Chapter 1: The Demon Before the Throne
The stink hit Rohan first. Not the familiar tang of the Ganges, thick with sewage and spice, but something acrid, sharp. Like burning sand and… incense? He blinked, grit stinging his eyes. One moment he’d been knee-deep in the river, dodging floating garbage and hawking knock-off watches to tourists. The next, a shimmering heat haze had swallowed him whole.
Now? Sand. Everywhere. Coarse, yellow sand ground against his skin. He pushed himself up, wincing. His head throbbed like a tabla drum gone wild. Gone was the familiar chaos of Mumbai. Instead, towering walls of sun-baked stone surrounded him. Men in… skirts? …were pointing spears at his face.
“Rakshasa!” one of them bellowed, the word foreign but the tone unmistakable: hostile. Demon? Seriously? Rohan raised his hands, palms open. “Hey, chill! I don’t speak… whatever language that is!”
More men surged forward, grabbing him. Rough hands yanked him to his feet, ignoring his protests. The spears pricked his back, urging him forward. He stumbled, the unfamiliar sandals they’d shoved on his feet flapping against the stone. Where the hell was he? And how had he gotten here?
The procession moved through a maze of corridors, the air growing hotter, thicker. The smell of incense intensified, mixing with the musky scent of sweat and something else… something ancient. He caught glimpses of elaborate carvings on the walls, gods and pharaohs frozen in stone. This wasn’t some tourist trap. This was… real. And really, really bad.
Finally, they reached a vast courtyard, blindingly bright. A massive throne dominated one end, carved from what looked like solid gold. And on that throne sat… a woman. Not just any woman. This one was… unreal. Dark hair cascaded around her shoulders, framing a face that could launch a thousand ships, maybe more. Her eyes, the color of the Nile at twilight, were fixed on him, assessing, calculating. She wore a dress of shimmering linen, adorned with jewels that glittered like captured stars. Power radiated from her, palpable and terrifying.
“So, this is the creature that emerged from the sands,” she said, her voice cool and melodic, yet laced with an undercurrent of steel. The language… he understood it. Sort of. It was like a dream where you understood everything even if it didn’t make sense.
“I’m no creature,” Rohan protested, straining against the guards’ grip. “My name is Rohan. And I’m pretty sure I’m lost.”
Lyra Nefertari, Pharaoh of the Two Lands, tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “Lost, are you? Perhaps you are merely… misplaced. Tell me, demon, from what desolate realm do you hail?”
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Demon? Desolate realm? This woman was crazy. Beautiful, powerful, crazy. He decided to try a different approach. “Look, Queen… whatever your name is. I’m just a guy from Mumbai. I was taking a dip in the Ganges, and… well, here I am. Some kind of freaky portal thing, I guess.”
A flicker of something crossed her face, a spark of… interest? Amusement? It was gone before he could be sure. “A portal, you say? From a… future yet to come?”
“Future? Lady, I think I went backwards in time!” Rohan exclaimed, exasperated. “Look, I can prove it. I have… things. Stuff you’ve never seen before.” He patted his pockets, cursing silently. His phone. Gone. Probably at the bottom of the Ganges.
Lyra raised a hand, silencing him. “Silence. I tire of your babbling. Seize him. He will be taken to the dungeons. We shall see what secrets this… Rohan… holds.”
The guards dragged him away, his protests echoing in the vast courtyard. Dungeons? This was not how he’d planned his Tuesday. As he was shoved down a dark, damp corridor, he risked a glance back at the queen. She was still watching him, her expression unreadable. This was a mistake. She was playing with something she didn't understand. And Rohan knew, with chilling certainty, that he was about to become her favorite new toy.