Chapter 1: The Last Lesson

  The study was quiet. Too quiet. The only sound that could be heard was the faint rustle of papers as Siddharth Chauhan flipped through his latest set of notes, his eyes flickering over each word, each diagram, absorbing every bit of knowledge as though it were his last.

  And it was. His body was a prison, his fate sealed.

  The bone marrow cancer—Stage 4, terminal—had already ravaged his body to the point where his veins felt like glass, brittle and fragile, his skin pale and almost translucent. Yet his mind, sharp as ever, had only grown sharper.

  It was the only part of him that could still escape.

  Siddharth’s hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses, his left hand moving to a set of notes filled with complex calculations for a new aircraft design. Despite his condition, despite the weakness in his limbs, his mind had never been more alive. He could remember everything—everything. Every lesson, every language, every equation. There was nothing his mind couldn’t conquer.

  The world had been his to learn, and he had taken it all in.

  He had mastered medicine, understanding every ailment, every treatment, but it hadn’t been enough to save him.

  He had conquered engineering, designing machines, vehicles, even weapons, but none of it could extend his life.

  He had studied business, economics, chemistry, and languages—**dozens of them—**every skill to fill the time he had left. A race against death. He couldn’t afford to waste a single minute.

  But now, at the age of 37, Siddharth had accepted something even more tragic than death itself. A man so vast in knowledge, yet crippled by a fragile body that could not carry him further.

  His eyes, once full of quiet hope, now held a stark, painful truth: he was running out of time.

  It wasn’t just cancer. It wasn’t just his illness that would kill him.

  He knew something worse was coming. Something darker. But he couldn’t pinpoint what.

  And then, it happened. He felt it—a sudden, overwhelming sense of dizziness, as if the floor beneath him was moving. His vision blurred. His thoughts slowed. His heart—a heart he had so carefully monitored, studied, perfected—skipped a beat.

  Then another.

  It felt like time itself had collapsed, twisting in on itself, and for a moment, all he could think of was—this is it. This is how it ends.

  His body slumped forward, the chair creaking under his weight as his knees buckled.

  The world blurred even further. He was falling.

  “Father,” he thought, his lips trembling as he tried to call out, but the words wouldn’t come. His vision darkened at the edges.

  But there was something else—a presence in the room. His brother.

  Veer.

  The name echoed in his head.

  Veer Chauhan, his younger brother, always with a charming smile, always the one people admired for his strength, his beauty, his presence.

  Siddharth had always known that there was something darker beneath that smile, something that gnawed at him.

  Veer’s footsteps echoed in the room, his figure now a looming shadow. He bent down, placing a hand on Siddharth’s shoulder—whether in sympathy or triumph, Siddharth couldn’t tell.

  “You were always too perfect,” Veer’s voice was low, tinged with bitterness, a dangerous edge to it. "You always had it all… they all looked at you like you were a god."

  Siddharth blinked. His throat felt like it was filled with gravel.

  “Why?” he managed to croak, his voice barely audible. He had suspected it—he had known, deep down, that something had been wrong. That his body’s rapid decline hadn’t been caused just by cancer.

  Veer’s eyes flickered with a twisted smile. “I never stood a chance… with you around, did I?”

  A sick, hollow laughter escaped Veer’s lips as he held something up, glinting in the dim light. A small vial.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Siddharth’s blood ran cold as his thoughts raced. Poison.

  His vision grew darker. The pain in his chest intensified.

  The betrayal wasn’t just in the poison. It was in the fact that, in his final moments, the person he had always trusted—the person he had loved despite everything—had taken it all from him. Veer, his brother, his family, had destroyed him.

  “Don’t worry, Siddharth,” Veer’s voice cut through the fog in his mind, a cruel twist to it. “You won’t be here long enough to make them see. You won’t be here long enough to take it all away from me.”

  Siddharth wanted to scream, to lash out, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His mind, still sharp, still fully aware of his fate, had already begun to surrender.

  As his world faded, Siddharth’s final thought was a strange one, a fleeting realization:

  "The mind is infinite... but a body?" He chuckled weakly, even in death’s grip. "A body is just the vessel."

  His body slumped fully, and then, there was nothing.

  The darkness consumed him.

  His consciousness was slipping—like fingers reaching out for something solid, but the ground beneath him kept shifting, turning to dust.

  He couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t stay awake. The edges of his thoughts were dissolving.

  "The mind is infinite…"

  His final thoughts from his first life echoed in his fading mind, but they too seemed to unravel.

