The Jeep Meridian, a vehicle still carrying the scent of new leather and possibility, hugged the treacherous curves of National Highway 22. Shivam, his brown curls a tousled mess from the wind whipping through the partially open window, wrestled with the maroon steering wheel. Each swift turn was a testament to his familiarity with these serpentine foggy roads of Himachal Pradesh.
He flicked a glance to his left. Priyanshu, or Zooper as they affectionately (and sometimes mockingly) called him, was a study in detached absorption. Hunched over his phone, knees propped against the dashboard in a posture that screamed disregard for vehicular safety, he navigated manga with an intensity that seemed oblivious to the reality outside.
"Oye, Zooper," Shivam began, the question laced with a familiar blend of exasperation and affection, "have you even looked up from that thing since we left Chandigarh? What's the point of dragging your ugly ass-"
His words were cut short by a sudden, forceful shove against his seatback. A grunt escaped his lips as Ashutosh's voice, thick with annoyance and the unmistakable slur of early inebriation, boomed from behind.
"Shivam... give me that damn beer and stop drinking whole driving, Are you trying to introduce us all to the afterlife before your engagement party?"
With a sigh Shivam reached down, retrieved a still-sealed can of fresh beer, and tossed it over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of Ashutosh's irritated expression in the rearview mirror, a stark contrast to the smug grin he couldn't quite suppress.
"Are you already sloshed?" Ashutosh demanded, popping the can open with a sharp hiss. "I'll drive if you're not fit to."
"Nah, I'm good," Shivam insisted, perhaps a touch too quickly.
Ashutosh leaned forward, the scent of beer and mountain air mingling in the confined space. He studied Shivam for a long moment, his gaze surprisingly intense.
"Don't try to be sassy with me," Shivam muttered, his eyes flicking between the road and the rearview mirror.
"Just let me have a good look at you before you're officially off the market," Ashutosh said, his voice softening slightly. "Who knows if this is the last real taste of bachelor freedom?"
"Dude, it's just an engagement," Shivam chuckled, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed his features. "It's not like I'm signing away my soul... yet."
He glanced again at Priyanshu, then back at the winding road, taking a deliberate breath to ease the tension that had begun to knot his shoulders.
"Can't stay a bachelor forever," he added, his voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "You know I'm pushing thirty, and you'll be right behind me at the altar soon enough. Why the sudden philosophical crisis?"
Ashutosh leaned back, taking a long swig of his beer. His gaze drifted towards the back of the Jeep, where Mansi was animatedly discussing something about job responsibilities with happy, Sahil and Chirag. Their voices, a mix of enthusiasm and practical concern, formed a familiar backdrop to their adventure. Pariari, nestled between them, was a picture of serene detachment, headphones firmly in place, lost in her own sonic world.
"Fine, dude," Ashutosh conceded, the edge in his voice softening. "Whatever you say."
From the digital realm of his phone, Priyanshu's voice, flat and devoid of inflection, cut through the air. "So... you two gonna kiss or something?"
Shivam snorted, a genuine laugh escaping him. "Like you kiss camel butts?" he retorted, a well-worn jab that played on Priyanshu's Rajasthani heritage.
Priyanshu offered a classic Zooper eye roll, a subtle movement that conveyed volumes of his usual aloof amusement. Shivam, still chuckling, finished his can of beer and meticulously placed the empty cylinder in a plastic bag tucked near his feet. He risked a quick glance back at his friends. The easy camaraderie, the shared anxieties about their careers, the simple joy of escaping their routines – it was a familiar and comforting scene. He looked back at Priyanshu, still engrossed in what Shivam suspected was another manga, and decided against any further teasing. The road demanded his full attention.
He nudged the volume dial of the vintage Bollywood playlist higher, the nostalgic melodies filling the car. A sudden chill snaked through the air as dusk began to paint the sky in hues of deep purple and grey. He rolled up his window and gestured to Priyanshu. "Close yours, Zooper. It's getting cold."
Priyanshu nodded silently, his thumb pressing the button to raise his window. The world outside began to blur as a thick, deep fog rolled in, swallowing the towering pines and obscuring the already treacherous road.
A few minutes later, a strange lightness invaded Shivam's head. He blinked, trying to sharpen his focus on the increasingly indistinct ribbon of pavement ahead. The fog was growing denser with every passing second. The road, already narrow and winding, now felt like a tightrope walk over an invisible abyss. The reassuring presence of the railing had vanished long ago.
