The forest hummed with life, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine, the kind of fragrance that clings to you and refuses to let go. I adjusted the strap of my satchel, the weight of my tools pressing against my side as I pushed through the dense undergrowth.

Today was Shivratri, a night of devotion and divine energy. While most people flocked to grand temples adorned with flowers and glowing with a thousand oil lamps, I had chosen a different path—a path that led me to an abandoned temple hidden deep within the Vindhya forest.

The temple had been a whisper, a fleeting mention in an old manuscript I’d stumbled upon in the archives. No official records, no photographs, not even a name. Just a vague reference to a “sanctum of secrets” nestled in the heart of the mountains. It was as though history itself had tried to erase its existence.

As an archaeologist, I lived for mysteries like this. At twenty-three, I had dedicated my life to uncovering fragments of the past, piecing together stories that time had tried to bury. This temple felt like a calling, an unspoken challenge I couldn’t ignore.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the forest floor. I checked my map—a crude sketch based on the manuscript’s description—and pressed on. The trees grew denser, their gnarled roots snaking across the path, as if trying to guard the secrets that lay ahead.

And then, I saw it.

The temple stood in a small clearing, its silhouette bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. It was a crumbling marvel of ancient architecture, its stone walls entwined with vines and moss. Carvings covered every surface—celestial symbols, coiled serpents, and hands cradling what appeared to be a fractured orb. The artistry was breathtaking, each detail painstakingly etched as if the sculptors had poured their souls into the stone.

I stepped closer, my boots crunching against the gravel. The air here felt different—thicker, heavier, as though the temple itself was alive and watching.

The entrance was framed by two massive pillars, their surfaces worn smooth by time. Above the doorway, an inscription in an ancient script caught my eye. I traced the faded letters with my fingers, murmuring the translation under my breath.

"Only those who seek the truth shall pass."

A shiver ran down my spine. I wasn’t one to believe in omens, but there was something about this place that felt… otherworldly.

I stepped inside.

The sanctum was dark, illuminated only by the faint light filtering through cracks in the ceiling. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense long since burned away. The walls were adorned with more carvings, their patterns intricate and mesmerizing. But it was the object at the center of the room that drew my attention.

A massive mirror stood on a raised platform, its frame a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Vines and blooming lotuses twisted together in an intricate dance, their golden surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. But the mirror itself was strange. Its surface was clouded, as though it had been touched by smoke, and jagged cracks ran across it, fracturing its reflection into a thousand distorted shards.

I approached it cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. On my side of the world, the mirror had been whole, preserved in pristine glory. But on the inside , it was broken, incomplete.

Why?

I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of the frame. The metal was cool to the touch, almost too cold, and a strange hum vibrated through my fingertips.

And then, everything changed.

The air around me shifted, the temperature plummeting as a strange pull gripped me. I tried to step back, but my feet wouldn’t move. The mirror’s surface began to glow, the cracks pulsating with a golden light that grew brighter and brighter until it engulfed me completely.

I felt weightless, as though I were falling, though there was no wind, no sensation of movement. Just light, endless and blinding.

When the light finally faded, I opened my eyes to a sight that stole my breath.

I wasn’t in the temple anymore.

I stood on a hill overlooking a city unlike anything I had ever seen. It was a breathtaking tapestry of golden domes, towering spires, and winding streets that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. The architecture was ornate, every building adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering mosaics.

But there was something wrong.

The city was alive with movement—people bustling through the streets, vendors calling out their wares, priests preparing for what looked like Shivratri rituals. Yet, as I watched, I noticed an eerie pattern. The same woman fetched water from the well every few minutes. The same child chased a kite, laughing as if it were the first time. The priests chanted the same verses, their voices rising and falling in an endless loop.

My heart raced as the realization struck me.

This kingdom was stuck in time, living the same day over and over again.

I crouched behind a cluster of trees, my eyes darting across the scene. The people moved with purpose, their faces serene, unaware of the strange spell that gripped their lives. It was hauntingly beautiful and utterly tragic.

I scanned the horizon, my gaze falling on a grand palace at the center of the city. Its golden domes gleamed in the twilight, their surfaces reflecting the fading light like molten fire. This had to be the seat of power, the heart of the kingdom.

The kingdom of Vyantara. The myth Kingdom.

The name surfaced in my mind unbidden, as though it had been waiting for me to remember. Vyantara—a place lost to history, erased from the annals of time. Everyone knew this as only a myth . Perhaps the loop had hidden it from the world, trapping its people in a never-ending twilight.

A sudden shift in the air drew my attention, and I turned toward the courtyard below.

He stood at the edge of the palace steps, framed by the flickering light of torches. Even from this distance, his presence was undeniable, a force that seemed to command the very air around him. He was tall, his dark armor gleaming faintly under the twilight sky. His posture was regal, his bearing one of a man who had ruled for centuries.

But it was his eyes that held me captive.

They glowed like molten gold, piercing and unrelenting, as if they could see straight into my soul. Our gazes met, and I felt my breath hitch, my pulse quickening in a way I couldn’t explain.

He wasn’t trapped in the loop.

He was aware, alive, and completely unaffected by the strange spell that gripped his kingdom.

For a moment, neither of us moved. I felt a shiver crawl up my spine as his gaze darkened, not with malice, but with something far more dangerous—obsession.

“Hail to our king, Rudraksha Veeraditya,” I heard the distant voices of the priests chanting, their words carrying on the wind.

The name sent a ripple through me, as if it had been etched into my very being. Rudraksha Veeraditya—the ruler of this forgotten realm, the man whose eyes now burned with a fire I couldn’t escape.

I didn’t know how or why, but I had been pulled into a world that wasn’t supposed to exist.

And I had a sinking feeling that nothing would ever be the same again.