Chapter 2:- only promise can't do anything
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✦ [Narration — A Year Later]
A year had passed...
Since the stars fell silent above his burning home.
Since his world — once filled with warmth — was drowned in fire and screams.
Since the night monsters laughed… as innocence died.
He was only five.
And yet—he survived.
But the price of survival…
Was a curse stitched into his soul.
The laughter still echoed—
Gnawing at the corners of his sleep.
The hollow gaze of his parents—
Still stared from the shadows of every nightmare.
Time moved forward...
Cruel. Unforgiving.
As if the universe had already forgotten him.
But he hadn’t forgotten.
Because some scars…
Aren’t written on flesh.
They’re carved into the spirit.
And his?
Still bled.
“The stars didn’t fall… they turned away.”
“And God… stayed silent.”
---
✦ Scene: A Hollow Shell
[Sound: Soft rustling wind… distant crows… the creak of old wooden beams.]
Within the cold corridors of the Singhania Estate… silence reigned.
Not peace.
Not serenity.
Just... silence.
Like a house holding its breath for the ghost that still lived inside it.
And in the heart of that silence —
A boy sat.
Small.
Still.
Shattered.
Once, he had danced in fields kissed by sunbeams,
Chasing butterflies with laughter that rivaled the wind.
Now... even silence seemed to reject him.
Like the world no longer knew how to hold a boy who had forgotten how to smile.
He hadn't spoken much since the coma.
Two months since he awoke, breathing — barely human.
But one question echoed louder than any voice.
> “Why…?”
“Why the hell… was I the one left breathing?”
It wasn’t just a question.
It was a knife — twisted again and again.
A noose — invisible, yet suffocating.
> “I was too small…”
“Too weak…”
“I… couldn’t save them…”
His voice cracked as he whispered into the void —
A child mourning with the weight of a soldier.
His tiny fists curled, nails digging into skin,
Until warm blood trickled from the creases of his palms.
Yet even that pain…
Felt meaningless now.
No punishment could replace what was lost.
No tear could wash away the crimson stains in his memory.
And still...
With slow, fragile resolve —
He rose.
Barefoot.
Quiet.
Unseen.
His steps echoed against marble floors, too large for a soul so small.
A broom gripped in his hand — not as a chore…
But as if trying to sweep away the weight of his guilt.
Every movement deliberate.
Every breath — a burden.
He wasn't trying to clean the floor.
He was trying to atone.
Even if no one asked him to.
---
Flashback:
[Sound fades in: crackling wind, faint ash drifting like snowflakes, distant echo of screams distorted by memory.]
They found him.
Half-buried in ash.
Surrounded by corpses — the silence of death clinging to the air like smoke.
The guards were patrolling the outskirts — searching for survivors in a land painted with sorrow —
when they stumbled upon a child’s charred silhouette.
Small.
Limp.
Motionless.
For a moment, they thought he was gone.
Another name added to the endless scroll of the dead.
But then —
A twitch.
The faintest movement.
A whisper of life in the ruins.
One of the guards dropped to his knees, heart pounding.
Fingers shaking as he pressed against the boy’s neck.
A heartbeat.
Weak… but there.
> "He’s alive!"
In panic, they wrapped him in a torn cloak, yelling for the medics, sprinting through the ashen landscape.
To save what little remained.
But what they didn’t know—
What no one could know…
Was what the boy had seen.
What he had survived.
> The fire…
The screams…
The laughter—
Of demons wearing human faces.
He didn’t just witness it.
He remembered everything.
__________
✦ Flashback Scene — “The Last Promise Between Brothers”
[Soundscape: Slow, solemn wind. Echoes of metal gates opening. The soft rustle of leaves as dusk settles.]
After the battlefield of fire and ash…
After the doctors had cleaned his wounds and fought to keep his flickering life from vanishing—
They brought him here.
To the majestic estate of Lord Roy Singhania.
A man carved from steel and silk.
A name that echoed in noble halls.
A master swordsman whose blade had once danced beside kings.
But above all—
A brother.
Not by blood…
But by bond.
Roy Singhania — a man of power, wealth, and prestige —
Was once just a boy in Class 5, sitting beside a lanky, wild-hearted dreamer named Vyom Raheja.
From classroom desks to battlefields soaked in blood, their story had never broken.
> “Two fools against the world,” Vyom used to say.
“And somehow… we made it.”
But when the news arrived—
Of Vyom’s death.
Of his wife’s brutal end.
Of the massacre that spared only a child…
Roy didn’t flinch.
He stood on the marble balcony of his estate, eyes locked on the horizon.
