Vishwa quietly slipped into his room, an air of urgency hanging over him. He pulled out a long pillow, arranged it to mimic his sleeping form, and draped a blanket over it, creating a decoy that would hopefully keep prying eyes away. With the mansion’s hustle and bustle echoing in the distance, he took a deep breath, cautiously exiting through the back door, ensuring no one noticed his departure.

Standing on the edge of a cliff, he looked down at the village sprawling beneath him and then up at the majestic mountain looming above. Memories flooded back of his Nanny's words: "The King’s Castle rests at the mountain’s peak, and it is a forbidden area. No one enters without permission." His heart raced at the thought of the secret passage he had discovered while playing. ‘Could this be the way to my brother's mansion?’ he wondered, invigorated by the prospect. Determined, Vishwa began making his way toward the dense, lush trees lining the foot of the mountain.

After some climbing and moments of parkour-like agility, he reached a curious arrangement of large stones that concealed the entrance to the hidden passage. Gripping his magic lamp tightly, he squeezed through the stones and entered the darkened tunnel. As he flicked the lamp on, its glow illuminated the hanging roots above, which dangled ominously from the ceiling and were propped up by sturdy wooden planks. This light provided a sense of comfort and clarity as he navigated the quiet passageway, with only the echo of his footsteps breaking the stillness. Thoughts swirled in his mind. ‘Father said I can't meet them, so I won’t. But I just have to catch a glimpse of who my siblings are?’

Vishwa pressed on, ascending a seemingly endless flight of steps until he finally encountered a divider that presented him with a choice: left or right? A wave of uncertainty washed over him as he pondered his options. After a moment's hesitation, he steeled himself and opted to go to the right. A few hundred meters later, he found himself standing before an imposing door. Anxiety surged within him. ‘What if I get caught? Should I turn back now?’ He gently pushed the door, but it creaked loudly in protest, making his heart race and his hands tremble. ‘No, I can’t do this. I’ll definitely get caught.’

Taking a moment to calm himself, he peeked through the newly created space from the door. To his surprise, he found himself staring out across a graveyard. Confused, he pushed the stone door open fully and stepped outside into the chill of the early morning. “The sun isn’t even up yet,” he murmured to himself, realising he had taken a wrong turn. ‘I should have gone the other way from the divider. I wanted to see my brother Ravindra.’ With curiosity guiding him, Vishwa wandered through the graveyard, his eyes focused on the distant outline of the King’s Castle.

As he approached it, he stealthily crept toward a window, using a tree for cover. He peered inside, eyes wide with wonder. ‘There’s so much stuff in there! It’s beautifully decorated, unlike my mansion made of cold rocks.’ His gaze was drawn to the hustle in the kitchen, where a large cake was being prepared. ‘Who is this cake for?’ he thought, disheartened. ‘They celebrate my birthday here every year without even noticing me.’ A twinge of bitterness tugged at him, but he quickly dismissed it. ‘They must have their reasons; I shouldn’t pry.’

Continuing his exploration, Vishwa strolled through a gorgeous flower garden, where he spotted a woman cradling a child in her arms. ‘That must be the second Queen, and the little one must be my sister, Kriti Maurya.’ A smile tugged at his lips as he contemplated their connection. He walked back the way he came to go back, but he suddenly froze. His parents had arrived and were seated at a grand dining table, eyes alight with joy as the chefs presented a towering one-foot cake. ‘I should watch them for a moment; I won’t be able to see them for the next two years.’

Just then, a Fourteen -year-old boy burst into the room, running straight to the Queen, wrapping his arms around her and then sitting beside King Mahendra. ‘Is he my brother, Ravindra? What is he doing here instead of in his mansion?’ A storm of emotions washed over Vishwaas he stood hidden behind the tree, watching the family celebration unfold. ‘Why do they love him so much? We’re the same age, share the same skin colour and blue eyes. Sure, my hair is silver, while his is black, but aren’t we both their children? Is it because I haven’t awakened yet? What can I do to get their attention?’

Tears stung Vishva’s eyes as he turned back to the dark passage, feeling defeated. He reached the divider. ‘What’s the point of exploring further?’ he thought, disheartened. He resigned himself to the thought of heading back home, but a nagging feeling stopped him in his tracks. ‘It can’t be as bad as the King’s Castle; what could go wrong?’ With renewed determination, he decided to explore the left path. However, just a few meters in, his foot slipped. He tumbled down the passageway, rolling uncontrollably until he landed at the village below, crashing into a tree that brought him to a sudden, jarring halt.

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“Ahh! This was definitely not the right way,” he screamed in agony, pain radiating through his body. He lay on the ground, flat and defeated, bruises and scratches covering his skin, his clothes stained with blood. The sobs overtook him as he cried out, feeling utterly crushed by the weight of his disappointment and hurt.

