Fifty-eight days remained until the public release of Ramayana: Part I — The Exile.
Yet for Krishna Li Vardhan, the next forty-eight hours were somehow becoming more complicated than the previous several months of production.
On one side waited Ramayana.
A film carrying expectations from across the entire Eastern Federation.
A project watched by governments, scholars, religious representatives, filmmakers, actors, ordinary families and millions of fans.
Tomorrow would be its first major private preview.
Not a trailer.
Not selected footage.
The completed film.
Actors from India, China, Korea, Japan and Pakistan had been invited.
Veteran legends.
Popular stars.
Directors.
Writers.
Critics.
Cultural representatives.
Religious scholars.
Even several international guests.
Tomorrow would be the first time Krishna would sit inside a theatre while people outside his production team watched the complete version of Rama he had created.
And on the other side—
Hollywood had apparently decided that his life was not busy enough.
Robert Downey Jr.
wanted an Indian superhero.
Stan Lee was interested.
Marvel wanted to hear ideas.
Shen Lihua had described that development using one sentence.
“You attract paperwork across continents.”
Krishna had taken it as an insult.
Shen had intended it as one.
The Call With Robert
Krishna sat inside his temporary production office with a cup of tea beside him.
On the wall hung three large visual boards.
One—
Ramayana: Part I — The Exile.
Another— early concepts for Bhishma.
And the third contained nothing but blank white paper.
Robert appeared on the video call.
“Why is there a blank board behind you?”
Krishna looked back.
“For bad ideas.”
Robert laughed.
“So Marvel’s going there?”
“Depends how this conversation goes.”
“Good.
You’re still unbearable.”
“Tony Stark survived you.
I’m sure Marvel will survive me.”
Robert leaned back.
“All right.
Stan wants more than ‘Indian superhero.'”
“As he should.”
“Exactly.”
Robert’s expression became more serious.
“He doesn’t want a character whose entire identity is ethnicity.”
“Good.”
“He doesn’t want a cheap mystical stereotype.”
“Better.”
“And he doesn’t want someone whose powers are so ridiculous that we have to ask why he wasn’t solving every problem before Iron Man existed.”
Krishna raised an eyebrow.
“Robert.”
“Yeah?”
“Have you been reading my mind?”
“No.
I just know Marvel producers.”
Krishna smiled.
“Then we may actually get along.”
Robert gestured toward him.
“Give me the idea.”
Krishna leaned back.
For several seconds, the teasing disappeared.
This was the version of Krishna people often underestimated.
He could joke for hours.
But once an idea interested him— his entire attention shifted.
He looked toward the blank board.
Then said,
“His name is Kabir Morgan.”
Robert stopped.
“Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve already made him related to me?”
“Not you.”
Robert looked offended.
“Then why Morgan?”
Krishna smiled.
“Because you’re narcissistic enough to assume every Morgan belongs to Tony Stark.”
“Fair.”
Krishna stood.
He picked up a marker.
On the blank board, he wrote:
KABIR MORGAN
Then beneath it:
INDIAN-AMERICAN
Robert watched.
Krishna continued.
“American father?”
Robert asked.
“No.”
“Indian father?”
“Indian father.”
“And Morgan?”
“Mother’s family.”
Robert leaned forward.
“Go on.”
“His mother belongs to an old American industrial family.”
“Not Stark-level?”
Krishna shook his head.
“Important enough to matter.”
“Rich?”
“Yes.”
Robert immediately pointed at him.
“Careful.
We already have rich genius guy.”
Krishna laughed.
“Tony isn’t unique because he’s rich.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s unique because he’s Tony.”
Robert considered protesting.
Then allowed it.
“Continue.”
Krishna wrote:
SCIENTIST
HEALER
STRATEGIST
Robert stared.
“Healer?”
“That’s the difference.”
Krishna turned.
“Tony builds weapons and eventually learns to become a protector.”
“Kabir begins with healing.”
“His science is rooted in biology, energy systems, artificial intelligence, regenerative technology.”
Robert’s expression sharpened.
“Not armor?”
“Not primarily.”
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“He understands machines.”
“He can build them.”
“But his instinct is to preserve life.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“And the powers?”
Krishna stopped.
This was the part he had anticipated.
Because the version of Kabir Morgan inside his own imagination could not simply be dropped into the MCU unchanged.
A man carrying the wisdom and powers of Lord Shri Krishna could become too large too quickly.
Too metaphysical.
Too difficult for Marvel’s early universe.
So Krishna adapted.
Not weakening the soul of the character.
Translating it.
He wrote one word on the board.
AUREON
Robert read it aloud.
“That’s the hero name?”
“Eventually.”
“I like it.”
Krishna nodded.
“Kabir does not begin as someone who knows he is carrying something divine.”
Robert became more interested.
“Now we’re talking.”
Making Kabir Morgan Possible
Krishna drew a line.
“Imagine that somewhere in the ancient past, there existed a source of cosmic energy associated with preservation.”
Robert raised an eyebrow.
“Preservation?”
“Not destruction.”
“Not conquest.”
“Preservation.”
Krishna continued.
“Marvel already accepts cosmic forces.”
“Asgard exists.”
“Thor exists.”
“Infinity Stones exist.”
“Alien civilizations exist.”
“So Kabir’s powers don’t need to be explained by saying, ‘A god personally came down and gave him everything.'”
Robert nodded.
“Good.
Because that’s where American producers start sweating.”
Krishna smiled.
“They sweat too easily.”
“True.”
Krishna wrote:
VISHNU-CLASS COSMIC RESONANCE
Robert frowned.
“That sounds like something a scientist would say because he doesn’t understand what he’s looking at.”
“Exactly.”
Robert laughed.
“Okay.
I like it.”
Krishna continued.
“Scientists discover an unusual energy signature.”
“Ancient records describe similar phenomena through mythological language.”
“Modern science gives it another name.”
“Neither explanation is completely wrong.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“So mythology and science coexist.”
“Yes.”
“Kabir eventually becomes bonded to it?”
Krishna nodded.
“But not accidentally through an explosion.”
“Please.”
Robert smiled.
“I’m listening.”
“It should respond to character.”
Robert became quiet.
Krishna explained.
“The energy isn’t merely raw power.”
“It is aligned toward balance.”
“Protection.”
“Order.”
“Preservation.”