The sky was burning that evening — red like war.
And in that moment, he made a decision.
> “This boy... is mine now.”
“From this day... he bears my name.”
A noble vow.
Spoken with iron in his voice and grief in his heart.
He could’ve turned away.
Could’ve claimed distance or safety.
But he didn’t.
Because he remembered.
> Vyom had saved him countless times.
Pulled him from ambushes.
Shared coin when he was broke.
Shielded him from politics, from betrayal, from death itself.
Roy clenched his fist as he stood beside Shekhar’s bed — the child still trapped in a coma, unmoving.
> “You gave me everything, Vyom… your wisdom, your strength, your loyalty.”
“You lifted me from failure and helped me rise to where I stand today.”
“If I have power… it's because you stood beside me when no one else did.”
“So now… let me repay you.”
He lowered himself to one knee, voice barely a whisper.
> “I’ll take your child as my own.”
“He will grow in my home, wield my name, carry your fire.”
“Not out of pity… but out of honor.”
He reached forward and gently adjusted the blanket over Shekhar’s chest.
> “Sleep for now, Shekhar… but know this—”
“You are not alone.”
“And when you wake… the world will know the name Singhania.”
Outside, dusk fell heavy.
Inside, the air stood still — as if time itself held its breath.
The boy did not stir.
Still lost in a coma.
Still haunted by the flames of memory.
But something within him—
Something ancient… something waiting—
Began to stir.
__________
✦ Scene: A Golden Cage
[Narration – Present Time]
Two months…
It had been two months since Shekhar awoke in this estate
The estate of Lord Roy Singhania — grand, opulent, soaked in false warmth.
A home with golden chandeliers… but shadows that whispered venom.
And in that vast courtyard, swept clean every morning under the rising sun, stood a boy with hollow eyes and a broom in his calloused hands.
He wasn’t a guest here.
He wasn’t family.
He was… tolerated everything behind Roy
Only because Roy Singhania had brought him here — a promise to an old friend.
But only promise can't do anything if whole family is against you and their underlying workers.
(Shekhar supporter only Lord Roy and few staff)
---
[Sound: Gentle footsteps over marble. Silk rustling in the breeze.]
Enter Lady Meera — draped in elegance, wrapped in poison.
She walked like a queen… and looked at Shekhar like he was dirt on her carpet.
Her delicate fan fluttered before her lips, veiling her disdain.
> Lady Meera (soft, biting whisper):
“He doesn’t belong here…”
“A filthy orphan… tainting our bloodline.”
Her eyes were like daggers dipped in honey — sweet for the world, deadly within these walls.
---
[Sound: Footsteps shift — heavier, louder.]
And then came Aryan — her son.
Golden chains around his neck.
Golden arrogance in his stride.
Eyes that gleamed not with ambition… but disgust.
> Aryan (sneering):
“You think you’re one of us?”
“You’re just a stray. A rat.”
“Know. Your. Place.”
---
[Narration – Inner Voice: Shekhar]
Every word scraped deeper than the last.
Every glare reminded me I was trespassing in someone else’s legacy.
I never asked to be here… but here I am, bleeding silently in a house built on silence.
---
Whispers became sneers.
Sneers twisted into shoves.
Shoves bruised his ribs… his pride… his soul.
And bruises?
They faded.
But the scars—those never did.
---
Secne
[Sound: The sharp clack of heels on marble. A rustling wind brushing against the garden leaves.]
Lady Meera’s voice cut through the air like a blade wrapped in silk.
> Lady Meera (cold, commanding):
“Since you’re so free, you’ll wash all the clothes in the east wing today. Then mop the marble halls—every inch, not a corner untouched. The garden… the one you ruined with your presence—clean it. Trim it. Make it worthy of our name.”
(She paused. Her voice dropped lower, venomous.)
“And once that’s done, go into the forest. Chop wood. Enough to last a week.”
(Her fan snapped shut, like a gavel sealing a sentence.)
“And listen closely—do not go near Lord Roy.”
“Don’t even think about whispering your pity-tales to him… or anyone else.”
(Her hand brushed against the rod at her waist.)
“You remember this, don’t you? The last time you tried to act smart?”
[Sound: The ominous creak of the wooden rod shifting at her side. A gust of wind. Silence.]
Shekhar didn’t flinch.
Didn’t protest.
Didn’t even look up.
He bowed his head slowly — like a soldier accepting his fate in enemy territory.
> Shekhar (emotionless, quiet):
“Yes… Lady Meera.”
[Narration – Inner Voice: Shekhar]
I don’t feel the sting anymore.
Not the rod.
