"Anand."
Someone was calling him.
"Anand, wake up."
He groaned.
"Just a little longer..."
A hand shook his shoulder.
"Anand."
The voice sounded familiar.
Far too familiar.
He forced his eyes open.
The first thing he saw was a wooden ceiling.
The second was Narada leaning over him, regarding him with a mixture of amusement and mild concern.
"Ah. There you are."
Anand blinked several times.
For a few moments, he could do nothing but stare at the sage.
Then he sat up abruptly.
"The man!"
Narada raised an eyebrow.
"The man?"
"The man in the white place! The one who—"
He stopped.
His head throbbed.
A sharp pulse of pain passed through his temples, forcing him to wince and press a hand against his forehead.
"Ouch."
Narada straightened slightly.
"Are you unwell?"
Anand lowered his hand and looked around.
He was in his assigned room in King Dasharatha's palace. The light coming through the veranda had changed, and the shadows cast by the furnishings had grown longer.
He had fallen asleep on the bed.
Everything looked exactly as it had before.
His bag remained on the table. His notebook was safely inside. His clothes were where he had left them.
Nothing appeared out of place.
And yet he could still remember the dream.
The mountain.
The water.
The endless white expanse.
The man in the plain T-shirt and black trousers.
And the words he had spoken.
I brought you here.
Anand's stomach tightened.
It had felt too real to dismiss easily.
He remembered the pressure that had forced him toward his knees. He remembered the stranger's apology. He remembered the bizarre analogy about an antivirus and a game developer.
Most of all, he remembered the promise of a gift.
A gift he would need to fulfill his purpose.
He pressed his fingers against his temples again.
The throbbing had not entirely subsided.
Was that really a dream?
He tried to recall the man's face in greater detail, but the memory seemed strangely slippery. He could remember the broad outline of his features and the plainness of his clothes, yet the more he concentrated, the harder it became to hold on to the finer details.
The words, however, remained clear.
Disturbingly clear.
"Anand?"
He looked up.
Narada was watching him.
"You seem rather troubled."
Anand hesitated.
What was he supposed to say?
Oh, nothing much. I just had a dream in which a mysterious man claiming to be the developer of the world told me that I'm an antivirus sent to eliminate a virus infecting your reality.
That sounded like an excellent way to convince Narada that he had lost his mind.
"Just a strange dream," he said at last.
Narada regarded him for a moment.
"Indeed?"
Anand nodded.
"Yeah. A very strange one."
The sage smiled faintly, though Anand could not tell whether he believed the explanation.
"Well, whatever you were dreaming about, I suggest you leave it for later. We have been summoned to dinner."
Anand stared at him.
"Dinner?"
"Yes. His Majesty is expecting us."
For a moment, Anand had entirely forgotten about the royal invitation.
Then the reality of his circumstances returned.
He was a guest in the palace of Ayodhya.
He was expected to dine with King Dasharatha.
And he had just experienced the strangest dream of his life.
"Right," he muttered. "Dinner."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
The movement sent another pulse of pain through his head.
He winced.
Narada noticed immediately.
"Your head still hurts?"
"A little."
"Perhaps you should drink some water before we leave."
Anand nodded absently.
His attention remained fixed on the memory of the stranger.
Was it really just a dream?
He had dreamed before, of course. Everyone did. But he could not remember ever experiencing one with such startling clarity, especially after spending several days in this unfamiliar world without recalling a single dream.
And the timing was suspicious.
He had fallen asleep after thinking about his arrival, his new circumstances, and the extraordinary people he had met.
Then he had encountered someone who claimed to have caused it all.
Someone who knew exactly how he had arrived.
Someone who had promised him a gift.
Anand swallowed.
What did he mean by fulfilling my purpose?
He looked toward his bag.
For a moment, he wondered whether something inside it had changed while he slept.
His notebook.
His phone.
His flashlight.
Everything he had brought from his old world was still there.
But perhaps the gift had nothing to do with those things.
Perhaps it was something he had not received yet.
Or perhaps—
"Anand."
He turned.
Narada stood near the doorway, waiting patiently.
"Are you coming?"
Anand drew a breath and forced himself to set the questions aside.
There was no point trying to solve a mystery when he had no answers to work with.
Besides, he had a dinner with the king to attend.
That was already more than enough to occupy his attention.
"Yes," he replied, adjusting his clothes. "I'm coming."
He took one last look around the room before following Narada toward the door.
The headache still lingered, and the memory of the dream remained unsettlingly vivid.
But as he stepped into the corridor, Anand made a silent decision.
He would not forget what had happened.
Not the man.
Not the strange explanation.
And certainly not the promise of a gift.
Whatever the encounter meant, he intended to find out.
Because one thing was becoming increasingly clear.
His arrival in this world had never been an accident.
And somewhere beyond the limits of his understanding, someone was waiting to see what he would do next.