ã€ŠKali - The First Conflictã€‹


 The Rise of Forgotten Darkness.

    Prologue :The Rise of Forgotten Darkness.

    A conflict older than time itself¡ªone that began before the first human breath and will continue long after the last has been taken.

    Brahma, the Creator, spun the universe into being. From his divine hands emerged countless beings¡ªDevas, Asuras, Yakshas, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, and humans. Each race was given its place: the Devas in Devaloka, the Asuras in Patala, and the humans, the children of Ma Prithvi, in the lap of the Earth.

    For ages, the Devas and Asuras clashed, their rivalry shaking the cosmos. The Asuras, driven by a burning desire for power, sought to claim the heavens for themselves. Their battles¡ªthe legendary Devasur Sangram¡ªtore through the very fabric of existence. It was a war that left scars upon the universe, a war that seemed endless.

    But, as with all things, the tide eventually turned. The Devas, with their divine might, defeated the Asuras, sealing them in the deepest, darkest realms. All but one. A lone Asura, too weak to stand against the might of the others, was forgotten¡ªignored, abandoned, and left to drift in the emptiness.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    This last Asura, with no form or substance, found a new path. It transformed itself into the very essence of evil, slipping silently into the hearts of humankind. It whispered, it manipulated, it led them astray. Humans, once the devoted allies of the Devas, began to stray from their path. The sacred rituals¡ªyajnas, hawan, and pujas¡ªthat once empowered the Devas and kept the balance of the world in check grew cold. The Devas, cut off from the very source of their strength, began to wither. No longer could they walk among mortals. They were weakened, their divine forms fading. Yet, the elixir of immortality, born of an ancient war, kept them alive¡ªthough distant and forgotten.

    The evil force did not stop at mere deception. It stirred the hearts of men to cruelty and hatred. It sowed the seeds of wars, where entire civilizations clashed, innocent blood was spilled, and the world trembled. It whispered in the ears of kings, inciting genocides that wiped out whole nations, whole cultures, and the voices of the innocent. The shadows of violence crept into the streets, turning men against each other, filling hearts with greed, jealousy, and anger. Petty crimes became the norm, and dishonor became a virtue. Humanity had fallen, blind to the light of the Devas.

    Now, the Asura that was once forgotten has returned, stronger than ever. It has fed on the souls of humankind, gaining power beyond comprehension. It has made its move. The first war between good and evil is here¡ªand the world, as we know it, stands on the brink of ruin.

 I dont know

    My name is Vrishti. I¡¯m 19 years old, a school pass-out, and a dropper. Not in the dramatic, ¡°I¡¯m done with this system¡± way¡ªjust in the ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less¡± way. My parents think I¡¯m wasting my potential. Teachers always said I was capable of more. But honestly, I¡¯ve never seen the point.

    And according to my parents, that¡¯s part of the problem. They think I¡¯m... off. They haven¡¯t said it outright, but their actions scream it loud enough. ¡°You need to talk to someone,¡± they said. ¡°It¡¯s for your own good.¡±

    So here I am, walking to a therapy center. It¡¯s not like I think therapy is useless. It helps people, sure. But what am I supposed to tell them? That I¡¯m not sad or angry¡ªjust... disconnected? That everything feels dull and pointless? That the world around me doesn¡¯t make any sense?

    I¡¯ve always been this way. Detached, quiet, different. I¡¯ve never had friends¡ªnot even when I was little. Other kids played their silly games, formed their cliques, but I was never part of them. They didn¡¯t exclude me outright; they just didn¡¯t notice I was there.

    It¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t try. I joined their games sometimes, but I could never keep up with their energy or excitement over things I didn¡¯t care about. I just didn¡¯t fit.

    Now, as an adult, it¡¯s the same. People group together, laughing, talking, sharing their interests, but I¡¯m always on the outside looking in. It¡¯s not that I hate them¡ªI just don¡¯t share their enthusiasm for the things they obsess over. And that¡¯s why no one ever sticks around. No one likes someone who doesn¡¯t care about their hobbies or passions. Relationships need common ground, and I don¡¯t have that with anyone.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    A lover? Forget it. How could I attract someone when I can¡¯t even pretend to be interested in what they love? I¡¯ve met people, gone on dates, but it always ends the same. I don¡¯t get excited about their favorite shows, their weekend plans, or their social media lives. They notice. They always notice. And then they leave.

    The road is busy, as always. People rushing somewhere, heads bowed to their screens, their steps mechanical. I weave through the crowd, but it¡¯s like I¡¯m not even here. Not really. Everyone¡¯s too wrapped up in their own little bubbles.

    And this city¡ªit¡¯s suffocating. Concrete buildings stacked like blocks, neon signs flashing ¡°Buy Now¡± or ¡°Limited Offer!¡± Even the air feels synthetic, recycled through machines instead of trees. It¡¯s not just the place, though. It¡¯s the people. They¡¯re so... predictable.

    Everyone¡¯s chasing something. Success, fame, approval. It¡¯s like they¡¯re on this endless hamster wheel, running in circles but going nowhere. They spend their days staring at screens, worshipping strangers they¡¯ll never meet, pretending every little thing they do matters.

    I get it, though. Maybe they¡¯re just trying to survive in their own way. Maybe it¡¯s easier to lose yourself in the noise than to face the silence. Still, I can¡¯t help feeling like I¡¯m the odd one out. Like I¡¯m the only one who sees how hollow it all is.

    But what do I know? Maybe they¡¯re right, and I¡¯m the problem. I don¡¯t cry when I should. I don¡¯t laugh when I¡¯m expected to. I just... float through, pretending to care because it¡¯s easier than explaining why I don¡¯t.

    The therapy center looms ahead¡ªa squat, gray building with glass doors and a sign that reads ¡°Restoring Balance.¡± Balance. Like it¡¯s something you can fix with a checklist and a few deep breaths.

    I stop at the entrance, my reflection staring back at me. I look normal enough. Average. But there¡¯s a gap between what people see and what I feel. And that gap? It¡¯s starting to feel like a chasm.

    With a deep breath, I step inside. Let¡¯s see what they have to say about me. Maybe they¡¯ll figure something out.        Or so my parents think.

 The Failure

    The therapy  sessions are a joke. I¡¯ve said it before, and I¡¯ll say it again. Today was no different.

    The AI pod sat me down, scanned me like some museum artifact, and asked the usual questions in its hollow, robotic voice. How do you feel about your current state of life? Have you been socializing? Are you working toward any personal goals? Blah, blah, blah. Like it even matters. At the end, the machine spat out its glowing, judgmental report: Detached. Unmotivated. Resistant to change.

