Beyond Destiny ~ A Saga Of Timeless Love

02 ~ 800 Years Back

"Curiosity can be as dangerous as a butterfly hovering over a flame."

Ruhanika

My pulse quickened, each beat echoing in my ears, as my breaths grew short and ragged. A haze clouded my mind, making it difficult to think clearly. How could this be happening?

All around me, armored soldiers formed an unyielding perimeter around the lush palace gardens, their gleaming weapons catching the sunlight. The workers, dressed in traditional Indian attire—flowing sarees and dhoti-kurtas—moved about diligently, as if part of a grand historical scene. It had to be a film shoot. But where were the cameras? Why wasn't any equipment visible?

I glanced down at my phone, awkwardly stuffed into my tight jeans pocket, and the travel bag still slung over my shoulder. My heart thudded louder. This couldn’t be real—could it? I needed answers, and fast. Kiran and Suhani would know. They had to. Maybe it was part of our documentary, something they failed to mention. But how did I miss the start of the shoot?

I hurried along the ornate palace corridor, feeling as if the walls themselves were closing in on me. The marble floors, so polished I could see my reflection in them, stretched out like a never-ending path, leading deeper into the heart of this regal place. Flowers, delicate and fragrant, hung from every pillar, and earthen lamps (diyas) flickered softly, casting warm, golden glows against the walls. The hall, once bustling with our crew, was now eerily empty. Not a single person in sight. Something was definitely off.

My instincts pushed me toward the Royal Kitchen, where Kiran and Suhani were probably finishing up. We still had scenes to shoot in the garden, the kitchen, and, most importantly, the prince’s chambers. We were almost done with the documentary... weren’t we?

Just as I rounded the corner, a deep, commanding voice cut through the air like a blade. "Wait! Who are you?"

I froze. Slowly, I turned my head, my body stiff with nerves. There, towering over me, was a man unlike anyone I had ever seen in person. He stood tall, his broad frame draped in rich, traditional dhoti-kurtas, the intricate patterns of the fabric weaving tales of royalty. His head was crowned with a regal turban, adorned with pearls and gold jewelry that shimmered in the dim light of the corridor. His face was striking—sharp features, strong jawline—but it was his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat. Dark, intense, they bore into mine with a gaze so hard and probing that I felt as though he could see right through me.

But it wasn’t just his piercing eyes that held my attention. It was the sword he held in his hand, its polished blade gleaming ominously. The intricate hilt was decorated with jewels, and the metal caught the soft glow of the lamps, making it appear almost alive. My heart raced even faster, as the line between reality and fantasy blurred even more. Was this all part of the documentary, or had I stumbled into something much bigger than I could comprehend?

He took a step closer, his expression unreadable.

"Do you have hearing loss? Tell me who you are, what you are doing here, and what you are wearing?"

What I am wearing? Dude, it's called clothes! Has this man been living under a rock? His eyes narrowed, clearly waiting for a response. For a second, I was convinced he was just part of the crew for our shoot, dressed up in costume. But the intensity in his stance, the tension radiating off him, made me second-guess everything. Before I could reply, he marched towards me, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back. A sharp, searing pain shot through my shoulder. What the fudge, man?

“Tell me, who are you? A spy? You must be. You’ve come to gather information about our kingdom, haven’t you?” His voice was harsh as he dragged me forward, not even waiting for me to answer. My head spun. What is going on?