"Mhm... should I stop?" Shivam muttered to himself, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Nah, I know this stretch like the back of my hand... mostly. There should be a sharp left in about thirty seconds."
He spoke more to reassure himself. As he braced for the anticipated turn, a sharp, unexpected pain exploded in his chest. Mansi, leaning forward from the back, had playfully, yet firmly, pinched him.
The sudden jolt, coupled with the disorienting fog and the lingering effects of the beer, sent a jolt of panic through him. In that split second of surprise and pain, his instincts betrayed him. Instead of turning the wheel to the left, his hands jerked it sharply to the right.
The Jeep lurched violently, tires screaming in protest as they left the precarious grip of the road. A sickening lurch followed, a moment of weightlessness that stole the breath from Shivam's lungs. Then, the horrifying realization dawned – they were plunging into empty air.
A chorus of shouts erupted from the backseats, a cacophony of fear and disbelief. Shivam instinctively glanced to his left. Priyanshu, his phone flying from his grasp, was flailing, his usually impassive face contorted in a desperate struggle to brace himself against the inevitable. His eyes, wide with terror, locked with Shivam's before staring into the black, yawning chasm they were falling into.
A single word formed on Shivam's lips, a silent, desperate apology that would never reach his friend's ears. "Sor..."
The world dissolved into a deafening roar of twisted metal, shattering glass, and the final, brutal impact. Everything goes black.
.
Shivam thinks to himself, [Where am I?] and opens his eyes as he is not able to move his body for some reason and can't feel anything, but his vision is blurry, and he recognizes dim, warm orange lights and a figure in front of him at a distance of a meter. He can't see details as his vision is blurry.
[Blond hairs... Women? ... What am I seeing? Is it hallucinations? Am I dead? Where am I in Swarg? No, it's not swarg. I didn't do anything to achieve it. Probably not. Where is everyone? What happened to them? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I should've stopped.]
He thinks to himself, and tears start falling from his eyes as he cries like a child. He understands his body is being swung around gently by the blond figure and feels something soft touching his lips. His body instinctively sucks on it, and after a few minutes, a soft, gentle voice in the form of a lullaby falls into his temporarily deaf ears, and as he contemplates what he is hearing.
[no, no, no, this can't be happening. No, no, am I... am I isekai'd? Do I reborn? If yes, that means reincarnation is a true phenomenon, but even if it is, why do I remember myself? Why do I remember my past... my past... my friends? What happened to them? Do they die too? Are they reborn too? Can I meet them? Can I apologize? I have so many questions.]
Lady gently put his infant body in a cradle made up of dark wood with gold-plated finishing and rubbed his chest with care as she spoke in a sweet tone.
"Stop crying, my dear. Mumma is here. You need not worry or fear, and you already drank a lot of milk, so sleep okay."
Her soft touch was enough to make his infant body fall asleep.
The knock on the door startled her; she managed her elegant emerald green Renaissance gown with corest holding her waist, she cleared her throat before answering.
"Yes? Who's there?"
A masculine, firm, yet gentle voice comes through the door.
"It's me."
After hearing the voice of her husband, Vivienne put a hat on her head with a matching veil to her dress and opened the door, looking at Valdemar with a vision in crimson and gold. His heavy velvet robe, lined with thick ermine fur, flowed around his tall, muscular frame. Intricate white gold embroidery depicting the kingdom's northern star with six tails adorned the borders, and large rubies gleamed from the ornate clasp at his shoulder. A heavy platinum crown, set with sapphires and diamonds, rested upon his brow, and his long red hair flowed with air, and in his right hand, he held a scepter matching his demeanor with a red sapphire on the top of it. As he looks at Vivienne with his commanding gaze, soften a bit and ask.
"You still in this dress, darling? It's almost time to take our son for the royal proclamation."
"Ahhh, I was about to say, Dear, Aerion just fell asleep after drinking milk."
Valdemar's eyes get even softer as he looks at the infant sleeping soundly in the cradle. As he walks towards the cradle, the room fills with the sound of his boots. He runs a finger around the body of infant Aerion, who looks just like his mother, with blond hair and long eyelashes with a fair skin tone and long elven ears, a small, fragile combination of human and a high elf. Valdemar composed himself, trying not to be persuaded by the glory of his own child.