“So when Kabir encounters it, it does not simply explode into him.”
“It recognizes compatibility.”
Robert leaned back.
“That’s very comic-book.”
“Exactly.”
The Power Set
Robert pointed toward the board.
“Now tell me what he can actually do.”
Krishna smiled.
“First rule.”
“What?”
“No unlimited god powers in his first film.”
Robert clapped once.
“Thank you.”
Krishna laughed.
“His full potential can remain unknown.”
“But early Kabir needs clear rules.”
He wrote:
SOLAR-LUNAR ABSORPTION
Robert looked interested.
“Meaning?”
“His body can absorb and convert specific forms of solar and lunar radiation into enhanced biological energy.”
“So…”
“Enhanced strength.”
“Durability.”
“Recovery.”
“Reflexes.”
“Longer endurance.”
Robert nodded.
“Super soldier plus cosmic battery.”
“Approximately.”
“But different enough from Cap.”
“Yes.”
Krishna continued.
“Daylight gives him power.”
“Moonlight helps regulate it.”
Robert frowned.
“Why moonlight?”
“Balance.”
Krishna wrote a symbol representing two opposing arcs.
“Solar energy pushes strength.”
“Lunar energy stabilizes the mind and nervous system.”
“Without balance, too much power becomes dangerous.”
Robert smiled.
“Now that’s useful.”
“A superhero who can actually overpower himself?”
“Not rage.”
Krishna shook his head.
“Overload.”
“His body can carry more than his emotions can initially regulate.”
Robert nodded.
“So early weaknesses are believable.”
“Exactly.”
Krishna added:
ACCELERATED HEALING
ENERGY SHIELDS
LIMITED ENERGY PROJECTION
ENHANCED PERCEPTION
Robert pointed.
“Enhanced perception?”
“Not future sight.”
“Good.”
“Pattern recognition.”
“Battle awareness.”
“He notices probability.”
“Body language.”
“Movement.”
“Environmental detail.”
“It makes him look unnaturally difficult to surprise.”
Robert smiled.
“That’s very Krishna.”
Krishna glanced at him.
Robert raised both hands.
“The mythological Krishna.”
“I know.”
Maya
Krishna wrote one final word.
MAYA
Robert became suspicious.
“Here we go.”
Krishna laughed.
“Relax.”
“No full reality manipulation.”
“Thank God.”
“Wrong mythology.”
Robert stared.
Then burst out laughing.
Krishna continued.
“Maya begins as perception manipulation.”
“Limited range.”
“Light.”
“Sound.”
“Sensory interference.”
Robert’s eyes sharpened.
“Illusions.”
“Yes.”
“But not merely holograms.”
“His cosmic field influences how nearby minds interpret sensory input.”
Robert smiled slowly.
“That’s cool.”
“He can create duplicates?”
“Eventually.”
“Disappear?”
“For seconds.”
“Change his face?”
“Not truly.”
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“At first he can redirect attention.”
“Make enemies misjudge distance.”
“Create a false movement.”
“Hide civilians.”
“Make someone see him two meters left of where he actually stands.”
Robert nodded.
“So the power feels tactical.”
“Exactly.”
“Not magic solving everything.”
“Exactly.”
Robert looked toward the board.
“That’s strong.”
The Flute
Robert hesitated.
“I feel like you’re about to say flute.”
Krishna looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because I researched.”
Krishna smiled.
“Good.”
Robert sighed.
“There’s a flute, isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
Robert rubbed his forehead.
“Okay.”
Krishna continued before he could complain.
“Not a magical flute that controls everyone.”
Robert visibly relaxed.
“It begins as personal.”
“Kabir plays flute because sound helps him regulate his energy.”
“Breathing.”
“Heartbeat.”
“Neural rhythm.”
“Cosmic resonance.”
Robert slowly smiled.
“So something culturally connected becomes functional rather than decorative.”
“Exactly.”
“Later?”
Krishna’s expression became mischievous.
“Later it may do more.”
Robert pointed.
“No.”
Krishna laughed.
“We’ll negotiate.”
What Makes Him Different From Thor
Robert looked at the board for a long time.
Then asked the obvious question.
“If this is divine-adjacent, how do we keep him from feeling like Indian Thor?”
Krishna answered immediately.
“Thor is a warrior prince who learns humility.”
“Kabir is a healer-scientist who learns when preservation requires violence.”
Robert became quiet.
That was clear.
Krishna continued.
“Thor enters the MCU believing battle proves worth.”
“Kabir enters believing intelligence can solve almost everything without battle.”
“And then?”
“He discovers that sometimes refusing to act can also become violence.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“That’s the arc.”
“Part of it.”
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“His central question isn’t ‘Am I worthy?'”
“It’s…”
Krishna looked at the words on the board.
HOW MUCH POWER MAY A GOOD MAN USE BEFORE HE BECOMES WHAT HE FEARS?
Robert read it.
Then looked up.
“Okay.”
Krishna raised an eyebrow.
“Only okay?”
“Shut up.”
Krishna laughed.
Robert pointed toward the line.
“That’s the movie.”
“Exactly.”
Kabir Morgan — The Person
Robert settled deeper into the conversation.
“Powers aside.”
“Who is he?”
Krishna smiled.
Now the important part.
“Kabir Morgan is Indian-American.”
“Raised between two cultures.”
“He doesn’t feel divided by that.”
“He sees both as parts of himself.”
“Good.”
“His mother, Elena Morgan, comes from a wealthy American family.”
Robert paused.
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“And father?”
“Devesh Malhotra.”
Robert nodded.
“Kabir Morgan instead of Malhotra?”
“His parents choose Morgan publicly for practical reasons related to inheritance and family business.”
“Fine.”
Robert continued.
“Siblings?”
Krishna smiled.
“An elder sister.”
“Maria.”
“Twins younger than him.”
“Ella and Evan.”
Robert’s eyebrows rose.
“You’ve thought about this more than thirty seconds.”
“I think quickly.”
“That’s not what this is.”
Krishna ignored him.
“His elder cousin Benjamin Morgan is also important.”
Robert groaned.
“You’re building a franchise already.”
“I’m building a family.”
“Same disease.”
Krishna continued.
“Kabir owns or helps run a small café despite coming from wealth.”
Robert stared.
“Why?”
“Because he likes ordinary life.”