Not her words.
Not even my own breath.
Pain is predictable here.
Silence… is safer.
---
[Sound: Broom sweeping. Water sloshing in buckets. Distant birdsong lost in marble walls.]
And with that, he turned… and went back to the only thing he was allowed:
Work.
Washing linens stained with perfume and blood.
Sweeping floors cleaner than his future.
Fetching wood, while his back ached like a beast of burden.
He resumed right where he had stopped — as if life itself had pressed pause and now hit play again.
In a mansion made of gold…
In a life shackled in silence…
He remained unseen.
Unheard.
Unwanted.
But deep within, under that hollow stare—
A fire waited.
__________
✦ Scene: A Quiet Room
[Narration – Soft wind outside. Distant sound of bells. Evening settling over the estate.]
Shekhar… was finally done.
The mansion gleamed.
The garden was trimmed.
Wood stacked beside the kitchen, sweat still clinging to his brow.
And none of it… would’ve been possible alone.
---
[Sound: Gentle footsteps, murmurs in the background.]
Siya, the head maid — and two others — had quietly helped him finish.
Not because they were ordered to.
But because they couldn’t bear to watch anymore.
---
[Narration – Inner Voice: Siya]
> "He was in a coma… for a whole year." "And now that he’s awake, they treat him like a servant — no, worse than that." "He’s just a boy… and yet he bears it all."
Their hearts ached every time he flinched from a raised voice.
Every time he hid his bruised wrists beneath long sleeves.
Every time he whispered "I'm fine." — even when he clearly wasn’t.
But in Shekhar’s mind…
> [Inner Monologue – Shekhar]
"Siya and the others… they’ve been doing this for ten years — every chore, every burden, every slap of duty."
"And still, they smile. Still, they help… without asking for anything back."
"I admire them. Truly."
"They remind me not to break. Not to become what they want me to be — weak, bitter, defeated."
---
[Scene Transition – Evening. Shekhar’s Room.]
Shekhar lay on his bed — bare, his body sprawled like he’d collapsed after a war.
His mind wandered…
Thinking of the firewood. The silence. The aching between his shoulders.
That’s when—
[Sound: Door creaks open suddenly.]
> Siya (startled): “Wha—?!”
She froze in the doorway.
Shekhar’s eyes widened like he’d seen a ghost.
> Shekhar (panicked):
“S-Siya?! What are you doing?! At least knock before entering someone’s room!”
> Siya (blinking, then teasing softly):
“Y-Yes… Young Master~”
> Shekhar (frowning, flustered):
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a real son of this family. Just be casual with me.”
> Siya (smiling gently):
“Okay, okay… but from the looks of it…”
(She glanced down and smirked.)
“You're… growing up pretty well as a man.”
> Shekhar (blushing fiercely):
“H-Hey! Don’t look there! That’s embarrassing!!”
---
[Sound: Plate placed on the bedside table. Warm steam rises.]
Siya placed a tray of warm food in front of him.
Chapati. Lentils. Pickles. A little jaggery.
Simple… but made with care.
> Siya (softly):
“Here. You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
“You’ll make me worry if you keep skipping meals.”
He hesitated at first.
But hunger — and her sincerity — were stronger than shame.
He reached for the plate.
Only for the blanket to slip… again.
> Shekhar (groaning):
“Gaaah—Siya, please! Can you… help me with my pants…? Pretty please?”
---
[Sound: Clothes rustling. The quiet sound of them both laughing awkwardly.]
As Siya helped him pull up his pants, he turned his face — blushing, annoyed, but… safe like a mother teasing a stubborn child, the air shifted — not heavy, but caring.
For a fleeting second, the mansion didn't feel like a cage
But then…
> Siya (quiet, serious):
“Why don’t you just tell Lord Roy everything?”
“Why endure all this? The punishment, the cruelty… this hell?”
“He promised to protect you. And you know… he would. If you just asked."
---
[Narration – Close-Up: Shekhar’s face. A rare smile forms.]
He wore his pants… and that familiar, hollow look began to fade.
A small, real smile tugged at his lips.
The first… since morning.
> Shekhar (quiet but resolute):
“I know.”
“But… if I ask for help now, I’ll always be the boy who needed saving.”
“If I want to be strong — truly strong — I have to conquer this hell my way.”
“Every bruise… every insult… every broken piece…”
“I’ll forge it all into armor.”
> (He turned away slightly… voice lowering to a whisper.)
“And also… for that reason.”
---
[System Notification – Glitch sound effect. Screen flicker effect.]
> 🔔 [New Sub-Mission Arrived]
To be continued
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