Several years ago…..

  As the long, solitary journey came to an end, Ansh felt a swirl of emotions rise within him—excitement, anxiety, and a deep, gnawing uncertainty. He was finally returning home after all these years, but the feeling was far from comforting.

  Standing in the shadows of his uncle's study, a room draped in the flickering light of candles, Uncle Rudra gave him a reassuring smile. The older man was a striking figure, his face lined with wisdom and experiences that Ansh could only begin to comprehend. Despite his commanding presence, there was a hint of weariness in his eyes, like he had seen things he wished to forget.

  "You don't have to worry at all," his uncle said, his voice steady but carrying a quiet undertone of something deeper. "Your family will be happy to see you again. They’re expecting you." His smile widened, but Ansh could sense the underlying tension in his uncle's demeanor—something that didn't quite sit right.

  Ansh couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, but he needed answers. With a sigh, he crossed his arms, his tone heavy with doubt. "But I don't have any powers, Uncle. What will I do? They all have powers, don't they?"

  There was a long pause before Rudra spoke again. His gaze seemed distant for a moment, as if he were carefully choosing his words. "That's true. You don't have the same abilities as the rest of the family. That's why I brought you to me all those years ago, away from them. You see, I have... dark magic within me. Magic that can shape destinies... but even I could not give you what you truly needed."

  Ansh’s brow furrowed as his uncle’s voice dropped lower, the words laced with something unspoken, something that lingered in the air like a secret too dangerous to share. Dark power... It wasn’t just a phrase—it was a curse, an unrelenting force. But Ansh didn’t dare press further.

  "I know it’s hard to accept, Ansh," Rudra continued, his voice softening as he approached his nephew. "You don’t have the powers they do, but don’t worry. Your family will accept you, just as you are. Power isn't everything."

  Ansh swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his uncle's words, but something gnawed at him—was there more to this than what his uncle was letting on? His uncle’s usually calm demeanor was replaced by a subtle tension, his shoulders stiff, as though he was hiding something. It was in that moment that Ansh realized—his uncle wasn't just trying to reassure him. He was trying to protect him, from something he couldn't yet understand.

  “Will they?” Ansh asked quietly, his voice betraying the uncertainty that hung in the air between them.

  Rudra’s smile returned, but it was strained, like a mask that barely concealed the anxiety beneath. “Yes, they will. And I’ll be here for you too. You don’t need powers to fit in, Ansh. You need heart. And a strong will.”

  But deep inside, Ansh wasn’t so sure. The secrets swirling around him felt dangerous, and the unease in his uncle’s eyes only made him more uneasy. What if he wasn’t just returning to his family—what if something darker was waiting for him in the shadows of Aryavrat?

  The Shaktisen family had always lived under the weight of their powers—gifts passed down through generations, marking them as the most formidable family in Aryavrat. Yet, for Ansh Shaktisen, seventeen years old and the youngest son of his father, his lack of elemental ability was a bitter reminder of his inadequacy. He had spent years trying to come to terms with his place in the family, but today, the sensation of being an outsider was overwhelming.

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  It had been years since Ansh had set foot on the grounds of Aryavrat. The memory of the place, once a vibrant home filled with laughter and life, now felt like a distant echo. His journey had been long, filled with shadows and silence, far away from the world he had once known. And yet, as the old gates of Shaktisen estate loomed before him, Ansh couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something was different.

  The wind carried the scent of rain, and the dark clouds on the horizon seemed to be more than just a sign of the coming storm. There was something… unnatural about it.

  He hadn’t seen his siblings in over seven years. When he left, they were children—bright-eyed, full of wonder, with a future that seemed certain. But those years with his uncle, away from Aryavrat, had changed him. His uncle, a man wrapped in dark spells, had kept him isolated, teaching him things that blurred the line between magic and madness. Ansh had learned, absorbed even, the secrets of the world that were too dangerous for others to know. But despite all the knowledge, he felt empty—like a piece of him was still missing, and no amount of dark magic could fill it.

  Now, standing before the gates of his ancestral home, Ansh’s heart pounded with uncertainty. His uncle had spoken of the family, but never in detail. He had never mentioned their powers—what they could do, how they had changed. The only thing Ansh knew for sure was that he was different. He didn’t feel the magic running through his veins like his siblings surely did.

  As he stepped into the courtyard, a sense of alienation settled over him. The estate was just as grand as he remembered—too grand, almost. The stone walls seemed to watch him, and the towering trees loomed overhead, their branches swaying in the eerie breeze.

  He had left as a child and returned as a stranger.

  Ansh took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts.

  Ansh stood before a colossal wooden gate, so tall it disappeared into the mist above. The wood was ancient, almost blackened with age, veins of silver light running through it like the roots of an old tree. Intricate carvings of beasts, forgotten languages, and strange, swirling runes pulsed softly under his gaze — the gate was alive, breathing slowly, almost as if it were sleeping.

  Suddenly, with a deep groan, a shape peeled itself from the shadows beside the gate.

  It was the Gatekeeper — a towering, grotesque figure, draped in a tattered cloak that barely hid his unsettling form. His entire body was studded with dozens of glistening eyes, large and small, blinking wetly and independently, surveying every corner of the world at once. Some of the eyes were human-like; others were slitted like a cat’s, and some were in strange shapes Ansh couldn’t even recognize. They rolled and darted, twitching with eerie life.

  The Gatekeeper stepped forward on heavy feet, each movement making the ground tremble slightly, and spoke in a deep, cracked voice:

  “Opening the gate for my master...”

  The phrase echoed against the stone walls, dry and hollow.

  He repeated it again.

  again.

  And again.

  Each repetition grew louder, filling the air with a strange, almost maddening rhythm.

  Ansh took a step back instinctively, heart racing. Just then, two small goblins — Bhuni and Dhuni — scampered to his side.

  Bhuni kicked the Gatekeeper lightly on the shin. “Shut it, Daamo! You’ve said that enough!”

  The Gatekeeper, Daamo, didn’t seem to notice, but his many eyes shifted downward, his mouth twitching as if confused.

  Bhuni turned to Ansh and bowed low.

  “Oh, dear Prince, welcome to your land, Master! We are here to serve you,” he squeaked warmly.

  Still a little unnerved by Daamo's endless muttering, Ansh managed a nervous smile. “Thanks... Bhuni.”

  Bhuni then nudged Dhuni.

  “Go tell the Mistress he's arrived!”

  Dhuni bowed, grabbing Ansh’s small travel bag.

  “Please, sir, let me carry your wages! I’ll take your things to your room, Master!”

  Ansh laughed a little, feeling the warmth of home after so many years. “Oh, thank you, Dhuni!”

  Dhuni grinned wide, almost toppling over in excitement. “It’s my pleasure to serve you, Master!” he chirped and dashed up the marble stairs.

  Bhuni grumbled, turning back to Daamo.

  “What are you doing now, Daamo?! Go back to your place!”

  Daamo’s form stiffened, and he slowly turned toward the gate again, his many eyes gleaming in the torchlight.

  His deep voice rumbled once more:

  "Closing the gate for my master..."

  The heavy wooden doors began to creak shut behind them.