The golden chamber shook with thunder, its walls alive with flickering torchlight. Asurya stood at the heart of the throne room, blood seeping through his fingers as he gripped the controls of the Pushpak Vimana. The flying chariot hummed with fading power, its glow dimming like a dying star.
Around him, shadows moved—faces twisted by fear and betrayal. His own brother, Arin, turned away, eyes heavy with guilt. The crown's weight felt heavier than ever, a burden not just of kingship, but of a kingdom's fate.
Asurya's voice broke the silence, low and fierce:"A soul for a soul. Let none awaken what they could not protect."
The words echoed, an ancient curse born in that final moment. The skies cracked, lightning lashing the horizon as the city beneath them began to sink into the sea. Asurya's eyes closed, but his spirit clung to the chariot's core—waiting for a time when memory and soul might one day return.