    Walking home, I could still feel the metaphorical stamp of ¡°failure¡± branded across my forehead. The streets buzzed with life. People scrolled through holographic screens floating above their wrists, whispering commands to their AI assistants, or mindlessly watching entertainment projections in public squares. Machines ran their lives, but no one seemed to care.

    I slipped my earbuds in, letting the pounding bass drown out the world around me. Music made everything tolerable¡ªor at least muted enough to ignore.

    Then it happened.

    A sharp, fleeting spark of light zipped past my face. It was so close I could swear I felt its heat against my skin.

    I froze mid-step, yanking out an earbud. The spark vanished into the edge of the forest by the road, leaving behind a faint crackle in the air.

    It wasn¡¯t normal lightning¡ªit felt alive, charged, like it had a purpose.

    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± I muttered under my breath, glancing at the forest.

    People continued walking by, utterly oblivious. Cars glided silently along their magnetic tracks, and delivery drones zipped overhead. As usual, I was the only one who noticed something out of the ordinary. Typical.

    I stared at the trees for a moment longer, debating whether to check it out. Then I shook my head. Whatever it was, it wasn¡¯t my problem. Curiosity only gets you into trouble.

    By the time I reached home, the moment had already faded into the background, replaced by the familiar dread of facing my parents.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The scene was as predictable as the therapy session had been. Dad sat on the couch, arms crossed, his expression a storm cloud of frustration. Mom was next to him, twisting her hands like she could squeeze out all her worry. Floating above the coffee table was the glowing therapy report, its judgmental graphs mocking me silently.

    ¡°So?¡± Dad¡¯s voice was sharp enough to cut glass. ¡°What excuse do you have this time?¡±

    ¡°Excuse?¡± I tossed my bag on the floor and sank into the couch. ¡°The machine said I¡¯m the same as before. So, congratulations, I¡¯m consistent.¡±

    ¡°Consistently useless,¡± he snapped, standing up. The veins in his forehead pulsed visibly, and his face flushed crimson. His eyes burned like hot coals, the whites tinged red with rage.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been going for months, Vrishti. Months! And there¡¯s no progress. What is wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°Rajesh,¡± Mom whispered, placing a hand on his arm, but he shook her off with a jerk.

    ¡°What is wrong with me? Maybe ask the machine you¡¯re so obsessed with,¡± I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

    His fists clenched so tightly I thought he might explode. ¡°You don¡¯t even try! We¡¯ve given you everything¡ªtherapy, education, opportunities¡ªand you waste it all. You¡¯re ungrateful, lazy, and completely indifferent! Bas baith jao aur duniya ko dekhte raho! (Just sit and watch the world go by!)¡±

    ¡°I never asked for therapy,¡± I shot back. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for any of this.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to ask! We¡¯re trying to help you because clearly, you won¡¯t help yourself! Tumhare jaise log kabhi safal nahi hote jo apne halat badalne ki koshish tak nahi karte! (People like you, who don¡¯t even try to change their circumstances, never succeed!)¡±

    The AI news anchor¡¯s voice cut through the tension like a knife.

    ¡°Breaking news,¡± it announced, its calm monotone a stark contrast to the chaos in the room. ¡°A humongous dark cloud has been detected over the South Pole. The cloud is expanding at an unprecedented rate, now covering several hundred square kilometers. Experts are calling it a potential global-scale phenomenon.¡±

    Dad barely glanced at the screen before snapping back to me. ¡°You don¡¯t care about anything¡ªnot yourself, not this family, not even the world falling apart around you!¡±

    ¡°The world¡¯s always falling apart,¡± I muttered. ¡°What else is new?¡±

    ¡°The exact cause of the phenomenon is unknown,¡± the AI continued. ¡°Preliminary analysis suggests disturbances in the Earth¡¯s magnetic field could be a factor. Early simulations indicate the cloud could impact global weather patterns or lead to catastrophic events.¡±

    Mom turned toward the screen, her face pale. ¡°Rajesh, look at that. What is that thing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just another doomsday prediction,¡± he said dismissively before pointing a trembling finger at me. ¡°Tumhe lagta hai ki zindagi tumhare liye ruki hui hai? (Do you think life is waiting for you?) Ek din tumhare haath sirf pachtawa lagega! (One day, you¡¯ll be left with nothing but regret!)¡±

    The screen showed swirling black clouds over the South Pole, expanding with unnatural speed. Lightning flickered within, illuminating the ominous mass like some ancient, living storm.

    I stood up, brushing off his words like dust on my sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m going to my room.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare walk away from me!¡± he yelled, his voice cracking with frustration.

    I paused at the stairs but didn¡¯t look back. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left to say.¡±

    As I climbed the steps, the AI anchor¡¯s voice droned on behind me.

    ¡°Scientists are urging calm as investigations continue. More updates to follow. Authorities have not ruled out a connection to the increasing disturbances in Earth¡¯s magnetic field¡­¡±

    I shut my door behind me, locking out the world and its problems. My father¡¯s words lingered in the air, but I pushed them aside. The world could crumble for all I cared.

    It''s none of my business...

 Family

    Downstairs, the tension is suffocating. Rajesh is pacing the living room, his face flushed with anger and frustration.

    ¡°She¡¯s ungrateful!¡± he roars. ¡°Do you even realize how much we¡¯ve sacrificed for her, Anjali? Everything we¡¯ve done, every penny we¡¯ve earned¡ªit¡¯s all for her! And what do we get in return? This indifference? This disrespect?¡±

    Anjali sits quietly on the sofa, her hands folded tightly in her lap. ¡°Rajesh, please, calm down. Yelling won¡¯t solve anything,¡± she says gently, though her voice carries a trace of exhaustion.

    ¡°No, Anjali, don¡¯t tell me to calm down!¡± Rajesh snaps, his voice rising. ¡°She doesn¡¯t care! She has no gratitude, no respect for what we¡¯ve gone through. Neki kar dariya mein daal! That¡¯s all this feels like. We gave her everything, and this is how she repays us?¡±

    Anjali looks up at him, her eyes pleading. ¡°Let me talk to her,¡± she says, her tone soft but firm.

