Chapter 1: The Orphan and the Locket

The rain fell in relentless sheets over Shivdham Orphanage, its rhythmic pounding against the rusted tin roof filling the dimly lit dormitory. The scent of damp wood and old cloth clung to the air, mixing with the faint aroma of burnt oil from the flickering lanterns.

Inside, a group of boys huddled around a small fire, their thin blankets wrapped tightly around their shoulders. Their clothes, donated from the wealthy, were oversized and worn, barely protecting them from the monsoon's chill. Despite their conditions, they laughed—sharing stories, making plans for the future, some dreaming of escaping poverty, others accepting their fates.

But Rishi sat alone in the corner, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. His fingers traced the smooth surface of a golden locket—small yet strangely heavy.

It wasn’t his.

He had found it inside a donation box, buried beneath the worn-out shirts and shoes left behind by the rich. Something about it felt… different. It wasn’t rusted or dull like the other trinkets that occasionally found their way into the orphanage. Instead, it gleamed softly, untouched by time, as if it had been waiting for him.

The patterns engraved on the surface were unlike anything he had seen before—intricate swirls and symbols that seemed to pulse under his touch.

"Why does it feel… warm?"

Rishi frowned. The metal wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It almost felt… alive.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the loose window shutters, sending a chill through the room. He instinctively clenched the locket, pulling it closer to his chest.

He hadn’t told anyone about it.

Orphans like him weren’t allowed to keep anything from the donation boxes. Everything was supposed to be shared, distributed fairly. But something deep inside told him not to let go of it.

It felt like it belonged to him.

A loud crack of thunder shook the building, making some of the younger boys flinch. The fire flickered, casting shadows on the walls. The air suddenly felt heavier, charged with something invisible yet powerful.

Then—a whisper.

"Keep it close."

Rishi’s breath caught in his throat. His head snapped up, eyes darting across the room.

The other boys were still talking, oblivious to what he had just heard.

"Who said that?"

His fingers tightened around the locket. The voice had been distant yet strangely familiar, like a memory from a dream he couldn't recall.

For a moment, the orphanage felt eerily silent. The laughter and chatter of the boys blurred into the background.

Then—

"Rishi!"

The sudden call jolted him back to reality. He turned to see the warden, an old man with weary eyes, standing at the dormitory entrance.

“It’s time,” the warden said, his voice neutral but firm.

Rishi swallowed hard and stood up, tucking the mysterious locket into his pocket.

Tomorrow was his fifteenth birthday.

In Shivdham Orphanage, that meant only one thing—he had to leave.

No celebrations. No farewells. Once a child turned fifteen, they were no longer the orphanage’s responsibility.

Rishi had always known this day would come. Every orphan did. But knowing and experiencing were two different things.

He stepped forward, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. As he reached the doorway, the warden placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Good luck, boy,” the old man murmured.

Rishi gave a small nod, then stepped outside.

The night air was cold and unforgiving, the rain now nothing more than a faint drizzle. The world beyond the orphanage gates stretched endlessly before him—unknown, uncertain, and merciless.

As he walked away, disappearing into the darkened streets, the locket pulsed faintly in his pocket—waiting.

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