  And then, in the pitch-black void, there was… something. Something strange.

  He opened his eyes, though he was certain he had died.

  The world was no longer the same.

  He wasn’t in the hospital room anymore. He wasn’t in his study.

  He was somewhere different.

  A cave—no, it didn’t feel like a cave. It felt ancient, as though the walls had been etched by time itself.

  The walls were covered in intricate drawings, symbols, and words—words he couldn’t understand.

  Strange. Old. Unfamiliar.

  He reached out, his fingers brushing against the markings. The moment he touched the wall, the symbols shifted, as if reacting to his touch, pulsating softly with a light from within.

  And then, light. It wasn’t harsh or blinding, but rather warm—a soft, golden glow that filled the space, illuminating the cavernous room.

  The walls seemed to breathe with the energy of the light, almost alive.

  Then came a voice.

  Low. Deep. Echoing as if coming from the very core of the earth itself.

  “I’ll be watching you.”

  The words reverberated in his skull, a chilling whisper that sent a shiver down his spine. It was not a threat. Not a promise. It was simply a fact. And as the voice faded, Siddharth’s mind began to slip again.

  This time, it was not darkness that claimed him. It was an abyss, a place where memories tangled, where time was no longer linear. But this abyss felt different—it was as though something was pulling him, guiding him into a new existence.

  The next moment, Siddharth—no, not Siddharth anymore—found himself in a different place entirely.

  A voice—a man’s voice—rang through the air.

  "My third son has been born."

  The words struck him like lightning.

  His eyes snapped open.

  He was no longer in the ethereal, ancient space.

  No longer in the cavern or the void.

  He was in a room. A grand room. A place that could only exist in the pages of a fantasy novel—a noble mansion, no, a palace.

  The walls were adorned with tapestries of family coats of arms. The air smelled faintly of incense and lavender. Lush, golden light filtered through large windows that overlooked beautiful gardens.

  He blinked again, the world around him coming into sharper focus. His body felt… different. Small. Fragile.

  He looked down. His hands—small hands—pudgy and soft, unmarked by the years of suffering his old body had endured.

  He was a child. A small child—a baby, perhaps? But his mind was still sharp, still filled with memories of his past life.

  "No..." he whispered, his voice trembling in the foreignness of his new form. The words felt strange coming from his own lips, like he wasn’t meant to speak them.

  Before he could make sense of it, a tall man stood over him, bending down with a gentle, yet commanding gaze. The man had the presence of someone born into power—his clothes were rich, his features handsome, but there was something else about him, something intangible, as if his very essence radiated noble blood.

  The man looked at him—a child, helpless, cradled in his arms—and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

  "It’s a boy." The man’s voice was deep, warm, yet carried the authority of someone who ruled. His eyes were intense, like a father who had long awaited the arrival of his child, yet his gaze was laced with a deeper understanding, as though he saw through Siddharth in a way no one ever had.

  The man turned to a servant standing nearby, an older man in fine attire.

  "Announce it."

  The servant bowed low and rushed out of the room.

  My third son has been born!" The words echoed through the grand halls.

  Siddharth’s mind raced. What was happening?

  Where was he? Who was he now?

  The man—his father?—looked down at him again.

  “You’ll be raised with care. You’ll be trained. The world will be yours, my son.”

  Siddharth wanted to ask—wanted to scream, to demand answers—but his voice caught in his throat. His small body couldn’t speak the way it once could. He felt so vulnerable, so weak, as though he couldn’t even grasp onto the strength of his own mind.

  "What… is happening?" he thought. His memories from his past life swirled in a chaotic storm, but there was no time to make sense of it. Not yet.

  As he lay in the arms of this powerful stranger, he realized—this wasn’t just a dream, nor was it some cruel trick of fate. He had been reborn.

  But into whose body?

  And why?

  And just like that, the last shred of Siddharth’s awareness faded into unconsciousness.

  To Be Continued…

  ? After the Shadows Stir – A Note from ManaMiles ?

  Well, well, well… you’ve survived Chapter 1. Not an easy feat when the protagonist’s past life includes cancer, poison, and sibling betrayal. Really, you couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to Raven Sureksha, could you? Because what screams "good times" more than being poisoned by your brother while you’re already dying? Classic.

  Revenge is so last season. Raven’s got bigger plans. You’ll see what happens when a guy who was already good at plotting gets another shot at life, with more mana, more power, and a whole new set of problems.

  – ManaMiles

  (Because who wouldn’t want to read about the second life of a guy who can’t stay dead?)