    Rajesh stops pacing and sighs heavily, dropping onto the couch. ¡°Go ahead. Maybe she¡¯ll listen to you. But I¡¯m telling you, Anjali, she needs to understand what she¡¯s doing to us.¡±

    ---

    Anjali takes a deep breath and walks upstairs, a plate of food in her hands. She hesitates outside Vrishti¡¯s door, her heart heavy with worry. When she pushes the door open, she finds Vrishti lying on her bed, one earbud dangling from her ear.

    ¡°Vrishti,¡± Anjali says softly as she steps inside.

    Vrishti doesn¡¯t look at her. ¡°What now, Maa?¡± she asks, her voice flat, her gaze fixed on the ceiling.

    Anjali places the plate on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the bed. ¡°We need to talk, beta,¡± she says gently.

    ---

    Mother and Daughter.

    Talk. That¡¯s all they ever want to do. Like words can fix everything that¡¯s wrong. Like words can erase years of feeling out of place.

    ¡°Vrishti, your father and I¡­ we¡¯re doing our best for you,¡± Maa starts, her voice careful, like she¡¯s stepping on glass.

    I sit up abruptly, my chest tight with a mix of anger and exhaustion. ¡°Your best?¡± I snap, my words cutting through the quiet. ¡°Maa, do you even understand what it¡¯s like to be me?¡±

    ¡°Of course I do,¡± she says, her brow furrowing. ¡°I¡¯m your mother. I¡¯ve been with you through everything.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°No, Maa, you don¡¯t understand,¡± I reply, my voice trembling. ¡°You and Papa keep saying you¡¯ve done everything for me, that you love me, that you¡¯re worried. But do you know what it¡¯s like to grow up feeling like you don¡¯t belong anywhere?¡±

    ¡°Vrishti, we were struggling then. We¡ª¡±

    I cut her off, the words spilling out before I can stop them. ¡°Struggling? Maa, we were drowning! I couldn¡¯t even go to a proper school! I watched other kids have everything¡ªeducation, toys, clothes¡ªand I had nothing. Do you know what that does to a person? To a child? It made me stop wanting anything because it was easier to pretend I didn¡¯t care than to live with the disappointment.¡±

    Maa¡¯s face crumbles, her lips trembling. ¡°Beta, we did the best we could with what we had. It was never easy, but we made it through. And now, we¡¯re trying to give you everything we couldn¡¯t before.¡±

    ¡°Too late,¡± I mutter, my voice cracking. ¡°It¡¯s too late, Maa. Suppressing my desires for years¡­ it changed me. I don¡¯t want anything anymore. I don¡¯t dream, I don¡¯t hope, and I definitely don¡¯t care about anything you or Papa expect of me.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± she says desperately, her hands reaching for mine. ¡°You¡¯re our daughter, Vrishti. We love you. Your father¡­ he works so hard because he loves you.¡±

    I let out a bitter laugh, pulling my hands away. ¡°Do you think I don¡¯t know that? That I don¡¯t see it? I know, Maa. I know what he did. I know he became a test subject for some shady experiment just to get us out of that hole.¡±

    Maa freezes, her eyes wide. ¡°What¡­ what are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°You think I didn¡¯t notice the scars? The way he came home looking like he¡¯d been to war? Or that I didn¡¯t hear you two whispering about it late at night? I was a kid, Maa, not stupid.¡±

    Her face pales, her hands trembling as she tries to find the words. ¡°Vrishti¡­ we¡­ we didn¡¯t want you to know. We wanted to protect you.¡±

    ¡°Protect me?¡± I laugh bitterly, tears stinging my eyes. ¡°Maa, you put your lives on the line for me, and now you expect me to just live with that? To be okay with the fact that my father risked his life for a future I never asked for?¡±

    ¡°Vrishti,¡± she says, her voice breaking, ¡°your father did what he thought was right. We both did. For you.¡±

    ¡°For me?¡± I whisper, the weight of the truth pressing down on my chest. ¡°Maa, I never asked for this. I never wanted you or Papa to suffer for me. And now, I¡¯m the one who has to carry this guilt. Every single day.¡±

    Her tears flow freely now, but she doesn¡¯t say a word. What could she say? There are no words that can fix this.

    I lie back down, turning away from her. ¡°Just¡­ leave me alone, Maa. Please.¡±

    Anjali lingers for a moment, her presence heavy with unspoken words. Then she stands and walks to the door, closing it softly behind her.

    ---

    Mother and Father

    Downstairs, Anjali sinks into the couch, her face pale and tear-streaked. Rajesh looks up, his brow furrowed, worry flashing across his face.

    ¡°What happened?¡± he asks cautiously, his voice unusually soft.

    ¡°She knows,¡± Anjali whispers, her voice trembling as if the words themselves are too heavy to carry.

    ¡°Knows what?¡± Rajesh leans forward, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edge of the coffee table.

    Anjali¡¯s hands shake uncontrollably, tears welling up again. ¡°About the experiment, Rajesh. She knows everything. She¡¯s known for years.¡±

    The color drains from Rajesh¡¯s face. He stands abruptly, his fists clenched, his body rigid. ¡°How?¡± he demands, his voice breaking. ¡°How could she know?¡±

    Anjali sobs quietly, wiping her face with trembling fingers. ¡°She overheard us back then. We weren¡¯t careful enough. She saw the scars. She pieced it all together on her own. Rajesh¡­ she¡¯s been carrying that weight all this time, and we¡­ we didn¡¯t even see it.¡±

    Rajesh collapses back onto the couch, his head in his hands. His shoulders tremble as the realization hits him like a tidal wave. ¡°I thought I was protecting her,¡± he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°We both did,¡± Anjali replies, her words shaky but filled with guilt. ¡°But instead, we made her feel abandoned. She¡¯s been carrying this alone, Rajesh. All this pain, all this anger¡­ it¡¯s not just hers. It¡¯s ours too.¡±

    Rajesh raises his head, his eyes bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears. ¡°Do you think she hates me?¡± he asks, his voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.

    ¡°No,¡± Anjali says, though her voice wavers. ¡°But she¡¯s hurt. She¡¯s so, so hurt. And we¡­ we¡¯re part of the reason why.¡±

    Silence falls over the room, but it¡¯s not peaceful. It¡¯s heavy, suffocating, filled with regrets they can¡¯t take back and wounds they can¡¯t heal with words.

    ¡°I just wanted her to have a better life,¡± Rajesh whispers, his voice breaking as a single tear escapes and rolls down his cheek.

    Anjali reaches for his hand, her grip firm despite her trembling fingers. ¡°We have to help her, Rajesh. Not force her. Not guilt her. Just¡­ help her.¡±

    The two sit in silence, their hands clasped tightly, as the weight of their choices presses down on them.

