💫//Prologue//💫

Hi daisies!✨️🌼

I've thought about changing the prologue of the story. So here is the revised version. Do check it out! Also, let me know in the comments, what you all think about it!🫶🏻

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The night was unusually still, as though the world outside had fallen silent to hide a secret.

A pale moon hung high, its cold light struggling to penetrate the dense clouds that seemed to guard the Raghuvanshi mansion.

The ancient estate loomed in shadow, grand yet forbidding, whispering of power, pride, and untold mysteries.

Inside the vast study, only one light flickered—dim, almost reluctant to shine. Aniruddh stood alone, the weight of generations pressing upon his shoulders.

The air was thick with dust, the faint scent of aged wood, and forgotten memories.

Only one solitary lamp flickered, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls lined with books that had not seen daylight for decades.

Aniruddh Raghuvanshi stood in the middle of the room, his expression unreadable, his posture rigid with purpose.

His eyes, dark and sharp, were fixated on the old drawer that had remained locked in silence all these years.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached toward an ancient drawer concealed behind layers of dust and forgotten papers.

The creaking sound of the drawer felt like a long-forgotten echo—soft, reluctant, yet unavoidable.

Inside, resting atop brittle papers and scattered old letters, lay a photograph. A single, yellowed photograph that seemed to hum with the weight of generations.

Aniruddh carefully lifted it from its resting place. His fingers caressed the fragile edges as if afraid to break the connection it held.

The photograph showed two men standing side by side—his grandfather, regal and stoic, and another older man whose face was unfamiliar, yet somehow commanding.

Their hands were clasped in a stiff handshake, their eyes locked in a formal yet unsettling grin.

Neither of them looked at ease; their smiles were mechanical, forced.

Aniruddh’s gaze lingered on the stranger’s face longer than necessary. He sensed… a story hidden in the folds of that aged paper.

A story that was never told, never spoken of.

Without hesitation, he slid the photograph into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket.

From the shadows, Kamala watched. The old servant stood motionless, a silent observer. Her eyes, clouded with time yet piercing in clarity, were fixed on Aniruddh.

She knew that look in his eyes—a mixture of determination and burden.

It was the same look his grandfather once wore, the same one she had seen countless times, hiding behind pride and silent regret.

Her heart tightened as memories of that night flooded back—

The night when masked men had stormed the mansion.

The walls had trembled with their brutal assault.

Screams of servants and the shouts of frightened family members had filled the air, blending into a chaotic symphony of terror.

But Aniruddh…

Aniruddh had stood apart from it all.

Calm. Detached.

As if he already knew what was coming.

Kamala had wanted to speak, to warn him. But fear had locked her tongue.

She had watched him retrieve that photograph and felt the weight of a hundred untold secrets pressing down on him.

Her lips remained sealed, a silent promise to protect him, no matter the cost.

Aniruddh stared at the photograph for a long, lingering moment, his eyes tracing every line of the two men’s faces—his grandfather’s proud, unsmiling expression, and the unfamiliar man’s cold, unreadable gaze.

Then, as if compelled by instinct, he carefully turned the picture over. There, written in dark, almost faded ink, was a note:

“I trusted him, but some people don’t deserve to be trusted.”

The words seemed to burn into his mind as his eyes widened with realization. A thought, sharp and undeniable, pierced through his chest, His Nana…

He remembered it all now, memories long buried, returning like unwelcome ghosts.

The day the news came—his father paced the living room, his expression tight with anger, every step echoing louder than the words he refused to say.

But, when the body arrived… Aniruddh’s young eyes had involuntarily fixated on the patches of dark red staining his grandfather’s left arm, almost like bullet wounds.

A bandage covered his forehead, hastily applied, yet unmistakable.

But what haunted him most wasn’t the blood or the bandage.

It was the absence of grief.

Rajveer and Shashwat stood there, not with sorrow, but with a strange, simmering anger in their eyes.

They didn’t cry. They didn’t wail. They looked… resentful.

Aniruddh recalled the official explanation they were told, “Death due to a sudden health complication.”

A convenient lie.

Now, holding the photograph close to his chest, every memory surged back, relentless.

It hadn’t been natural.It had been deliberate. Planned. Calculated. Almost... Almost like a murder?

His jaw tightened as a fire of determination rose within him.

"They knew it! Damn it! And yet, they kept it from me."

He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “I won’t let your sacrifice go in vain, Nana.”

Even after all these years, the burning promise remained the same. He would find the person responsible. He would hunt them down. And his family—his bloodline—would ensure they paid for every silent betrayal.

He thought to himself. His voice was low, but unwavering:

“They’ll suffer… Every single day. Their guilt will follow them. Their next generations will remember my name, trembling in fear.”

Aniruddh slid the photograph into the inner pocket of his jacket, his fingers lingering over it for a heartbeat longer.

Before leaving the study, he murmured one final line, sharp as a blade cutting through the stillness, “I’ll take them down.

The whole world will remember…

What happens when someone tries to destroy us.”

But deep inside, his heart throbbed with a sting of doubt.

Why hadn’t anyone tried to uncover the truth? Why had the family chosen silence, burying the real culprit as if they were protecting a sacred lie?

Was it cowardice… or complicity?

'But what if the one responsible… is the person he is supposed to protect? The one he vowed to protect? Will then he be able to really keep his promise?'

He switched off the study light and stepped into the darkness,

leaving the storm outside to rage in solitude.

But the question lingered, unanswered. Will justice truly be served? Or will he become the very monster he swore to destroy?

He adjusted his jacket,

and with a last glance at the study, he turned away. His footsteps echoed in the empty room, each step measured, controlled.

Outside, the night stretched on, merciless and unyielding. The mansion seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting.

Some truths…

aren’t meant to stay buried.

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In the book I used 'Nanu' for his grandmother and 'Nana' for his grandfather. I don't know why it just felt like.

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