“He can work in advanced laboratories.”
“Attend international conferences.”
“Sit with powerful people.”
“Then spend an evening serving coffee and playing flute.”
Robert smiled.
“That’s human.”
“Exactly.”
“Kabir’s wealth should never be what makes him heroic.”
“Then why give him wealth?”
“To remove the excuse that he is kind only because he has no power.”
Robert went silent.
Krishna continued.
“He can live above people.”
“He chooses not to.”
That line landed.
Robert nodded.
“Good.”
The First Film
Robert asked,
“Who is the villain?”
Krishna sat again.
“Don’t begin with a universe-ending threat.”
“Agreed.”
“Someone who mirrors Kabir’s philosophy.”
“Scientist?”
“Partially.”
“A former humanitarian researcher.”
Robert leaned forward.
“Interesting.”
“Someone who once believed suffering could be solved.”
“Then became convinced free will is the problem.”
Robert frowned.
Krishna continued.
“He develops a technology capable of suppressing violent neural impulses.”
“Sounds useful.”
“Initially.”
Robert smiled.
“Of course.”
“It reduces aggression.”
“Then anger.”
“Then resistance.”
“Then eventually choice.”
Robert nodded slowly.
“Order without freedom.”
“Yes.”
“Kabir believes preservation without freedom becomes imprisonment.”
Robert looked toward the earlier line.
“And because he can manipulate perception…”
Krishna nodded.
“…the villain becomes a warning about what Kabir himself could become.”
Robert smiled.
“That’s Marvel.”
Stan Lee Joins the Conversation
The next afternoon, Krishna’s phone rang again.
This time Shen Lihua was sitting across from him.
He checked the screen.
STAN LEE
Shen looked up immediately.
Krishna answered.
“Mr.
Lee.”
“Krishna!”
The voice on the other end carried energy.
“I’ve been hearing dangerous things about you.”
Krishna glanced toward Shen.
“That’s common.”
Stan laughed.
“Robert gave me your Kabir Morgan idea.”
Krishna’s expression changed.
“And?”
“I like him.”
Shen immediately stopped reading.
Krishna leaned back.
“Which part?”
“The contradiction.”
Krishna smiled.
Stan continued.
“Scientist with something people might call divine.”
“Healer who may need to fight.”
“Powerful man whose biggest problem isn’t becoming strong enough but deciding what strength is allowed to do.”
Krishna nodded.
“That’s the core.”
“I know.”
Stan laughed.
“That’s why I like it.”
Then Stan became more serious.
“I also like that he’s Indian-American without spending every scene explaining that he’s Indian-American.”
“Exactly.”
“He belongs to both.”
“Yes.”
“And the mythology?”
Krishna answered carefully.
“Present.”
“Respected.”
“But Marvel shouldn’t immediately declare theological answers.”
Stan hummed approvingly.
“Science calls it cosmic resonance.”
“Ancient texts call it divine power.”
“Characters can disagree.”
“The audience can wonder.”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
Stan laughed.
Aureon
Stan asked,
“Robert says you want to call him Aureon.”
“Eventually.”
“Why?”
“Because gold is part of his visual identity.”
“But I don’t want the name to simply mean golden man.”
Stan laughed.
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“Aureon should sound like something the media gives him before he fully accepts it.”
“Like Iron Man.”
“Exactly.”
“What does the suit look like?”
Shen looked horrified from across the desk because Krishna’s eyes lit up.
She knew another design conversation was coming.
Krishna answered,
“Not Iron Man armor.”
“Good.”
“Not Thor armor.”
“Good.”
“Not a literal costume of Lord Krishna.”
“Very good.”
Krishna smiled.
“A modern combat design carrying subtle Indian geometry.”
“Gold-white energy channels.”
“A chest pattern inspired by a sun mandala.”
“Lightweight.”
“Flexible.”
“And later…”
Stan waited.
“…a peacock-feather motif.”
Stan laughed delightedly.
“There it is!”
“Subtle.”
“Not a giant feather on his head?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
Krishna smiled.
“Maybe eventually.”
Shen stared at him.
Krishna avoided eye contact.
The Shareholders Had Already Answered
Stan became quieter.
“There’s another reason I’m calling.”
Krishna waited.
Krishna raised an eyebrow.
“Already?”
“Robert moves fast when he’s excited.”
“That explains Tony Stark.”
Stan laughed.
“But there was almost no resistance.”
That surprised Krishna.
“No resistance?”
“Questions.”
“Budget.”
“Market.”
“How much mythology.”
“How much science.”
“Whether he debuts in his own film or appears elsewhere first.”
“But the question of whether Marvel should develop him?”
Stan paused.
“Everyone agreed.”
Krishna became silent.
Stan continued.
“Several shareholders remembered something.”
Krishna already knew.
“Robert.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
Stan’s voice softened.
“Marvel was in bad shape.”
“The first Iron Man movie was a gamble.”
“You didn’t control the company.”
“But you had enough shares and enough credibility to push for Robert when safer people were being discussed.”
Krishna looked toward the window.
Stan continued.
“Then Iron Man worked.”
“Then the second worked.”
“We’re standing much straighter now.”
Krishna said quietly,
“Robert did that.”
“He did.”
Stan agreed.
“But sometimes companies survive because one person says yes before success makes yes fashionable.”
Krishna did not answer.
Shen watched him.
This kind of praise always made him more uncomfortable than applause.
Stan continued.
“The shareholders remember.”
“So when Robert said you wanted to help create an Indian-American superhero…”
A pause.
“…most of them said Marvel owed you at least enough respect to hear the idea properly.”
Krishna smiled faintly.
“I don’t want a favor.”
“Good.”
Stan answered immediately.
“Because that’s not what we’re offering.”
Krishna became still.
“We want the character.”
That changed everything.
Robert’s Happiness
Another voice suddenly entered.
“See?”
Krishna blinked.
“Robert?”
“Conference call.”
“You’ve been listening?”
“For several minutes.”
Krishna looked offended.
“That’s spying.”
“It’s Hollywood.”
Robert sounded extremely pleased with himself.
Stan laughed.
Robert continued,
“They agreed, genius.”
Krishna smiled.
“I heard.”
“I’m happy.”
“Clearly.”
“No, seriously.”
Robert’s voice changed.
“Years ago you told them to look at the actor instead of the history.”