Near the quiet village, a Pandit was taking a well-deserved rest after spending the day treating various ailments of the villagers. His usual serene atmosphere was interrupted by the piercing cry of a child. Instinctively drawn to the sound, he followed it, his curiosity piqued. As he approached the bank of the river, he was taken aback by the sight before him. There, by the water's edge, was a boy with striking silver hair, a sight so unusual that it sent a jolt of surprise through him. The Pandit couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances leading to such an extraordinary development. 'How could a silver-haired child have survived the tragedy that occurred Fourteen years ago?' he mused, racking his brain for an explanation.

After contemplating for a brief moment, he looked closely at the dismal state of the boy, who seemed bloodied and frightened. The Pandit thought perhaps Vishwa was simply a commoner from the village who had somehow been overlooked during the catastrophe. With a casual air, he remarked, “If crying truly solved our problems, this would undoubtedly be a peaceful place devoid of conflicts.”

At the sound of the Pandit's voice, Vishwa was startled. Struggling to adjust his blurry vision beneath the bright morning sun, he finally discerned the figure before him. The man appeared to be around fifty years old, with long white hair cascading down to his shoulders and a beard that mirrored the colour of his locks. Vishwa’s sobs intensified as he pleaded, “Please help me. I don’t want to die yet.” His voice broke further with each sob, underscoring his desperation.

The Pandit, sensing the urgency of the situation, summoned his magical abilities. With a wave of his hand, a glowing white mist emerged, swirling elegantly from his fingertips to envelop Vishwa’s frail form. Moments later, as if by miracle, the boy’s scratches and broken bones began to mend. When Vishwa finally opened his eyes, he was taken aback by the sensation of his body being whole again. He touched himself in disbelief, exclaiming, “So this is the power of magic!”

The Pandit was intrigued by Vishwa’s reaction. “Oh! Your tone doesn’t seem like that of a commoner. Who are you?”

Snapped from his reverie, Vishwa composed himself and replied, “I’m sorry for ignoring you. Thank you for saving my life just now. I’m…” He hesitated, recalling the instruction to avoid using his royal title outside. “I’m Vishwa. I work over there.” He pointed towards the mountain in the distance.

Following his gesture, the Pandit’s gaze landed on a grand mansion nestled in the centre of the mountain, a sight that painted a compelling picture. “How did you manage to climb out from that tall stone boundary surrounding the Royal Mountain?” he asked, puzzled by the circumstances.

‘Why is he asking so many questions? I’d rather keep my route a secret,’ Vishwa thought. To divert the conversation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out five shiny gold coins. “Sir, please accept my gratitude for saving my life.”

Taking a moment to scrutinise the coins, the Pandit replied, “You know, with this amount, a family of five could live quite well for a month. Just think about how much effort you must put in to earn this.” He then offered to return the coins, saying, “Here, take this back.”

“You only need one?” Vishwa asked, confused by the generosity.

The Pandit smiled warmly and explained, “I am a devotee of God Narayan. Some know me simply as the Pandit, while others refer to me as a White Soul user. Our purpose as devotees is to serve people through our wisdom and knowledge, aiding those in need like you. I don't require much for myself; if you wish, you can offer the rest to the villagers.”

“I always help them each month, so you needn’t worry, but take these coins back and today you give them yourself.” Vishwa replied proudly, feeling a sense of responsibility and handed the coins back.

The Pandit nodded in approval, stating, “Ah, so the kids were talking about you earlier. It seems that through me, God also had a hand in saving you.”

Vishwa bowed his head slightly in respect at the Pandit’s acknowledgement. The Pandit, however, was left with a lingering thought, ‘He is a respectful kid, but…?’ Intrigued, he asked, “How old are you, kid?”

“I’m Fourteen today.” The Pandit felt a spark of curiosity; ‘Fourteen, is this just a coincidence?’

“Kid, just remember this one word from this old man,” the Pandit said, pausing to ensure he had Vishwa’s full attention. “Persistence is the key, and never lose hope, understand?”

Vishwa grinned, “Haha, now you sound just like my Nann… I mean, the Prince’s Nanny. She always says the same thing.”

“Is that right? Then make sure to heed her words as you are considered a youth from Fourteen and gather as much knowledge as you can.” With that, the Pandit turned to leave, his mind racing with thoughts. ‘Could he be the last king’s son? What sort of prince lives in a stone mansion or is he just hiding? Then why is he out carefree? I must look deeper into this. So many silver-haired children were lost Fourteen years ago because of me, and the weight of that regret still lingers.’

As the Pandit walked away, Vishwa contemplated his impending journey to the Astra Gurukul. ‘He is spot on; I have one month to make the most of my time and fill in my gaps in knowledge and eventually get their acknowledgement.’ He turned toward the boundary, swiftly climbed a nearby tree, and jumped inside the familiar confines. ‘Next time, I’ll safely use that slider in the secret passage. It’s much easier and quicker than scrambling down the mountain through the trees. But when will I have the chance?'