Ram's voice echoed with oily respect, happy about what they did. "Oh divine presence," he said. "We did what you told us. Aarav is dead, his future gone, like you wanted. Now give us your blessings and accept us as your loyal servants forever," they showed how ambitious they were to the gods.

  A voice from heaven, big and old, sounded tired and didn't care much. It was like a cosmic sigh about how much humans want things. "God," it said, "how these humans get stuck in their own desires! They want power so much they do terrible things, even kill family. It's really sad to see." The judgment echoed in the heavens. There was a pause, the silence full of the gods' judgment, like they were watching closely. "But what they did helps the bigger plan. The new god is dead now. The small chance of a future problem for our power is gone," the words sounded final about Aarav's life.

  But even as the gods in their high place were happy, trouble was starting in time, something they didn't see. Because they thought they were so great, they didn't see that even though Aarav's body died, he wasn't completely gone. A little bit of his power was still there, fighting against what the gods said. Holding onto the last of his amazing power, he jumped into the dangerous flow of the past. His heart was full of betrayal and a strong need for revenge. He looked like a ghost going into the unknown.

  As he moved through the confusing paths of history, he became sure of something: the gods were scared and would try to destroy him completely while he was traveling in time. But something else hurt him more right now – the betrayal of his friends. Their promises of loyalty were now clearly lies, a pain worse than any god's anger. In that last painful moment on the cliff, a spark of his old god-like mind turned on. It was like a faint memory of the power he used to have, a silent promise to get back what was stolen from him, a small bit of hope in a dark place.

  Then, the messy rush of time slowed down, and he started to become aware again. He had arrived in a strange time and felt confused.

  SEL EMPIRE ON PLANET HOLO

  Doomera Village looked like small lights on the side of a rocky mountain, a small sign of life in a big, uncaring world. Inside a beautiful building with detailed carvings lit by many lanterns, a serious and respectful event was happening, a tradition. A big ceremony for ancestors was going on, the air thick with old customs and the sweet smell of incense, like a picture of the past you could smell and feel.

  "Ancestors, please give us your blessings!" The strong voice of the Joshi clan leader, a man with gray hair that made him look important, filled the quiet room. His request showed what his family hoped for. Wearing white robes, he knelt straight on the patterned floor, his hands together in prayer in front of a tall, decorated black box, a place to remember the past. Its shiny sides reflected the flickering light onto the three levels of memorial tablets inside, quiet witnesses to past generations.

  Behind him, more than ten silent old people copied his respect, their white clothes moving softly as they bowed their heads. They were important members of the Joshi clan, their faces showing their age and responsibility, guardians of their traditions.

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  As the room became full of unspoken respect, the clan leader finished his prayer, showing his strong connection to the past. He lowered himself more, his hands flat on the cool stone, and then he bowed deeply. The soft sound of his forehead on the floor echoed in the building, marking a moment in their serious ritual, a physical way of showing their respect.

  One by one, the old people did the same, their movements together showing their deep respect for tradition, a united act of honor. A steady series of soft thuds sounded in the hall, each one a quiet acknowledgment of their family history, a connection to their ancestors.

  When the ceremony ended, the people slowly stood up, a quiet sigh of relief and new purpose filling the air as they moved into the next hallway. The heavy feeling of tradition seemed to lift, replaced by quiet talking, as normal life started again.

  “Time goes by quickly; half a year has already passed,” one old man said, sounding a bit sad, as if time never stops.

  “Tomorrow is the start of the big yearly ceremony,” another said, his eyes showing excitement for new beginnings. “I wonder what new talented young people will show up this year?” he asked hopefully about the future of their clan.

  “Yes,” a third agreed. “The Joshi clan has been waiting for a really special talent. The Bishnoi and Kumar Villages have had some great young people in the last few years,” he said with a hint of competition.

  “Especially Renuka Bishnoi,” an old man added, his voice a little worried, like he was talking about something very powerful. “Her natural talent… it’s almost scary,” this hinted at something important to come.

  When Renuka Bishnoi's name was said, the room became quiet and uneasy as the old people looked at each other with concern, all aware of a powerful person. Quiet worried talk went around the room, made stronger by how good the boy was. In just two years of hard training, he had become a Level Three Martial Arts Disciple – a very impressive achievement that surprised many. Among the young people, he was the most talented, someone even the experienced older fighters couldn't ignore, a rising star in their world.

  As time went on, it became clear that Renuka Bishnoi would be very important to the Bishnoi clan, showing their strength and ability to overcome problems. It seemed like it was meant to be. It wasn't just possible; it was certain that he would become a strong fighter on his own, a future leader taking shape. The doubts people had before were gone, replaced by a strong belief in his great future, a special person to watch.

  “It seems we don't have much hope this time, especially because of what happened with the Sharma family's older son,” another elder said. “Amazingly, he started talking after three months, and by four, he could walk very well, which was surprising. At just five years old, he amazed everyone by saying poems with a style that showed he was very smart and talented, a different kind of special. It’s sad that his parents died so young, leaving him to take care of his younger brother and sister all by himself, a big responsibility for someone so young. How mature and strong he is after such a tragedy is truly admirable, a quiet strength in a sad situation.”

  Aarav’s parents died while bravely protecting their children from a group of mean bandits, a sad story of how he became who he is. In the middle of the chaos, they fought hard, their strong determination clear as they shielded their loved ones from harm, a final act of love and courage.

  At the same time, Aarav has gone back to a time in his life when he knew nothing about martial arts, like a blank page in this new timeline.