The golden rays of the morning sun caressed the vast lands of Somnagar, a kingdom known for its breathtaking beauty and unchallenged prosperity.
Emerald forests stretched across the valleys, mighty rivers sang songs of life, and the fortified walls of the grand capital city shimmered under the morning dew.
At the heart of this flourishing kingdom sat the royal palace, an architectural marvel carved from white marble and adorned with intricate silver patterns.
It was here, on the highest throne, sat the mighty ruler – Maharaja Somnath, the sixth proud heir of the Som Vansh.
Maharaja Somnath was a king unlike any other.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with a beard as thick as a lion's mane and eyes as sharp as a hawk's, he commanded respect with a mere glance.
But it wasn't just his strength or wisdom that made Somnagar flourish; it was a secret — a secret that only the royal family and a handful of trusted priests knew.
A secret known as the Som Mani.
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The Som Mani was no ordinary gem.
Legends whispered that it was a stone gifted by the celestial gods themselves, forged in the fires of the sun and cooled in the waters of the sacred rivers.
It was believed that as long as the Som Mani remained in Somnagar, no drought, no war, no disease could ever touch the land.
Crops would flourish, rivers would never dry, and enemies would falter even before reaching the gates.
The Mani was housed deep within the Temple of Eternal Light, located inside the palace complex.
It was guarded day and night by the finest warriors, protected by ancient spells, and watched over by the high priest, Acharya Vedant.
Every kingdom around Somnagar — from the harsh deserts of Rajpura to the icy peaks of Triveni — lusted for the Som Mani.
Many had tried to invade, to steal, to snatch away this celestial treasure.
And every single one of them had failed, crushed under the might of Somnath's armies and the mysterious protective aura surrounding the stone.
But no protection is eternal...
And greed always finds a way.
---
Far to the west, beyond the borders of Somnagar, in the hostile lands of Mriglok, sat another king — Rathvir.
King Rathvir was no fool.
He was cunning, strategic, and ruthless when needed.
For years, he had watched Somnagar prosper while his own lands suffered drought and rebellion.
He knew that the secret lay in the Som Mani.
But armies had failed.
Spies had failed.
Even sorcery had failed.
Thus, Rathvir turned to a darker path — theft.
But not just any theft.
He needed the best — the unmatched, undefeated shadows of the land.
And so he summoned two names that even the walls of ancient cities shuddered to whisper — Kara and Virat.
Kara, the silent phantom, known for stealing the scepter of Sultan Sarfaraz from the heavily guarded fort of Mehrangarh.
Virat, the shadow-walker, who once slipped into the royal treasury of King Indravansh and vanished with three golden crowns without a trace.
Together, they were unbeatable.
And now, they had one mission — to steal the Som Mani.
---
The night chosen was no ordinary night.
It was the night of the Festival of Lights, the grandest celebration in Somnagar, marking the victory of light over darkness.
The entire kingdom, including the palace guards, would be lost in merriment and celebration.
Perfect for shadows to dance.
Dressed as traveling performers, Kara and Virat entered the city with ease.
Their faces masked with colors, their steps rhythmic with the beating drums of the festivities, no one suspected their true purpose.
They blended among the crowd, inching closer to the palace.
At the stroke of midnight, when fireworks lit up the skies and the people cheered, they slipped away unnoticed.
Scaling walls, disabling traps, silencing sentries — their movements were precise, honed by years of experience.
Finally, they reached the Temple of Eternal Light.
The last barrier stood before them: a door laced with ancient spells.
But Rathvir had prepared them well.
An old sorcerer named Bhujang had crafted a black powder capable of absorbing mystical energies.
They smeared it over the door, dissolving the magical seals one by one.
Inside, bathed in soft blue light, sat the Som Mani atop a pedestal carved from moonstone.
It pulsed with a life of its own, as if breathing slowly.
For a moment, even the heartless thieves stood in awe.
But duty called.
Virat stepped forward, wrapped the Mani carefully in a cloth laced with protective runes, and tucked it safely within his tunic.
Mission complete.
Or so they thought.
---
The next morning, Somnath sat on his throne, smiling as his ministers recounted the grand success of the festival.
His people were happy.
The crops were healthy.
His kingdom was blessed.
Then, Acharya Vedant, his face pale and his body trembling, burst into the royal court.
"My Lord!" he cried, falling to his knees.
"The Som Mani... it's gone!"
For a moment, the entire hall fell silent.
The ministers looked at one another in disbelief.
The guards clutched their swords instinctively.
Maharaja Somnath's smile vanished.
His voice, when it came, was cold as steel.
"What... did you say?"
"The Som Mani, Maharaj... stolen... the temple is desecrated... the protective aura is fading..."
The king rose slowly from his throne, his heavy robes sweeping across the marble floor.
A storm brewed in his eyes.
"Seal the palace gates!" he thundered.
"Call every guard, every spy, every informer! Search every house, every alley, every stranger!
The thief must not leave Somnagar alive!"
But it was already too late.
By dawn, Kara and Virat had crossed the river Sindhva, escaping into the dense forests of Mriglok, carrying the fate of an entire kingdom in their hands.
---
As the sun dipped behind the hills that evening, casting long shadows over the palace, Maharaja Somnath stood alone at the balcony of his royal chambers, gazing at the distant horizon.
He clenched his fists, feeling a strange emptiness gnawing at his heart.
He knew what the loss of the Som Mani meant.
The crops would fail.
The rivers would dry.
Diseases would spread.
Enemies would gather like vultures.
Somnagar, the once unbreakable kingdom, stood vulnerable.
The king closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to the heavens.
And in the far corners of the world, where destiny weaves its intricate webs, a force stirred.
A protector.
A savior.
An Angrakshak.
But that was a story for another time.
For now, Somnagar wept, and the winds carried whispers of doom.
The age of prosperity had ended.
The age of struggle had begun.
---
[Chapter 1 Ends]