Krishna became quiet.
Robert continued.
“I got Stark.”
“Marvel came back.”
“And now we’re building something because you threw an idea across an ocean.”
Krishna looked down for a moment.
Then said,
“You made Iron Man work.”
Robert replied,
“And you opened the door.”
Neither argued further.
Robert continued.
“Meeting in two days.”
Krishna frowned.
“Two days?”
“Full meeting.”
“Stan.”
“Marvel development team.”
“Shareholder representatives.”
“Me.”
“Possibly a couple of writers.”
“And you.”
Krishna looked at his schedule.
His eyes moved to tomorrow.
Then stopped.
Shen noticed.
“Problem?”
Krishna did not answer immediately.
Robert asked,
“What?”
Krishna murmured,
“Tomorrow is the Ramayana preview.”
There was a pause.
Robert immediately understood the weight of that sentence.
“The full movie?”
“Yes.”
“First outside audience?”
“Yes.”
Robert whistled.
“Okay.”
Stan laughed.
“Now who’s nervous?”
Krishna looked offended.
“I’m not nervous.”
Shen coughed loudly.
Robert heard it.
“Was that your manager?”
“Producer.”
“Does she agree?”
“No one asked her.”
Shen stared at him.
Robert laughed.
“Good luck tomorrow.”
Krishna became quieter.
“Thank you.”
Robert continued,
“And after your entire Federation decides whether you’re a genius or a fraud, come help us create a superhero.”
Krishna smiled.
“Excellent motivational speech.”
“I learned from Tony Stark.”
“That’s why it was terrible.”
The Invitations From Acting Schools
Marvel was not the only complication.
By that afternoon, Shen placed a stack of invitations before Krishna.
He looked at them.
“No.”
“You haven’t read them.”
“I learned from you.”
Shen ignored him.
“Beijing Film Academy.”
Krishna looked up.
“National School of Screen and Performance.”
Another.
“Seoul Performing Arts Institute.”
Another.
“Shanghai performance workshop.”
Another.
“Federation Screen Actors Forum.”
Krishna frowned.
“Why?”
Shen stared.
“Because they’ve been teaching your work.”
“That remains a terrible decision.”
“They want you to speak to students.”
Krishna immediately leaned back.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t give motivational speeches.”
Nitesh, sitting nearby, looked over.
“You give them constantly.”
“When?”
“Every time a struggling actor tells you they aren’t good enough.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They didn’t buy tickets.”
Shen closed her eyes.
“These students didn’t buy tickets either.”
“Then what am I being paid?”
“Nothing.”
Krishna looked horrified.
Nitesh laughed.
Shen finally smiled.
“Exactly.”
Krishna stared at her.
“You enjoyed that.”
“Very much.”
Krishna Visits the Students
Because his schedule before the private preview was almost impossible, the institutions arranged a combined Federation acting symposium.
Students from several academies were brought together.
Some attended physically.
Others joined through live screens from Beijing, Shanghai and Seoul.
Krishna entered without grand ceremony.
No Rama costume.
No Abhay clothing.
No military uniform.
Simple dark trousers.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
No attempt to look like a superstar.
That made the students more nervous.
Because now there was no character between them and the man they had been studying.
Professor Arvind Menon introduced him.
“Most of you know why he’s here.”
Krishna took the microphone.
“I don’t.”
The room laughed.
Professor Menon smiled.
“He says things like this frequently.”
Krishna looked at the students.
Then at the large screen showing faces from multiple cities.
Xiao Zhan.
Wang Yibo.
Zhang Linghe.
Zhao Lusi.
Bai Lu.
Meng Ziyi.
Sara Ali Khan.
Kriti Sanon.
Sharvari.
Sumedh Mudgalkar.
Mohsin Khan.
Jennifer Winget.
Karan Singh Grover.
Park Bo-gum.
Bae Suzy.
Kim Yoo-jung.
Kim Ji-won.
And dozens more.
Some had experience.
Some had none.
Some would become enormous names.
Today— they were simply watching him.
Krishna looked toward Professor Menon.
“What do you want me to tell them?”
Menon smiled.
“The truth.”
Krishna sighed.
“That’s dangerous.”
The room laughed again.
Then his expression softened.
“Fine.”
“Don’t Try to Become Me”
Krishna walked away from the podium.
He preferred movement.
“First.”
He looked around.
“If any professor has told you to become the next Li Yichen…”
Several students laughed nervously.
“…ignore them.”
Menon raised an eyebrow.
Krishna continued.
“Seriously.”
“Do not become me.”
“Do not become Amitabh Bachchan.”
“Do not become Shah Rukh Khan.”
“Do not become Liu Yifei.”
“Do not become Song Kang-ho.”
“Do not become anyone.”
He looked across the room.
“Because someone else already spent years becoming them.”
Silence.
“Your job is harder.”
“You have to discover who you are.”
That settled over the room.
Krishna continued.
“Study us.”
“Steal principles.”
“Steal discipline.”
“Steal techniques.”
He smiled.
“Don’t steal mannerisms.
That’s just impersonation.”
Professor Menon nodded slightly.
This was exactly what he wanted them to hear.
Xiao Zhan
Krishna looked toward the Beijing screen.
“Xiao Zhan.”
Xiao Zhan blinked.
He had not expected to be singled out.
“Yes?”
“I saw your Rama exercise.”
Several students looked toward him.
Xiao Zhan immediately looked embarrassed.
Zhao Lusi began smiling.
Krishna continued.
“You were trying too hard to look noble.”
The class laughed.
Xiao Zhan rubbed the back of his neck.
“My professor said the same.”
“Good professor.”
Krishna smiled.
“Want advice?”
Xiao Zhan nodded.
“Stop asking whether the audience likes your character.”
“Ask whether you understand him.”
Xiao Zhan became serious.
Krishna continued.
“If you understand him deeply enough, you won’t need to advertise what kind of man he is.”
“Let the audience discover it.”
Xiao Zhan nodded.
“Thank you.”
Krishna smiled.
“And relax your shoulders.”
The room laughed.
Zhao Lusi
Zhao Lusi already knew she was next.
She crossed her arms.
Krishna looked at her.
“You made Abhay angry.”
She immediately pointed at Professor Zhou’s screen.
“I was told!”
Everyone laughed.
Krishna smiled.