 Regret

    The room is stifling, the air thick with heat that presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe. I lie there, tangled in sheets that stick to my skin like they¡¯ve fused with my body. The faint hum of the city outside is the only sound that fills the space, but it¡¯s not enough to drown out the buzzing in my head.

    I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something¡¯s off. That I¡¯m drowning in my own thoughts, caught in a loop I can¡¯t break. Maa¡¯s face, her disappointment, the way she tried so hard to reach me, and my father¡¯s anger¡ªeach scene replays like a broken record. I can¡¯t escape it.

    I close my eyes, but sleep refuses to come. The guilt weighs on me, a constant pressure that I can¡¯t shake. I didn¡¯t mean to lash out at her like that. I didn¡¯t mean for it to go this far.

    But I can¡¯t stay here, suffocating in my own skin. I need to move, to get away from the heaviness of the room.

    With a frustrated grunt, I fling the blankets off and slide out of bed. The coldness of the floor meets my bare feet, but I don¡¯t care. I just need to get outside, to feel something that¡¯s not this suffocating silence.

    The balcony door creaks open, and the sudden rush of cool air hits me. I stand there for a moment, letting the wind cut through the thick fog of my thoughts. It feels like a slap to the face, a reminder that there¡¯s something beyond the confines of this room. Something bigger, something alive.

    The city sprawls below me, glowing in unnatural neon hues. It¡¯s vibrant, alive with motion, but it feels so distant, so disconnected from me. My mind drifts back to the conversation with Maa, and the weight of it pulls at my chest.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    I¡¯m here, but I¡¯m not really here.

    Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

    A flash.

    White. Jagged. Blinding, like lightning, but without the sound. A streak of light cutting through the dark night sky.

    My breath hitches in my throat.

    Did I see that?

    I blink, my eyes narrowing, trying to focus. But it¡¯s gone. Just a brief flash, as though it never existed.

    I turn away, but then¡ª

    It happens again.

    This time, brighter. More intense.

    I freeze, heart pounding. It¡¯s no ordinary flash of light. It¡¯s like a presence in the night, sharp and electric, but fleeting. Uncertain. Just a pulse, a single burst of energy in the dark expanse.

    I can¡¯t explain it, but I know it¡¯s different. It feels... important.

    The wind picks up, sharp and cold. I step forward, my body leaning toward the edge of the balcony. There¡¯s no logical reason for it. No sound to draw me. No voice calling me to it. But something deep inside stirs, a spark of curiosity.

    I stare at the forest in the distance, where the light came from. The trees are nothing but a dark silhouette against the horizon. Silent. Unmoving.

    But I can¡¯t ignore what I just saw.

    It flickers again.

    Brighter this time. My whole body feels it, deep in my chest. A pulse that feels almost like it¡¯s vibrating the air around me. My breath catches, a strange tension building in my throat. It¡¯s as if the world is holding its breath, waiting. But for what?

    I don¡¯t know.

    But I can¡¯t look away.

    My heartbeat quickens. My hands tremble as I grip the balcony railing, my body taut with a mixture of unease and intrigue. I want to understand. I want to know what that was, what¡¯s causing it.

    But it¡¯s so far away. The forest feels so unreachable, the night so silent. The city behind me is too noisy, too synthetic. This is something else. Something... beyond the hum of the world around me.

    What is it?

    I don¡¯t know.

    But I feel like I need to understand it. The more I think about it, the more it seems to make sense, even if it doesn¡¯t.

    Another flicker.

    My heart skips a beat, and I take a step back from the edge. The air around me is charged now, filled with something I can¡¯t describe. The room behind me feels distant now, as though it doesn¡¯t matter. I can¡¯t focus on anything but the trees, the forest, the spark that¡¯s out there.

    I don¡¯t know what this is.

    But I....

 Curiosity, Exploration, Confusion

    Curiosity, Exploration, Confusion.

    The air feels heavier today, thick with the remnants of last night''s storm. The wind still stirs the trees, but it¡¯s a gentler breeze now, soft against my skin. The leaves in the forest are still damp, their tips glistening with droplets as I step through the underbrush. Each footfall makes a soft crunch, and the smell of wet earth fills my nostrils. It¡¯s strangely comforting, yet it does little to ease the weight that presses down on me.

    I don¡¯t have a real reason for being here. It¡¯s not like I believe I¡¯ll find anything. Maybe I¡¯m just trying to forget. Forget the strange tension at home, forget the heavy silence that¡¯s been hanging between me and my family for weeks. Or maybe I¡¯m just looking for something, anything, that will make me feel less like I¡¯m drowning in my own thoughts.

    The path beneath my feet is muddy from the rain, and the squelch of my shoes makes me want to sigh, but I don¡¯t. I keep walking, each step feeling heavier than the last. The forest feels like a safe space, but it¡¯s not the sanctuary I¡¯ve been hoping for. I¡¯m still here, in my own skin, surrounded by my thoughts.

    As I walk, I feel my mind drift back to this morning, to the cold, empty breakfast table. The silence was unbearable. Every bite I took felt like it echoed louder than it should have, and every movement I made felt too big, too awkward. It wasn¡¯t just that we didn¡¯t talk¡ªit was the avoidance, the way they wouldn¡¯t look at me. The way they wouldn¡¯t look at each other. It was like we were all pretending we weren¡¯t there, trapped in a room together, and nobody was willing to break the silence.

    The weight of their pity is suffocating. I can feel it even now, pressing against my chest, a constant reminder of how different I am. They don¡¯t understand me. How could they? I don¡¯t even understand myself. But they still try, in their own way. I don¡¯t want their pity. I don¡¯t need it. I don¡¯t even want to be seen by them anymore. But I know that¡¯s exactly what they see. They see the girl who doesn¡¯t fit, who doesn¡¯t belong. The girl who¡¯s lost somewhere in herself, in a world that¡¯s moving faster than...

    I think of my mother¡¯s eyes as she glanced at me this morning¡ªempty, tired, like she was watching a ghost walk by. I can¡¯t blame her. I¡¯m not the person I used to be. I don¡¯t even know who I am anymore. I can barely remember the girl I was before all of this, before the walls went up and the distance grew between us. All I know now is that I¡¯m not who they think I am. I¡¯m just... lost.

    I push the thought aside as I keep walking, my shoes squelching in the damp earth. The rain has stopped, but the sky is still gray, heavy with clouds. The air is thick with the promise of another storm. The wind whispers through the trees, carrying with it the faint sound of rustling leaves and distant birds. It¡¯s peaceful here, in this part of the forest, but the peace doesn¡¯t calm the storm in my head.

