Marked by Sheshnaag

*Some bloodlines are inherited. Others are hunted.*

### 2:17 A.M. — Prayagraj, India

The serpent was wearing a man's face.

Rishh knew it was a serpent because he could see the scales beneath its skin, dark and glistening like wet obsidian. He knew it wore a man's face because the creature was smiling.

And somehow, that was the most terrifying part.

Rishh stood barefoot in a temple that had no place in the modern world. Black pillars stretched into a ceiling lost in darkness. Blue flames burned without smoke. Water covered the stone floor, yet his reflection was missing.

At the far end of the temple stood a throne.

Behind it rose eight enormous serpent statues, each carved from a different stone. One glowed like molten gold. Another pulsed with a deep blue light. The remaining six shimmered in colors Rishh couldn't name.

Seven of them were dark.

The eighth was dying.

Its light flickered as if something were slowly draining it from within.

"Do you know what you are looking at?"

The voice came from the throne.

Rishh tried to answer, but his throat had closed.

The man seated there wore a crown of interlocking serpents. His dark robes flowed over the steps, and his eyes held the exhausted patience of someone who had watched the same tragedy unfold for thousands of years.

"No," Rishh finally managed.

The man's gaze moved to Rishh's left palm.

"Then why has your blood remembered what your mind has forgotten?"

Pain exploded through Rishh's hand.

He looked down.

A black serpent was emerging beneath his skin, its body coiling around the center of his palm. Tiny scales formed along its length. Its head lifted, and two golden eyes opened.

Rishh stumbled backward.

"What the hell is this?"

The throne room trembled.

The man rose.

For the first time, Rishh understood that the figure was not merely a king sitting in an ancient temple.

Something vast stirred behind him. Something with more hoods than Rishh could count, each spreading through the darkness like the branches of an impossible tree.

The man's face changed.

Not physically.

His expression lost every trace of exhaustion.

He looked afraid.

"Listen carefully, child."

A crack split the floor between them.

"You must never allow Takshak to unite the eight stones."

"Who is Takshak?"

The name seemed to poison the air.

Far above the throne, something struck the temple doors.

Once.

Twice.

On the third strike, the doors bent inward.

The king turned toward them.

Rishh saw the serpent statues begin to glow, one after another. The blue flames stretched sideways, pulled by a wind that had no source.

"Who is Takshak?" Rishh demanded again.

The king looked back at him.

"My brother."

The doors shattered.

A figure stood beyond them, surrounded by darkness.

Rishh couldn't see his face. He could see only the outline of a crown, the edge of a blade, and the faint crimson glow of something embedded in his chest.

The stranger stepped over the broken stone.

"Brother," he said, almost affectionately. "You have hidden the heir long enough."

The king's eyes blazed gold.

"Takshak."

The stranger smiled.

"And now the boy has awakened."

Every serpent in the temple turned toward Rishh.

The black mark on his palm burned white.

The throne room vanished.

And Rishh woke screaming.

***

The ceiling fan clicked above him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Rishh sat upright on his mattress, gasping for air. His bedsheet had twisted around his legs, and sweat ran down the back of his neck.

Outside, Prayagraj slept beneath a sky without stars.

A motorcycle passed on the road. Somewhere in the neighboring building, a dog barked at nothing.

Ordinary sounds.

Familiar sounds.

He clung to them.

"Just a dream," he whispered.

His voice sounded ridiculous in the silence.

For three months, he had dreamed of the same forgotten kingdom. The same black pillars. The same eight statues.

But tonight had been different.

Tonight, someone had spoken a name.

Takshak.

Rishh reached for his phone.

**2:17 A.M.**

Again.

Every nightmare ended at exactly the same time.

He opened his browser and typed the name.

*Takshak mythology.*

Articles appeared describing an ancient serpent associated with Indian mythology. Stories spoke of kings, curses, vengeance, and the uneasy relationship between humans and the Nāgas—serpent beings who occupied a world somewhere between the divine and the earthly.

Rishh skimmed the results.

None of them explained the man from his dream.

None mentioned eight glowing stones.

He locked his phone.

"Enough internet for tonight."

Then he noticed the blood.

A thin red line ran from his left palm to his wrist.

He froze.

There had been no injury in the dream. He hadn't cut himself. He hadn't even been holding anything sharp.

He switched on the bedside lamp.

The blood was real.

But there was no wound.

Instead, at the center of his palm, a dark symbol had appeared.

A serpent.

Its body was coiled three times, and its head pointed toward his wrist. Beneath the scales, faint golden lines pulsed like light beneath cracked stone.

Rishh stared at it.

He had seen this shape before.

Not in a book.

Not online.

In the faded photograph his grandmother kept locked inside an old wooden box.

The photograph had been taken shortly after his birth. His grandmother had always refused to explain why she kept it hidden.

He had once asked her about the strange symbol drawn on the back.

She had taken the photograph from his hands and told him never to ask again.

At the time, he'd thought it was one of her superstitions.

Now his palm was glowing.

"Grandmother?"