“You’re expressive.”
“That’s useful.”
Zhao Lusi blinked.
She had expected teasing.
Krishna continued.
“One day that expressiveness may become one of your greatest strengths.”
Her eyes brightened.
“But…”
She groaned.
“There it is.”
The room laughed.
“You need to learn withholding.”
Krishna raised his hand.
“Acting is not always giving emotion.”
“Sometimes the character has ten emotions and allows the audience to see one.”
Zhao Lusi became thoughtful.
Krishna added,
“If you learn when not to show what you feel, everything you do show becomes more valuable.”
She nodded slowly.
Then smiled.
“So I’m not terrible.”
Krishna looked offended.
“Who said you were?”
“No one.”
“Good.”
He pointed at her.
“Don’t invent critics.
The real ones are annoying enough.”
The room erupted.
Wang Yibo
Krishna turned toward Wang Yibo.
“You.”
Yibo looked up.
“Your physical control is good.”
A small surprise crossed his face.
Krishna noticed.
“Don’t look shocked.
I occasionally compliment people.”
Several students laughed.
Krishna continued.
“You understand stillness.”
“But be careful.”
Yibo waited.
“Stillness can become emptiness.”
Krishna demonstrated.
Standing completely motionless.
Then subtly changing his gaze.
The atmosphere changed.
“Your body may stop.”
“Your character cannot.”
Yibo nodded.
“Something should always be happening internally.”
“Exactly.”
Krishna smiled.
“Good.”
That single word seemed to matter more than Yibo expected.
Zhang Linghe
Krishna looked toward Zhang Linghe.
“You think before every movement.”
Zhang Linghe looked surprised.
“Too much?”
“Sometimes.”
Krishna smiled.
“Thinking is useful.”
“Visible thinking can become a problem.”
Several students leaned forward.
“If you’re portraying someone who knows what he wants, don’t make the audience watch you decide something the character decided years ago.”
Zhang Linghe’s eyes changed.
He understood immediately.
Krishna continued.
“Royal characters.”
“Military characters.”
“Certain villains.”
“Certain spiritual figures.”
“They often enter scenes carrying decisions that already exist.”
“Don’t rediscover those decisions every time the camera turns on.”
Zhang Linghe nodded.
“Understood.”
Bai Lu and Meng Ziyi
Krishna addressed them together.
“You both noticed scene partners.”
Bai Lu smiled.
Meng Ziyi nodded.
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“That will save you from becoming selfish actors.”
The room became quieter.
“Your close-up matters.”
“Your dialogue matters.”
“Your emotional climax matters.”
“But cinema is not a competition to see who can steal every scene.”
He looked toward them.
“If your partner becomes better because you’re standing opposite them, directors remember you.”
Meng Ziyi asked,
“Even if the audience notices them more?”
Krishna smiled.
“If you need to be noticed every second, acting is going to make you miserable.”
That hit many people in the room.
“Some scenes belong to you.”
“Some belong to your partner.”
“Some belong to the story.”
He paused.
“Know the difference.”
Bai Lu wrote it down immediately.
Sara Ali Khan
Krishna turned toward Sara.
“You liked the Kaikeyi scene.”
Sara nodded.
“Because Rama’s calm makes her guilt stronger.”
“Good.”
Krishna smiled.
“Then remember something.”
“Sometimes the strongest choice is giving away your dramatic moment.”
Sara listened.
“If Rama screamed there, he might get applause.”
“But Kaikeyi would lose something.”
Krishna continued.
“Acting is full of temptations.”
“Big crying.”
“Big anger.”
“Big speeches.”
“Sometimes they’re right.”
“Sometimes they’re ego wearing costume.”
Sara smiled faintly.
“How do you know the difference?”
Krishna replied,
“Ask whether the story becomes better.”
A pause.
“Not whether you look better.”
Sara nodded.
Kriti Sanon
Kriti’s question came before Krishna could call her.
“How do you keep relationship continuity when scenes are shot out of order?”
Krishna smiled.
“Good question.”
He looked around.
“Everyone hear this.”
He turned back to Kriti.
“I keep emotional landmarks.”
“First meeting.”
“First trust.”
“First fight.”
“First betrayal.”
“First time one character becomes emotionally dependent on another.”
He gestured.
“You don’t memorize only the script.”
“You map the relationship.”
Kriti listened carefully.
“So if I shoot the forest before Mithila…”
“You need to know what Rama and Sita have already survived emotionally.”
“Exactly.”
Krishna smiled.
“Characters have memory even when production schedules don’t.”
Kriti immediately wrote it down.
Sharvari
Krishna looked toward Sharvari.
“You understood Sita’s reassessment.”
Sharvari nodded.
“That was good.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
Krishna continued.
“Never play attraction as one emotion.”
She became more attentive.
“Interest.”
“Respect.”
“Curiosity.”
“Trust.”
“Desire.”
“Fear of losing someone.”
“Comfort.”
“They are not the same.”
He pointed toward the screen showing Rama and Sita.
“If you flatten all of them into ‘love,’ romance becomes boring.”
Sharvari nodded.
“That’s why the look changes.”
“Exactly.”
Sumedh Mudgalkar
When Krishna’s attention reached Sumedh, something softened slightly.
He had seen the young man’s question about portraying divinity.
“Sumedh.”
“Yes.”
“You asked whether making a divine figure human removes divinity.”
Sumedh nodded.
Krishna became more serious.
“No.”
The room quieted.
“A sacred figure does not become sacred because he stops feeling.”
“That is one of the easiest mistakes actors make.”
He looked across the students.
“If you portray Rama as someone who cannot laugh, cannot hurt, cannot love, cannot grieve…”
“…you don’t make him divine.”
“You make him distant.”
Sumedh listened intensely.
Krishna continued.
“Divinity often appears in choice.”
“Rama feels grief.”
“But does grief destroy dharma?”
“He feels anger.”
“But does anger become his master?”
“He has power.”
“But does power become arrogance?”
Krishna paused.
“That’s where you search.”
Sumedh’s eyes brightened.
Krishna smiled faintly.
“Don’t act holiness.”
“Act the man whose choices make others understand why he is holy.”
Sumedh lowered his gaze for a moment.
That line would remain with him for years.
Mohsin Khan
Krishna turned toward Mohsin.
“You noticed listening.”
