"Some births are blessings, others are warnings. But his... was a prophecy wrapped in darkness."

A raging storm loomed over the village, the sky crackling with relentless lightning. Inside an ancient temple, flames of oil lamps flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. A woman lay on the sacred altar, writhing in labor, her screams merging with the rhythmic chants of hooded elders. The air grew thick with incense, yet an unshakable dread clung to the atmosphere.

Then—at exactly 3:33 AM—the child was born. The room fell into absolute silence. No crying, no movement, just an unsettling stillness.

The blind temple priestess stepped forward, her presence commanding. With a trembling hand, she touched the newborn's forehead. Her expression contorted into pure terror. She gasped, her voice barely a whisper—

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"This child... is not alone."

The elders stiffened. A sudden, unnatural wind howled through the temple, extinguishing every flame in an instant. Darkness swallowed the room. A heartbeat later, the baby wailed—a sound so deep, so unsettling, that even the storm outside seemed to falter.

The mother, weak but desperate, reached for him. The father, his face lined with disbelief, scoffed. "Enough with your omens! He is my son, nothing more."

The priestess, unmoving, her blind eyes unblinking, whispered—

"Something ancient stirs within him. It is bound... for now."

Years passed, and whispers of doom faded. But inside Arjun, something dark remained. It watched. It waited. And soon... it would awaken.

If Arjun was born as an ordinary child, why did the air around him feel cursed from the very first breath?