His voice barely carried beyond the room.

He stepped into the hallway.

Her bedroom door was closed. A strip of light showed beneath it, but there was no movement inside.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again.

"Grandmother, wake up."

Silence.

Rishh tried the handle.

Locked.

That was strange. She never locked her door.

He returned to his room and searched for his phone. The screen lit up before his fingers touched it.

An unknown number.

One message.

**DO NOT WAKE HER.**

Rishh stopped moving.

A second message appeared.

**SHE HAS ALREADY LOST ONE FAMILY TO THE NAGAS.**

His stomach tightened.

He typed a reply.

*Who are you?*

The response came immediately.

**SOMEONE WHO KNOWS WHAT YOUR MARK MEANS.**

Rishh looked toward the hallway.

*What does it mean?*

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then the answer arrived.

**IT MEANS THE KING HAS CHOSEN YOU.**

The mark on his palm flashed gold.

Every light in the house went out.

***

The darkness lasted only a few seconds.

But in those seconds, Rishh heard something moving across the ceiling.

A slow, heavy scrape.

Then another.

Something enormous was crawling above him.

He backed against the wall, his eyes fixed on the darkness.

A whisper drifted through the room.

Not from the hallway.

Not from outside.

From inside his own head.

*Anant.*

Rishh squeezed his eyes shut.

The voice returned.

*My blood remembers you.*

The air grew cold.

For a moment, Rishh saw a different world through the darkness.

A kingdom beneath the earth.

Rivers of blue light flowed between towers of black stone. Bridges crossed bottomless chasms. Serpent-shaped guardians watched from the walls of a palace so vast that its highest towers disappeared into a cavern ceiling.

At its center stood a throne.

And upon it rested a colossal serpent, its countless hoods spread like a crown against the darkness.

The creature opened its golden eyes.

Rishh couldn't move.

He felt no command. No threat.

Only an unbearable sense of recognition.

The creature spoke a name.

"Sheshnaag."

The word struck through Rishh like a memory returning from a life he had never lived.

Then the vision changed.

Eight figures stood before the throne.

Eight brothers.

Their bodies were human, but their shadows were serpentine. Each wore a different stone upon a chain around his neck.

The stones glowed with separate colors, each carrying a strange power.

One brother stood apart from the others.

His stone burned crimson.

His face was hidden beneath a dark hood, but Rishh recognized the smile.

The man from his nightmare.

Takshak.

The crimson stone cracked.

A wave of darkness swept across the kingdom.

The other brothers reached for their weapons.

Takshak did not move.

He watched the throne as if he had waited centuries for the moment it would finally become empty.

Then he looked directly at Rishh.

Though Rishh knew he was seeing a vision, he felt the stranger's gaze settle upon him with terrible certainty.

"There you are," Takshak whispered.

The vision shattered.

Rishh collapsed against the wall.

The lights returned.

His phone vibrated in his hand.

A new message appeared.

**TAKSHAK KNOWS YOU ARE ALIVE.**

Another followed.

**HE WILL COME FOR THE MARK.**

Rishh's fingers trembled.

*Why?*

This time, the reply took longer.

**BECAUSE EIGHT STONES CAN BECOME ONE.**

A photograph appeared beneath the message.

It showed a dark gemstone resting inside a carved stone chamber. Its surface seemed to contain a miniature storm, with golden light moving beneath the black crystal.

Rishh had seen that stone before.

In his dream.

It had been the brightest of the eight statues.

The message continued.

**THE NĀGAMAṆI.**

**THE POWER TO COMMAND THE BLOOD OF THE NAGAS.**

Rishh read the words again.

Then a final message appeared.

**IN THE WRONG HANDS, IT COULD MAKE HUMANITY KNEEL.**

The phone went black.

From behind his grandmother's locked bedroom door came a sound.

A single knock.

Rishh turned.

Another knock followed.

Then his grandmother spoke.

"Rishh?"

Her voice sounded normal.

Almost.

"Open the door, child."

He took one step toward her room.

Then he heard the same voice again.

This time, it came from his phone.

A recording.

His grandmother's voice, whispering through static.

"Rishh, if you can hear this, do not open the door."

His blood turned cold.

From behind the bedroom door, his grandmother began to cry.

"Please, Rishh. Let me out."

The recording continued.

"Whatever calls your name tonight, whatever wears a familiar face, do not trust it."

Rishh stood between the two voices, unable to breathe.

One begged him to open the door.

The other begged him to run.

Then the voice behind the door changed.

It deepened.

A low, ancient hiss slipped between the words.

"Open the door, heir of Ananta."

The black serpent on Rishh's palm lifted its head.

And somewhere far beneath Prayagraj, a king who had slept for centuries opened his eyes.

**Sheshnaag had awakened.**

But he was not the only one.

In the darkness of the underground kingdom, Takshak rose from his throne and looked toward the surface.

At last, the lost bloodline had revealed itself.

The first stone had begun to stir.

And the hunt for the heir had started.

**END OF CHAPTER ONE**