Mohsin smiled.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Krishna walked closer.
“Want the simplest romantic acting advice?”
The room suddenly became very attentive.
Krishna noticed.
“Apparently everyone wants this.”
Laughter.
He looked back at Mohsin.
“When the other person speaks…”
A pause.
“…care.”
The room laughed.
Mohsin did too.
Krishna shook his head.
“I’m serious.”
“If your eyes are waiting for your dialogue, the audience knows.”
“If you’re thinking about your angle, the audience knows.”
“If you’re admiring your own expression…”
He smiled.
“…unfortunately, the audience also knows.”
More laughter.
“Listen.”
“Let the words affect you.”
“That’s half of screen romance.”
Mohsin nodded.
Jennifer Winget
Jennifer had considerably more experience than many students around her.
Krishna acknowledged that immediately.
“You’re already working.”
Jennifer smiled.
“Still learning.”
“Good answer.”
Krishna nodded.
“Then you already understand something half this room needs years to learn.”
“What?”
“Experience does not remove insecurity.”
Jennifer laughed.
“Definitely.”
Krishna smiled.
“Don’t let experience harden into habit.”
That caught her attention.
“Television especially can create habits because speed becomes necessary.”
Jennifer nodded.
He was right.
Krishna continued.
“Protect efficiency.”
“But keep discovering.”
“If you’ve played grief fifty times…”
“…the fifty-first character still deserves her own grief.”
Jennifer slowly smiled.
“That’s a good line.”
“You can steal it.”
“Thank you.”
“Professionally.”
She laughed.
Karan Singh Grover
Karan crossed his arms.
“So what’s wrong with me?”
The room laughed.
Krishna smiled.
“Nothing.”
Karan looked suspicious.
“That sounds worse.”
Several people laughed louder.
Karan pointed.
“I knew it.”
Krishna continued.
“Your danger is relying on charisma.”
Karan became more serious.
“Meaning?”
“Charisma can solve scenes that technique should solve.”
Silence.
Krishna explained.
“If the audience naturally likes watching you, you can accidentally survive weak choices.”
Karan nodded slowly.
“Then one day you meet a role charisma can’t carry.”
Krishna pointed toward him.
“Train before that day.”
Karan smiled.
“Fair.”
Seoul — Park Bo-gum
Krishna turned toward the Korean screen.
“Park Bo-gum.”
“Yes.”
“You said Rama changes the emotional temperature of a scene.”
Park nodded.
“That’s a useful observation.”
Krishna smiled.
“Now learn to do it intentionally.”
Park became focused.
“How?”
“Don’t enter a scene asking what emotion you need to show.”
“Ask what effect your character has on the people around him.”
Krishna continued.
“Some characters make rooms nervous.”
“Some make them louder.”
“Some make them competitive.”
“Some make everyone safer.”
Park nodded.
“Presence is relational.”
Krishna smiled.
“Exactly.”
Bae Suzy
Krishna looked toward Suzy.
“You noticed chemistry should feel private.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
Krishna continued.
“Protect that instinct.”
“Camera intimacy is strange.”
“A hundred people may be standing behind the lens.”
“Millions may eventually watch.”
“But if a romantic moment feels like it knows there is an audience…”
He shook his head.
“…it often dies.”
Suzy smiled.
“So forget the camera?”
“Never.”
Krishna grinned.
“Know exactly where it is.”
The room laughed.
“Then behave as though your character doesn’t.”
Suzy nodded.
Kim Yoo-jung
“You wrote that love is specific.”
Kim Yoo-jung looked surprised.
“How do you know?”
“Shen sent me everything.”
Shen, standing at the side, stared.
Krishna added,
“Against my will.”
The room laughed.
He turned back.
“You’re right.”
“Don’t use the same affection for every relationship.”
“Mother.”
“Brother.”
“Friend.”
“Teacher.”
“Lover.”
“Child.”
“Each changes your body differently.”
Kim Yoo-jung asked,
“How?”
Krishna smiled.
“That’s your homework.”
She laughed.
“You’re becoming a professor.”
“Terrifying.”
Kim Ji-won
Krishna addressed Kim Ji-won last among the Korean group.
“You noticed delayed emotion.”
She nodded.
“Don’t abuse it.”
Her eyebrows rose.
He explained.
“Once actors discover silence works, they sometimes pause before everything.”
The room laughed.
Krishna demonstrated exaggeratedly.
“Would…
you…
like…
tea?”
Everyone laughed harder.
Kim Ji-won covered her mouth.
Krishna smiled.
“Delay only when the character needs time to accept what the audience already understands.”
She nodded.
“Otherwise you’re just slow.”
More Young Actors
Questions came from everywhere afterward.
Young theatre performers.
Television hopefuls.
Film students.
Dancers crossing into acting.
Some asked about rejection.
That changed Krishna’s tone.
One young actor asked,
“What if we keep failing auditions?”
Krishna answered,
“Then fail the next one better.”
The student stared.
Krishna continued.
“Rejection doesn’t always mean you were bad.”
“Sometimes you’re wrong for the role.”
“Sometimes someone else was better.”
“Sometimes the director imagined another face.”
“Sometimes politics exists.”
“Sometimes luck exists.”
He smiled.
“Your responsibility is the part you control.”
“Preparation.”
“Discipline.”
“Growth.”
“Professional behavior.”
He looked around.
“Do not turn every rejection into a judgment on your worth.”
That line made several students quiet.
Krishna continued.
“And don’t become arrogant when success comes.”
Zhao Lusi raised her hand.
“What if we’re naturally arrogant?”
Krishna looked at her.
“Then become charming enough that people tolerate it.”
The hall exploded.
Even Shen laughed.
What He Told the Future Stars
Before leaving, Krishna stood again at the center.
No jokes now.
“Most of you want fame.”
Several students shifted.
Krishna smiled.
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Recognition feels good.”
“Money matters.”
“Success gives your family comfort.”
“Opportunities matter.”
He looked across the hall.
“But fame is a poor teacher.”
Silence.
“It rewards you before telling you whether you deserved the reward.”
“Sometimes it punishes you when you did good work.”
“Sometimes it praises mediocrity.”
“So don’t use fame as your only measurement.”
He pointed toward the students.
“Ask better questions.”
“Am I more truthful than last year?”
“Do directors trust me?”
