to save me?

I knew the sensation.

I’d heard of it before.

Space.

The rival force of Time.

The opposite of Kaalam.

My master once said the Emperor of Space was dangerous, wicked, eager to destroy Kaalam itself.

So why would someone with his power rescue me?

“Velan! Stop! You’re being lied to!”

A voice thundered through my ears.

I whipped my head around — no one was there.

“Who are you?!” I shouted. “And why would I believe you?”

“I’m the Space Emperor Dalāy.

Don't use your kada again.”

The command echoed like it came from everywhere and nowhere.

My breath caught.

The Space Emperor himself?

Why stop me from completing my mission?

Why save me from the lightning?

Those questions echoed through my mind.

Suddenly, an obsidian sphere — perfectly smooth and black as midnight — popped into existence right in front of me. A soft white glow pulsed from within it as Dalāy’s voice echoed:

“You mustn’t interfere in the schemes of gods. They lie. Always.”

I flinched at the sound, but the voice wasn’t threatening.

It felt strange… familiar.

Warm, even.

Like someone who'd never hurt anyone.

“My master asked me to trust the Time Emperor Yali,” I said proudly. “His words are my way.”

“Time Emperor Yali, huh?” the sphere flickered. “That thing is not the true Time Emperor at all. The real one is hiding behind him, using that Yali as a puppet.”

The rain outside had settled into a faint whisper.

Only then did I remember where I was:

Sitting on a royal bed made for nobles.

Inside the castle itself.

I tried to keep Dalāy talking before someone walked in. I needed to get as much answers as I could.

“Then tell me this — why save me, if my master and the Time Emperor are your enemies?”

“There is another one of your kind,” Dalāy said not concerned of my questions. “Find her. Tell her this: ‘You’re innocent. I’m sorry I had to make you go through this trouble.’ Tell her I want her forgiveness.”

My heart skipped.

“Who is she?”

“She is—”

Footsteps sounded from the next room.

“Who?” I pressed, harder.

The sphere pulsed once.

“I was never supposed to be a god.”

Click.

The obsidian vanished exactly as it had appeared.

What?

What did he mean by that?

Before I could breathe, a wave of guards burst into the room — ten of them — surrounding me while my thoughts were still spiraling. What did he mean by ' your kind' ?

“Oh god! What in the world is going on?” I shouted as they dragged me off the royal bed, hands tied, fury and confusion burning through me.