    I let my thoughts drift as I wander deeper into the trees, stepping over roots and weaving between branches. My mind is like a tangled mess¡ªfrustration, confusion, and that ever-present, gnawing feeling of being stuck. I try to focus on the world around me, on the crunch of my footsteps and the smell of wet earth. But it doesn¡¯t help. My mind keeps returning to the same place, to the same questions that I don¡¯t have answers for.

    What am I doing with my life? What¡¯s the point of it all?

    I keep walking, moving through the forest like I¡¯m trying to outrun the thoughts that chase me. The wind picks up, and the trees above sway, their branches creaking under the weight of the storm. The air smells fresh, sharp, like rain-soaked earth and pine needles. There¡¯s something almost hypnotic about it. It¡¯s easy to forget myself here, to lose myself in the rhythm of my steps. But it never lasts. The silence of the forest isn¡¯t enough to quiet the noise inside my head.

    I¡¯m not sure how long I¡¯ve been walking when I first see it. At first, it¡¯s just a shadow on the ground, something strange and out of place. I almost step on it, but I freeze, my eyes narrowing as I try to make sense of it. A footprint. But not just any footprint. It¡¯s huge, deep, almost... unnatural.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    I crouch down, my fingers brushing the edges of the imprint. It¡¯s too big to belong to anything I recognize. There¡¯s something off about it, something that sends a shiver down my spine. It¡¯s too clean, too perfect, like it was made recently. The rain hasn¡¯t filled it in completely. I look around, my eyes scanning the surrounding trees. This part of the forest is close to the residential area, and there aren¡¯t supposed to be any wild animals here. Everything is controlled.

    So what is this?

    I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I snap a picture of the footprint. The camera click sounds loud in the stillness, like a disruption in the natural order. But I don¡¯t care. I need answers. I need to know what this is.

    I upload the image to the internet, my heart pounding in my chest as I tap the screen. The process is instantaneous¡ªthe AI runs its analysis and presents the result in a flash: Elephant.

    I stare at the screen, blinking as though it will magically change, but it doesn¡¯t. My mind reels. An elephant? But that can¡¯t be right. Elephants have been extinct for centuries. There¡¯s no way this footprint belongs to an elephant.

    But the AI doesn¡¯t lie. It gives me an exact match: an elephant footprint.

    I laugh, the sound hollow in my chest. Well, looks like I¡¯ve rediscovered an extinct creature, I think to myself, my voice in my head sounding strange and detached. It doesn¡¯t even feel like my own thought. It¡¯s too absurd. What am I even supposed to do with this information? I shake my head, my thoughts a swirling mess of confusion. This can¡¯t be real.

    I take one last look at the footprint, feeling a sense of unease creep up my spine. The forest around me feels suddenly larger, more intimidating, as if it¡¯s holding secrets I¡¯m not meant to understand. I stand up slowly, brushing the dirt from my knees.

    I need to leave.

    I turn away from the footprint, my mind racing. I came here looking for answers about the lightning I saw last night, but instead, I¡¯ve found something far more confusing. What does this mean? Is it possible that there¡¯s something I don¡¯t know? Something hidden just beneath the surface of everything I thought I understood?

    I feel a pang of curiosity, but it¡¯s a dark kind of curiosity, the kind that makes my stomach turn. I don¡¯t want to know, not really. But I can¡¯t help it. It¡¯s like I¡¯m standing on the edge of something, and I don¡¯t know whether to step forward or pull back.

    I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. My steps are slow, deliberate, as I start to head back. The forest feels heavier now, darker, like it¡¯s holding something back.

    I walk with my head down, lost in my thoughts. I keep trying to piece everything together, but the more I think about it, the more everything seems to spiral out of control. The footprint. The lightning. The strange feeling that something is wrong with everything. I can¡¯t shake the sense that I¡¯ve stumbled onto something much bigger than I ever anticipated.

    I glance at my phone again, as if hoping for a different result, but it¡¯s still there, the image of the elephant footprint, now stored in my gallery like some kind of cursed memory. It¡¯s almost as if the phone itself has become a reminder of the mystery that haunts me.

    What am I even doing with my life? I came out here to escape my own thoughts, to escape my own life. But it¡¯s like everything just keeps pulling me back in, back to the same questions, the same confusion. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever find the answers, or if I¡¯ll just keep chasing ghosts.

    I hear the rustle of leaves behind me, and I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. It¡¯s just the wind, I tell myself, but the sound of it, the way it seems to shift in the trees, makes me feel like I¡¯m being followed. I shake my head, trying to clear the feeling of unease.

    By the time I make it back to the edge of the forest, the sun is setting, casting the world in a soft, golden light. The sky is tinged with orange and pink, a reminder of the storm that came through earlier. I can hear the distant hum of the city, the faint buzz of life that I¡¯m not a part of. I take one last look at the trees, the place where the footprint lies, hidden in the dirt, and I think to myself, maybe this is just another mystery I¡¯ll never solve.

    I came here looking for an answer about the lightning, but what I found was so much more than I bargained for.

    And now, I can¡¯t stop thinking about it.

    What was that footprint? Why was it there? And what does it all mean?

    I don¡¯t know. But I can¡¯t ignore it. And I can¡¯t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning of something much bigger.

    The answers feel far away, like they¡¯re just out of reach, like I¡¯m chasing something that I¡¯ll never catch. But I can¡¯t stop searching. I can¡¯t stop wondering. And maybe, just maybe, that¡¯s the one thing that keeps me going.

 The Second Visit and The Stranger

    The Second Visit and The Stranger

    I return from the forest that evening, exhausted. Dinner is quiet again¡ªawkward silence filling the room like always. Nobody says a word, not even me. My parents sit across the table, avoiding eye contact. It¡¯s not disappointment in their eyes, though. It¡¯s something worse¡ªsympathy. Like they¡¯re too afraid to ask what¡¯s wrong. Maybe they already know I wouldn¡¯t have an answer.

    After finishing the meal in silence, I retreat to my room. My thoughts, however, stay tangled in the forest¡ªthe lightning spark and that massive footprint. The internet gave me nothing useful yesterday. Sure, I learned that it belonged to an animal called an ¡°elephant,¡± which has been extinct for centuries, but that only added to my confusion. I had jokingly thought I might¡¯ve discovered a new species, but the truth is, I don¡¯t know what to think anymore.