“Do co-stars feel safe working with me?”
“Can I carry failure without becoming bitter?”
“Can I carry success without becoming unbearable?”
Zhao Lusi whispered something to Bai Lu.
Krishna looked over.
“Yes, that last one also applies to you.”
The room laughed.
Then Krishna’s expression softened.
“One day some of you will become famous.”
The students went quiet.
He did not say it dramatically.
He said it as though discussing weather.
“Some of you will become stars.”
“Some will become great actors without becoming huge stars.”
“Some will leave the profession.”
“Some will discover directing.”
“Writing.”
“Music.”
“Something else entirely.”
He smiled.
“Don’t be ashamed if your dream changes.”
Then—
“If it doesn’t change…”
His gaze swept across Xiao Zhan, Wang Yibo, Zhang Linghe, Zhao Lusi, Bai Lu, Meng Ziyi, Sara, Kriti, Sharvari, Sumedh, Mohsin, Jennifer, Karan, Park Bo-gum, Suzy, Kim Yoo-jung, Kim Ji-won and dozens more.
“…then earn it.”
Silence.
Then applause.
Not screaming.
Not fan hysteria.
Respect.
Krishna immediately ruined the atmosphere.
“Good.
Now please stop using me as homework.”
The entire hall burst into laughter.
Stan Calls Again
Krishna had barely returned to the production office when his phone rang.
Stan.
Again.
He answered while Shen was checking final preview arrangements.
“Yes?”
Stan sounded delighted.
“The board approved formal development.”
Krishna stopped walking.
“Already?”
“Preliminary development.”
“Don’t get excited.”
“Too late.”
Stan laughed.
“We’ll still need writers.”
“Concept art.”
“Character documents.”
“Powers.”
“Origins.”
“Legal.”
“Market studies.”
“All the boring things.”
Shen looked toward Krishna.
She had heard the word boring.
That meant paperwork.
She narrowed her eyes.
Stan continued.
“But Kabir Morgan is officially something Marvel wants to explore.”
Krishna smiled.
“Good.”
“Robert is extremely pleased.”
“I’m sure.”
As though summoned—
Robert joined.
“I am.”
Krishna sighed.
“Do you two coordinate this?”
Robert ignored him.
“Meeting in two days.”
“I remember.”
“You’re coming.”
“Yes.”
“Stan thinks the first film should keep the divine aspect ambiguous.”
Krishna nodded.
“I agree.”
“And I want Tony to meet him eventually.”
Krishna smiled.
“Of course you do.”
“Obviously.”
“Tony will annoy him.”
Robert sounded delighted.
“That’s the point.”
Krishna thought about it.
Kabir Morgan.
Indian-American.
Scientist.
Healer.
A man carrying powers rooted in preservation.
A hero whose divine inspiration could exist beneath the language of cosmic science.
Not literally Shri Krishna dropped into the MCU.
But something carrying the philosophy.
Wisdom.
Mischief.
Compassion.
Strategy.
Restraint.
And eventually— terrible power.
It could work.
The Calendar
The call ended.
Krishna sat down.
For once, the office became quiet.
Shen continued checking documents.
Nitesh had left for final sound review.
Dilraba was preparing for tomorrow.
Krishna looked toward the calendar.
A red mark.
TOMORROW — RAMAYANA PRIVATE PREVIEW
He stopped.
The Marvel meeting suddenly felt far away.
Tomorrow came first.
He murmured,
“Tomorrow.”
Shen heard.
“Nervous?”
Krishna did not immediately deny it this time.
That made her look up.
He stared at the date.
Tomorrow would not be another internal screening.
Every principal actor would attend.
Jackie Shroff.
Tabu.
Madhuri Dixit.
Shahid Kapoor.
Sushant Singh Rajput.
John Abraham.
Dilraba.
Anupam Kher.
Naseeruddin Shah.
Aishwarya Rai.
R.
Madhavan.
Rana Daggubati.
Sonu Sood.
Vicky Kaushal.
Meera Anand.
Naina Qureshi.
Aditi Sen.
Sunny Deol.
Yash.
Everyone.
And they would not be alone.
Invitations had been accepted by many of the biggest names across the Federation.
Amitabh Bachchan.
Abhishek.
Shah Rukh Khan.
Salman Khan.
Aamir Khan.
Rekha.
Deepika Padukone.
Priyanka Chopra.
Liu Yifei.
Jackie Chan.
Jet Li.
Yang Mi.
Prominent Chinese directors and actors.
Korean stars and filmmakers.
Japanese veterans.
Pakistani actors and directors.
Religious scholars.
Writers.
Critics.
Senior cultural representatives.
People who understood performance.
People who understood mythology.
People who would not be impressed simply because the film was expensive.
Krishna stared at the calendar.
Tomorrow they would see everything.
Not twenty seconds.
Not a trailer edited to hide weaknesses.
The full film.
Dasharatha’s love.
Kaikeyi’s fall.
The brothers.
Vishwamitra.
Mithila.
Shiva Dhanush.
Sita’s choice.
Parashurama.
Sharanga.
The weddings.
The denied coronation.
Exile.
Bharata.
Forest happiness.
Sita’s abduction.
Rama’s grief.
Hanuman after the credits.
Every choice.
Every risk.
Every promise Krishna had made when he first said mythology should live again.
Shen quietly asked,
“What are you thinking?”
Krishna looked toward the Ramayana poster.
For once— he answered without humor.
“Whether I did enough.”
Shen became silent.
Krishna continued.
“Everyone expects something.”
“The Federation.”
“The scholars.”
“The families who grew up hearing fragments of these stories.”
“The actors who trusted us.”
“The people who gave us resources.”
He looked toward Rama’s image.
“I said we would make them care.”
Shen replied quietly,
“You did.”
Krishna shook his head.
“The trailer made them curious.”
“Tomorrow tells us whether the film makes them believe.”
That was different.
Shen Lihua’s Answer
Shen closed her tablet.
“You know what’s irritating?”
Krishna looked at her.
“Many things.”
“You.”
“Expected.”
She continued.
“You spent months telling every actor not to chase approval.”
Krishna stared.
“And now you’re sitting here wondering whether people approve.”
He almost smiled.
“That’s different.”
“No.”
Shen shook her head.
“It’s exactly the same.”
He leaned back.
She continued.
