🌑🔥 PROLOGUE - THE NIGHT THE MOON SPLIT
15 years ago — Himalayan foothills
The night Nirvi Sahasra was born, the moon split.
Not literally—but every villager swore the sky tore open for a heartbeat, spilling a strange silver-black light across the mountains. The elders whispered it was ashagun. The priests called itapsaguni. Her mother called it destiny.
And then she died.
No one knew why. No wounds. No poison. Just... gone.
Her grandmother, Aaji, wrapped the crying newborn in a shawl, whispering a single sentence no one else heard:
“They’ve found us again.”
Far away, in a hidden kingdom beneath the constellations, a boy barely nine years old screamed in his sleep. Burning star-marks crawled up his arms, glowing like molten gold.
The royal priests rushed to him.
“It’s happening,” one whispered.“She’s been born.”
The king looked at his son, trembling, cursed, and powerful.
“Then we have fifteen years,” he said.“To find her—and end the prophecy before she ends us.”
And in the deepest corners of India, shadows moved.Watching.Waiting.
Because the last Raat-Vanshi was alive.
And nothing would ever be the same.