    The lightning spark from that night flashes again in my mind, refusing to leave me alone. It¡¯s like a thread I¡¯m supposed to pull, but I don¡¯t know where it leads.

    ---

    The next morning, I make up my mind. I need to go back. There¡¯s no logic behind it¡ªjust this nagging feeling that I missed something.

    The forest is quiet when I arrive, the air cooler than yesterday, the sun shrouded in a thin veil of clouds. I step into the woods, my footsteps crunching against the dry leaves. The same path as before, but this time, I feel... heavier. Maybe it¡¯s the weight of my unanswered questions. Or maybe it¡¯s just my imagination playing tricks on me again.

    As I walk deeper, I see someone approaching from the other direction. It¡¯s an old man, his steps slow and deliberate, his lips moving as though he¡¯s chanting something under his breath. His eyes are half-closed, lost in his own world.

    We pass each other without a word. I don¡¯t stop, and neither does he. I barely even glance at him, too focused on my search. Just some guy. Probably not important.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ---

    Hours later, my search turns up nothing. Again. No strange sparks, no new footprints. Just trees, shadows, and silence. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting to find, but whatever it is, it¡¯s not here. Frustration bubbles up, but I push it down. There¡¯s no point staying any longer. I sigh and turn back toward the road.

    When I finally step out of the forest, I freeze. The old man is there again. This time, he¡¯s leaning against the railing at the side of the road, his eyes closed, as though he¡¯s been waiting for something¡ªor someone.

    I hesitate for a moment, then approach him. ¡°Hey,¡± I say, my voice breaking the silence. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you around here before. What brings you to this part of the woods?¡±

    His eyes open slowly, calm and steady, as if he¡¯s been expecting me. ¡°I received a prophecy,¡± he says simply. His voice is soft but firm, like he believes every word he¡¯s saying.

    ¡°A... prophecy?¡± I repeat, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he replies, unfazed by my skepticism.

    I laugh, shaking my head. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you believe in that stuff? Prophecies? That¡¯s ancient fairytale nonsense.¡±

    His expression doesn¡¯t waver, but I see his eyes narrow slightly for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly, his calm demeanor returns. ¡°The world is far more complicated than you can comprehend,¡± he says, his tone unshaken.

    ¡°Sure it is,¡± I mutter under my breath. ¡°So, what¡¯s this prophecy about? Did it tell you to come stand by this railing and spout cryptic stuff to strangers?¡±

    He tilts his head slightly, watching me with an unreadable expression. ¡°Perhaps,¡± he says quietly, as though my sarcasm doesn¡¯t bother him at all.

    I don¡¯t know what to say to that, so I just shrug. ¡°Well, good luck with... whatever this is.¡± I turn and walk past him, feeling more amused than anything. A prophecy. Right.

    But as I take a few steps forward, the lightning spark flashes in my mind again¡ªbright and vivid, almost blinding. The footprint follows, the memory of its impossible size making my stomach twist. My eyes widen as realization dawns on me.

    I stop dead in my tracks, my pulse quickening. Slowly, I turn back toward the old man, but... he¡¯s gone.

    The railing is empty, the road silent. It¡¯s as if he was never there.

    A chill runs down my spine, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring at the empty spot where he¡¯d been. Was he even real? Or am I losing it?

    I shake my head and start walking again, but the questions won¡¯t stop. The lightning. The footprint. The old man. How is any of this connected? Or is it?

    Whatever the answers are, I know one thing for sure: this isn¡¯t over. Not by a long shot.

 More Confusion

    More Confusion

    I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My room¡¯s a wreck¡ªnot that I care right now. Clothes hang off the chair in weird angles like they¡¯ve given up on life. A discarded blanket lies half on the floor, half on the bed, a chaotic reminder of my restless state. There¡¯s an empty bag of chips crumpled on my desk, a mug with leftover tea sitting dangerously close to the edge, and my tablet is still glowing faintly, stuck on a useless webpage that I left open hours ago.

    None of this matters. My head feels like it¡¯s been spinning ever since I stepped out of that forest. Lightning, footprints, old men muttering about prophecies¡ªit¡¯s like some bizarre puzzle that refuses to make sense.

    I sit up and grab a pillow, hugging it tightly. One footprint. Just one. How does that even work? Animals with four legs don¡¯t leave one footprint. Was the elephant hopping around? Or was it some bizarre anomaly? I picture it stumbling through the forest, dragging one foot behind. It¡¯s a stupid thought, but I can¡¯t shake it. It just doesn¡¯t make sense.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± I mutter, tossing the pillow aside. ¡°None of this adds up.¡±

    I glance at the tablet sitting on the desk. Earlier, I¡¯d tried to look into it, searching about elephants and their history. I even found an online discussion group about extinct species and unusual sightings. But it turned out to be a waste of time. Most of the replies were jokes, calling the image a prank or edited. One person even accused me of faking the footprint for attention. Attention. Yeah, right. I closed the tab after that, too annoyed to deal with them anymore.

    It¡¯s stupid. All of it. The footprint. The lightning. The old man. None of it should exist, and yet I can¡¯t shake the feeling that it¡¯s all connected somehow.

    I stand up and start pacing the room, stepping over a pair of boots I¡¯d kicked off earlier. The sound of my footsteps echoes faintly, filling the silence. My brain feels like it¡¯s running in circles. The lightning. The footprint. The old man. None of it should make sense, but it does. I feel it nagging at me like a little voice that won¡¯t shut up.

    Why was there only one footprint? Animals with four legs don¡¯t leave one footprint. Maybe it was hopping, or maybe I just didn¡¯t see the others. Who knows? I picture the elephant awkwardly dragging itself through the forest like some out-of-place circus act. I can¡¯t help but laugh, but it doesn¡¯t help. It¡¯s just a way to distract myself.

    ¡°An elephant doing the limbo,¡± I mutter to myself, shaking my head. The sound of my voice is small, as if I¡¯m trying to convince myself this is all just a weird dream.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    I stop in the middle of the room, facing the window. It¡¯s almost evening, the sky still lit with fading orange and purple hues. I feel a cold, knotting unease in my stomach as I think about the forest again. There¡¯s something about it that doesn¡¯t sit right with me. The lightning. The footprint. I keep replaying the image in my mind, over and over.

    And then there¡¯s the old man. His words still echo in my head. A prophecy? Who even talks like that anymore? And why was he so calm, like this whole thing was just a casual errand for him? Maybe I should¡¯ve pressed him for more information instead of brushing it off, but what would¡¯ve been the point? He¡¯d probably have gone off about fate or destiny or some other nonsense.