“You told Xiao Zhan to understand the character instead of trying to look noble.”
“You told Sara to serve the story rather than chase the dramatic moment.”
“You told Sumedh not to act holiness.”
“You told everyone not to measure themselves only through applause.”
Krishna narrowed his eyes.
“You were listening too closely.”
“Unfortunately.”
She smiled faintly.
“Now take your own advice.”
Krishna went silent.
Shen looked toward the poster.
“You made the film you believed in.”
“Tomorrow they either understand it or they don’t.”
“You can learn from criticism.”
“You can fix what can still be fixed.”
“But tonight?”
She shrugged.
“It’s done.”
Krishna looked at her.
Then smiled slowly.
“That sounded almost wise.”
Shen immediately pointed toward the door.
“Leave.”
He laughed.
Dilraba
Krishna found Dilraba later that evening on a quiet terrace.
She was looking at the city.
He stood beside her.
Neither spoke immediately.
Then she asked,
“You’re nervous.”
Krishna sighed.
“Does everyone know?”
“Your jokes become slightly worse.”
“That’s insulting.”
“Accurate.”
He smiled.
She looked toward him.
“Tomorrow they’ll see Sita too.”
Krishna nodded.
“Are you nervous?”
“Very.”
That surprised him.
Dilraba laughed softly.
“What?”
“I expected you to lie.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m surrounded by actors.”
She bumped his shoulder.
“Idiot.”
Then became serious again.
“What if they don’t like me?”
Krishna answered immediately.
“They will.”
She looked at him.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Fine.”
He thought.
“If they don’t…”
A pause.
“…we listen.”
“And if the criticism is useful, we learn.”
“And if it’s useless?”
Krishna smiled.
“We complain privately and eat something.”
Dilraba laughed.
“Excellent philosophy.”
“I’m considering writing a book.”
She shook her head.
Then looked toward him.
“Do you think we made them look divine?”
Krishna knew who she meant.
Rama and Sita.
He answered quietly,
“I think we made them love each other.”
Dilraba became still.
Krishna continued.
“If the audience sees divinity inside that…”
He looked toward the city.
“…good.”
She smiled softly.
That answer calmed her more than praise would have.
Vardhan Mansion — The Invitation
At Vardhan Mansion, a formal invitation sat on the table.
PRIVATE PREVIEW — RAMAYANA: PART I — THE EXILE
Rudraveer held it carefully.
Yuerou had already decided everyone was attending.
Aditya had pretended he needed to check his schedule.
Nobody believed him.
Kavya looked toward him.
“Father.”
“What?”
“If you stare at the invitation longer, the film won’t release earlier.”
“I was reading.”
“You finished ten minutes ago.”
Aditya ignored her.
Ishani smiled faintly.
Arjun looked excited.
Ananya had been counting hours.
Rudraveer said nothing.
Tomorrow he would watch Krishna portray Rama from beginning to end.
And somewhere beneath that anticipation lived another memory.
Ramchandra.
A dying old man saying civilization was memory.
A soldier could protect civilization.
An artist could make people love it again.
Rudraveer looked at the invitation.
Tomorrow would be the first real answer.
Had Krishna done it?
Around the Federation
The same evening, stars prepared.
Amitabh placed the invitation beside the Bhishma script.
Abhishek wondered whether watching Rama would change how he approached Devavrata.
Shah Rukh joked that he intended to count how many people cried during the single-wife scene.
Deepika wanted to see whether Dilraba’s full Sita lived up to the trailer.
Aamir wanted to examine the structure without trailer editing.
Salman was mostly interested in the family scenes and had already told John he would criticize Lakshmana personally.
John had responded with something impolite.
Liu Yifei accepted her invitation quietly.
She wanted to see whether the extraordinary difference between Abhay and Rama survived for three hours.
Jackie Chan wanted to see the physical storytelling.
Jet Li wanted to watch how restraint translated across an entire narrative.
Korean filmmakers wanted to see whether Krishna’s stillness survived long-form storytelling.
Japanese actors were interested in the handling of honor and discipline.
Pakistani writers and actors were curious whether the Federation’s most ambitious cultural project could actually unite audiences rather than merely impress them.
Tomorrow— they would all sit inside one theatre.
Krishna Alone
Late that night, Krishna returned to his office.
Everyone had gone.
He switched off most of the lights.
Only the poster remained illuminated.
Rama and Sita.
He looked at the calendar again.
PRIVATE PREVIEW — TOMORROW
Then beneath it:
MARVEL — KABIR MORGAN DEVELOPMENT MEETING — TWO DAYS
Krishna laughed softly.
“What a strange life.”
Yesterday, acting students had been studying Abhay and Rama.
Today, he had spoken to future stars about failure, fame and craft.
Marvel had approved preliminary development of an Indian-American superhero partly inspired by the ideals he associated with Shri Krishna.
And tomorrow— none of that mattered.
Tomorrow there was only Ramayana.
He walked closer to the poster.
He thought of Ramayana’s first production meeting.
The government approval.
The cultural teams.
Nitesh.
Shen.
The actors.
Dilraba.
The struggling actresses who had finally received opportunities.
The enormous sets.
The first day when his System had given him the experiential foundation of Rama.
Vishnu.
The strange weight of understanding maryada.
The gardeners.
The brothers.
The mothers.
Sita.
Parashurama.
Bharata.
The forest.
The empty hut.
He remembered screaming Sita’s name until even the crew had forgotten to applaud.
Tomorrow people would see all of it.
Krishna placed one hand against the back of a chair.
For perhaps the first time since production began, he allowed himself to feel the weight.
Not fear of failure.
Responsibility.
He had asked people to trust him with one of civilization’s greatest stories.
Tomorrow— that trust would be tested.
He looked at Rama’s image.
Then murmured,
“Let’s see whether I kept my promise.”
The room remained silent.
Outside, the Eastern Federation continued sleeping beneath thousands of posters promising a film fifty-eight days away.
But for the actors, filmmakers, scholars, critics and families invited to tomorrow’s screening— the wait was almost over.
Tomorrow would decide whether Krishna Li Vardhan had merely created the most anticipated film in Federation history…
…or whether he had done something far more difficult.
Made an ancient story breathe again.
And two days after that— if Marvel still wanted him—
Kabir Morgan would begin taking his first steps toward another universe entirely.