Bab 1: Chapter 1: The Balance of Power

A thousand years before the end of Kaliyuga, the world stood at a precipice. It was a time where nations no longer governed themselves through the old ways of democracy, monarchy, or autocracy. The chaotic histories of political division and economic crises had long been dissolved into a centralized system: the Dual Council Order. The Dual Council balanced the two most important facets of human society—knowledge and power. One side fostered enlightenment, education, and innovation, while the other trained for discipline, self-defense, and war.

Continents, no longer tethered by national borders, were divided into five sprawling megaregions, each governed by two councils: the Scholar Council and the Force Council. These councils were comprised of five members each, representing the pinnacle of human intellect and strength. But above them all stood the World Council, a group of eleven men and women chosen to guide humanity. Ten of these came from the Scholar and Force Councils—two from each continent's council—but the final, most significant member was someone unique. This person was neither a politician nor a ruler in the traditional sense; they were known as the Elder, a singular figure who excelled in both scholarship and combat, embodying the perfect balance between the two.

The world had entered an era of peace and stability, but it was a fragile peace, held together by rules, surveillance, and strict adherence to the Dual Council's codes. This new world order was governed by five massive megaregions, each with seven sprawling megacities where the entirety of the human population resided. The rest of the regions were vast sanctuaries, reserved for wildlife, untouched by human development, allowing Earth's natural ecosystems to flourish under strict preservation laws. These cities were self-sustaining utopias, with resources, advanced technology, and comforts that freed the general public from worries about survival. But as always, where there is prosperity, shadows of greed and ambition lurk in the dark corners of society.

03 June, 427899

In one of these megacities, nestled within the Eastern Megaregion, once known as Kashi in ancient India, a plan was unfolding beneath the veil of night. Kashi, now a part of the towering Varanasi Megacity, stood as a center of knowledge and technological advancements, home to countless scholars, engineers, and biologists. It was a beacon of progress—but on this night, shadows moved silently through its streets, their intentions anything but noble.

In the cover of darkness, a group of masked figures moved through the alleys toward one of the city's most prominent structures—an expansive residential complex that housed leading minds in engineering and biology. The complex, like much of the megacity, was a marvel of innovation, but it was about to become the stage for something far more sinister.

The figures approached the gates swiftly, their movements precise. With a flick of a blade and a precise strike to the neck, the patrol guards were rendered unconscious, collapsing silently to the ground. The leader of the group, a tall figure cloaked in black, gestured with his hand, communicating through intricate sign language. His fingers moved with calculated efficiency, giving orders to his team. The shadows dispersed, each moving to their designated locations.

Two of them headed towards the water supply system. With swift, practiced motions, they mixed a fine powder and a vial of liquid into the city's water reserves. A third group infiltrated the power grid, carefully placing an EMP device on a crucial junction that would disable the entire area's power when triggered. Meanwhile, the main group worked in the heart of the complex, planting small, spherical devices resembling bombs in every elevator shaft, staircase, and pillar.

When their work was done, the shadows regrouped at their rendezvous point just outside the complex. One by one, they gave their leader a thumbs-up, signaling that their mission was complete. The leader glanced at his stopwatch, its dimly glowing face counting down the seconds. With a cold, deliberate push of a button, he activated the signal. All at once, the bombs, the EMP, and the water contamination were set in motion—a ticking countdown that gave them ten minutes to disappear into the night, as silently as they had come.

Ten minutes later, the ground shook with a deafening explosion. The entire residential complex crumbled as the bombs detonated in sequence, leveling the structure to the ground. A massive shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows and buildings for a full kilometer around the blast site. Flames erupted, and the night sky was filled with smoke and debris. It seemed as though no one could have survived.

Within moments, the wails of sirens pierced the air as emergency services arrived on the scene. Police forces, fire brigades, and medical teams quickly established a perimeter around the devastation. The ruins of the once-proud complex lay in smoldering heaps, the acrid scent of burning metal and flesh filling the air. The search for survivors began amidst the carnage, but hope was fleeting.

As the rescue teams sifted through the debris, they found nothing but shattered bodies, charred remains, and unrecognizable corpses. The devastation was total—until one sound broke through the chaos. A faint cry. A baby's cry.

Following the sound, a team of medics rushed toward a pile of rubble, carefully clearing away the debris. Beneath a collapsed wall, they found him—a baby boy, no older than six months, with a tuft of minimal black hair. He was crying, but otherwise unscathed, lying amidst the ruin of what had been his home. The medics were stunned. Somehow, against all odds, the infant had survived.

As the rescue operation continued over the next two days, the teams managed to save a handful of critically injured survivors, but most of the complex's residents had perished in the explosion. The remains were collected for proper burial, either by surviving family members or through autonomous systems that handled the remains of those without any living relatives. Among the dead were engineers, scientists, and biologists, people who had once pushed the boundaries of human knowledge. But the little boy, found crying in the rubble, had no such fate. He was now an orphan.

Ten days later, the scene shifted to the outskirts of the Varanasi Megacity, at a quiet, humble place called the Family Orphanage. The orphanage was run by a couple—Karna Agastya and his wife, Devi Agastya. Karna, a retired general from the Force Council, and Devi, a former senior biologist, had dedicated their post-retirement years to caring for orphaned children, providing a home and education for those left behind by society's tragedies.

Karna stood at the entrance to their home, signing the final documents that transferred custody of the baby boy into their care. Beside him, Devi waited, her hands gently resting on her husband's arm, watching the police staff as they carefully held the infant.

"Everything is in order," the officer said, handing Karna the last of the documents. "He's officially in your care now. His name's written in the file—Dhruvansh."

Karna glanced down at the papers, reading the name. Dhruvansh. The name meant "part of the pole star"—steadfast, unyielding, a symbol of constancy in a world of chaos. The boy, though barely able to comprehend the horrors he had survived, was destined for a different path. A path that neither Karna nor Devi could fully understand yet.

The officer handed the baby over to Devi, and as soon as her hands touched the boy's soft skin, his cries stopped. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked up at her. His gaze was gentle, almost curious, as if he recognized the warmth and safety in her arms. Both Karna and Devi stood mesmerized, lost in the depth of his eyes—dark, but with a glimmer of something ancient, something far beyond his age.

Devi smiled down at him, brushing a soft lock of hair from his forehead. "Hello, Dhruvansh," she whispered, her voice filled with affection. "Welcome home."

Karna, still staring at the boy, felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest. "He's... different, isn't he?" he murmured to his wife.

Devi nodded. "Yes. I feel it too."

As they walked back into their home, cradling the child who had miraculously survived the destruction, neither Karna nor Devi could have known the true significance of that moment. The name Dhruvansh would come to mean far more than they ever imagined. He was destined for something greater than the life of an ordinary orphan. Unbeknownst to them, this child was at the center of a prophecy that would shape the future of the world—a prophecy that whispered of the end of Kaliyuga, the return of Kalki, and the final reckoning between light and darkness.