Dwarpar Yug: The Chronicles of the Cursed One

Chapter Two

The grand Singhasan Kaksh stood timeless, untouched by the fleeting nature of existence. The vast hall stretched endlessly, its obsidian marble floors reflecting the celestial constellations painted across the domed ceiling. Golden veins ran through the dark stone, pulsing faintly, as if the palace itself was alive—breathing in harmony with the universe. The air was thick with an ancient power, a force that had shaped destinies, bent time, and upheld faith for eons.

At the far end of the chamber, three magnificent thrones stood on an elevated dais, each embodying the essence of the brother who ruled over it.

The Throne of Destiny, belonging to Bhavya, was forged from celestial metal, etched with the stories of all who had ever lived and all who ever would. The inscriptions shifted constantly, rewriting themselves in shimmering golden letters, dictated by fate itself. The armrests coiled into the form of two serpents—symbols of wisdom and inevitability—watching over all who dared question destiny.

Beside it, the Throne of Time, where Samaya reigned, seemed both ancient and ever-new. Made of polished obsidian and adorned with glistening silver gears, it ticked softly, the heartbeat of time itself. The throne's backrest was shaped like an unending hourglass, within which golden sand neither fell nor rose—it simply existed, frozen yet flowing.

The Throne of Faith, smallest yet the most radiant, belonged to Vishwas. It was carved from luminous crystal that shifted colors—sometimes glowing softly like the first light of dawn, other times burning fiercely like an undying flame. No chains or engravings bound its form, for faith needed neither proof nor restraint. It simply was.

Footsteps echoed through the chamber as the three brothers entered.

Bhavya, walked with a regal grace,  his eyes, deep as the cosmos, held the unshakable certainty of fate itself. Samaya followed, his movements fluid, effortless, as if time bent around him rather than the other way around and Vishwas, moved with lightness, his steps carrying an invisible energy, as though he was not bound by reality but by belief itself.

They reached their thrones. Bhavya ran a hand over the inscriptions on his armrest, watching them shift beneath his fingertips. Samaya glanced at the hourglass embedded in his seat, his fingers trailing over the cool obsidian. Vishwas merely smiled at his ever-glowing throne, feeling its warmth seep into his soul.

After ascending towards throne, Bhavya sat down, feeling a wave of calmness and confidence as I closed my eyes and opened my mind, connecting with the cosmic web of destiny. I saw the threads of destiny that linked every being and every event in the universe. Past, present, and future of everything that existed. Then possibilities and probabilities of every choice and every consequence. I saw the patterns and cycles that governed the flow of time and space. I saw the harmony and balance that I had to maintain.

After a while, he saw a shimmering portal

His eyes narrowed. This was no ordinary vision, he saw glimpses of countless universes—realities layered upon realities, stretching beyond the grasp of even the most enlightened minds. He had always known of parallel worlds, each governed by its own variations of fate, time, and belief. Some mirrored his own, while others were incomprehensibly different.

Bhavya exhaled slowly, letting the portal settle on a universe that felt familiar—one where the great land of Bharatvarsha was divided into mighty kingdoms, where dharma and destiny intertwined like an eternal dance.

The vision drew him in deeper, focusing on a single moment, a pivotal point in history.

A dark prison cell, dimly lit by a flickering oil lamp. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of stone and sorrow. Chains rattled as a woman, clad in simple but regal attire, knelt on the cold floor. Her face was radiant despite her suffering, her eyes filled not with despair, but with an unshakable faith.