    I groan, grabbing my hair in frustration. ¡°I¡¯m being stupid. This is all stupid.¡±

    A knock on my door cuts through my spiraling thoughts. ¡°Vrishti?¡± My mother¡¯s voice is soft, almost hesitant. ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready.¡±

    I freeze for a second, glancing at the door. I know she¡¯s standing there, waiting for me to answer, to come to the table like normal. But I¡¯m not in the mood for it. Not now.

    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry,¡± I reply softly, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy as they leave my lips. There¡¯s no sharpness in them, no bite. I say it gently, almost apologetically.

    There¡¯s a pause. A long, awkward pause that stretches between us. I can almost hear her sigh from the other side of the door. The faint creak of the door hinges signals her departure, though she doesn¡¯t say anything else.

    For a moment, I think about getting up, about going to the dinner table and trying to act normal. But my legs feel like they¡¯re made of lead. I stay seated on the bed, burying my face in my hands.

    I shouldn¡¯t have turned her away. I shouldn¡¯t have said that. I know she¡¯s worried about me. I can feel it every time she looks at me. It¡¯s like she sees the cracks in me that I try to hide. The things I don¡¯t say, the things I don¡¯t show. I hate that look in her eyes. That pity. It¡¯s not her fault, though. She doesn¡¯t understand.

    I look around my room again, my gaze bouncing from the mess to the empty space. My mind is a mess too. And it¡¯s not getting any clearer. I could¡¯ve been out there asking more about the footprint, about the lightning, about everything. I could¡¯ve been figuring out the pieces, piecing them together. But I walked away. I let the old man slip through my fingers. What if I missed something?

    I sigh again, feeling the weight of it all settle on me.

    The room feels too quiet now. The only sound is the faint hum of the tablet on the desk, still glowing with unanswered questions. I glance at it, picking it up and scrolling through the last few messages from the group I¡¯d joined. None of them had anything useful. Just more jokes, more people dismissing what I found. Maybe I¡¯m just crazy. Maybe this whole thing is just some weird, random occurrence.

    I swipe the tablet off and toss it onto the bed next to me.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s nothing,¡± I murmur, though the words feel like a lie. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m overthinking it.¡±

    But I can¡¯t shake the feeling that there¡¯s more to this. More that I haven¡¯t seen. More that I¡¯m not supposed to understand yet.

    The knock comes again, this time more insistent, but I don¡¯t answer it. Instead, I lie back down and close my eyes. The questions swirl around me, mixing together. The lightning. The footprint. The old man. What did they mean? Why was I drawn to all of this?

    And then there¡¯s my family. My mother, who tries so hard to reach me but doesn¡¯t know how.

    I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. My mind¡¯s a maze. I don¡¯t know how to navigate through it. I don¡¯t know where I¡¯m supposed to go from here.

    Eventually, I give in to the exhaustion creeping in. I let my thoughts scatter, just for a moment, and drift off into a restless sleep. The last thing I think of before I fall into darkness is the lightning, flashing through my mind again, leaving me with more questions than answers.

 Re- encounter

    The next morning, as the first light of dawn stretches across the sky, I wake up to a soft ping, followed by a hologram notification floating before me. The AI doctor reminds me of my therapy session later in the day. I sigh, rubbing my eyes. Another reminder, another day, another therapy session. I¡¯ve been avoiding it, but it¡¯s a part of my routine now. A part of my life.

    I sit up, my room as messy as usual¡ªpapers scattered, my tablet left on the table with a webpage still open, and clothes piled up in a corner. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve created a chaotic cocoon around me, a place where I can just retreat from the world. I look around at the disarray, my brain foggy from sleep, and the thought of therapy makes me groan inwardly.

    I get up, absentmindedly adjusting my shirt, and head out of my room. The sun is barely rising, and the early morning air has a crisp chill to it. I step out into the quiet streets, still relatively empty, save for a few early risers going about their routines. The smell of fresh coffee from the local caf¨¦ wafts through the air, mingling with the distant hum of hovering cars and the occasional drone buzzing by overhead.

    I¡¯m walking to the therapy center, but my feet seem to be moving in a different direction. Maybe it¡¯s the monotony of everything¡ªtherapy, life, school, my parents'' concerned glances that feel like a constant weight on me. Maybe it¡¯s the fact that yesterday¡¯s events still hang in the back of my mind. The footprint. The lightning. The old man. What the hell was all that?

    As I continue down the street, my thoughts spin out of control. Should I actually go to therapy today? Maybe I¡¯ll skip it¡ªjust this once. After all, what¡¯s the point? The world¡¯s moving in a direction I can¡¯t control, and I can¡¯t seem to find my place in it. Not with my family¡¯s pity, not with my lack of purpose, but....what will my father do to me when he will find out?

    I mean what more can be done to me now? Let''s dump it!

    I shake my head. The therapy session is the least of my worries. I glance at the shiny, sleek gadgets everyone around me is engrossed in. They¡¯re all staring at screens¡ªsome chatting with AI assistants, others playing games, and a few checking the latest news updates. It¡¯s as though everyone¡¯s plugged into the system, and it¡¯s all so normal for them. But I can''t help but feel alien in all of it. So I keep walking.

    While walking, I witness something...

    There¡¯s a man sitting on a bench near the park. He¡¯s holding a book. A real, physical book. It¡¯s so out of place here in a world where even libraries are digitized, where anything you want can be downloaded in an instant.

    What kind of weirdo is this? I start walking toward him, unable to help myself. It¡¯s absurd, really. A man reading a book? He¡¯s like some relic of the past, sitting there like nothing¡¯s changed.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    As I get closer, my eyes widen in recognition.

    It¡¯s him. The old man from yesterday.

    I stop in my tracks, blinking in disbelief. It¡¯s really him. What the hell is he doing here? Why is he reading a book in the middle of a park?

    I take a step closer, my curiosity getting the better of me, and then, almost without thinking, I blurt out, ¡°Aren¡¯t you the senile geezer who was spouting nonsense yesterday? What the hell are you even doing here, and what¡¯s up with that old-looking, rusty book?¡±

    He doesn¡¯t flinch. He doesn¡¯t even seem to care. His eyes remain fixed on the pages of the book, his brow furrowed in concentration. He¡¯s unfazed by my sarcastic remark, which makes me even more annoyed, for some reason.

    Finally, he looks up at me, eyes glimmering in the soft morning light, and he chuckles lightly. "It¡¯s a good book," he says, almost absentmindedly. "You should try reading one someday." He closes the book, places it on his lap, and just stares at me for a moment.

    I cross my arms, tapping my foot impatiently. "A book? Really? In this day and age? You¡¯re either really out of touch with reality, or you¡¯re just some freak playing dress-up. What is this, some kind of... time travel cosplay?"

    He laughs again, that same serene chuckle that seems to unsettle me. "I suppose I¡¯m more of a relic of the past than anything else, but there¡¯s more to this world than you realize."

    I roll my eyes, unimpressed. "Yeah, right. And I¡¯m supposed to be impressed by your mystical babble. You really do know how to make an impression, don¡¯t you?"

    Without missing a beat, he sets the book aside and rises from the bench, taking a step toward me. "I know you have questions, and I¡¯m certain you¡¯re dying to ask them. Come. Walk with me. I have answers, though they may not be what you expect."

    I narrow my eyes at him, instinctively taking a step back. What kind of strange offer is this? I hesitate for a moment, my mind racing. But the curiosity gnaws at me, pulling me toward him like an invisible force. Maybe I¡¯ll just see where this goes. At least I¡¯ll get some answers, even if they¡¯re nonsense.

    I take a deep breath and follow him, wondering what the hell I¡¯m getting myself into.

    As we walk through the park, I keep my distance slightly, unsure of what to make of this. My doubts creep in, though. What if he¡¯s some kind of trickster? What if he¡¯s luring me into some weird situation? I glance around, half-expecting someone to jump out from behind a tree and grab me.

    It¡¯s only when the old man suddenly speaks again that I snap out of my thoughts.

    ¡°Do you know about the moon?¡± he asks, his voice calm and steady.

    I blink, thrown off by the randomness of his question. The moon? What the hell does that have to do with anything?

    I glance up at the sky, trying to piece together some kind of meaning, but I come up empty. "I think it was something that floated above in the sky. I... I don¡¯t really know the details."

    He nods, as if he expected that answer, but then he continues. ¡°Yes, it was something that floated in the sky. It was the Earth¡¯s only natural satellite. It had its own gravitational pull, and it controlled the tides of the oceans. Some say it was even connected to our emotions. A rock, yet somehow, it had an undeniable effect on everything around it.¡±

    I¡¯m surprised by how much he knows. It¡¯s not like this information is hidden¡ªit¡¯s all in the records, accessible with a simple query. But there¡¯s something about his tone, the way he talks like he actually remembers it as if it¡¯s more than just data.

    I nod, unsure of what to say. The whole conversation feels so out of place. Nothing seems to fit. But then again, what¡¯s been fitting lately?

    ¡°So, what happened to it?¡± I finally ask, my voice softening. ¡°What happened to the moon?¡±

    The old man¡¯s eyes grow distant. His smile fades, replaced by a grave expression.

    ¡°It was destroyed.¡±

 Bygone - I

    Bygone - I

    ¡°The moon was destroyed during the 8th Great Conflict,¡± he begins, his gaze distant. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a war confined to the Earth¡¯s surface. By then, humanity has expanded to the stars, but even with all that space, it isn¡¯t enough. The war rages for resources, power, and survival. Factions fight each other tooth and nail, and as desperation grows, lines are crossed.¡±

    I glance at my bracelet, swiping through its holographic interface as he speaks. It doesn¡¯t take long to find a record of the 8th Great Conflict. The information is sparse, filled with sanitized summaries and vague mentions of destruction. But the old man¡¯s story has already gone further than any of the records.

    ¡°One of the factions,¡± he continues, ¡°was losing the war. Badly. Out of options, they turn to a weapon they are still developing¡ªa weapon they call the Helioclast Engine. It wasn¡¯t finished, and their scientists warned against using it. But desperation doesn¡¯t listen to warnings.¡±

    I frown at the mention of the weapon, my bracelet displaying a brief entry on it. The description is dry and technical: Gravitational destabilization device. Intended for precision strikes on orbital targets. No mention of the moon, no mention of the chaos it causes.

    ¡°What was it supposed to do?¡± I ask, still scrolling through the hologram.

    ¡°The Helioclast Engine was designed to disrupt gravitational fields and collapse celestial structures,¡± he explains. ¡°They meant to use it on a heavily fortified orbital station controlled by their enemies. But the weapon wasn¡¯t ready. When they fired it, they couldn¡¯t control it. Instead of hitting the station, it struck the moon.¡±

    I pause, my hand hovering over the bracelet¡¯s interface.

    ¡°What happens then?¡± I ask, though I already have a sinking feeling I know the answer.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    The old man¡¯s voice grows heavier. ¡°The moon shattered. Pieces of it were flung into space, while massive fragments rained down on Earth, causing tsunamis, earthquakes, and firestorms. The skies darkened with debris, blocking out the sun for years. The tides stopped, ecosystems collapsed, and billions perished. The faction that fired the weapon sealed their own fate¡ªthey were hunted down and eradicated for what they¡¯d done.¡±

    The hologram on my bracelet flickers as I skim through more entries, piecing together the sanitized, fragmented details. The destruction of the moon isn¡¯t just a historical tragedy¡ªit¡¯s an extinction-level event that humanity barely survives.

    I close the interface with a flick of my wrist and turn to the old man. ¡°Alright, I get it. The moon was destroyed, it caused chaos, and humanity barely pulled through. But¡­¡± I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. ¡°How is any of this related to me?¡±

    The old man chuckles as he sees my skeptical expression. ¡°Impatient, aren¡¯t you?¡± he teases, his eyes glinting with amusement. ¡°Kids these days. Always in a rush. Can¡¯t even listen to a story without getting all fidgety.¡±

    I frown, crossing my arms. ¡°I¡¯m not fidgety! I¡¯m just trying to figure out why you¡¯re telling me about something that¡¯s been dead for ages!¡±

    He smirks, tilting his head as if studying me. ¡°Ah, so you admit it¡ªyou¡¯re impatient. That¡¯s the first step to growth.¡±

    I roll my eyes. ¡°You¡¯re impossible.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re entertaining,¡± he shoots back with a grin. ¡°Now that you know about the moon and its fate, I can start explaining more.¡±

    I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. This guy is testing my patience, but the curiosity is still gnawing at me.

    He folds his arms and begins pacing, his tone shifting to something more serious. ¡°The moon isn¡¯t just a lifeless rock. It reflects the light of the sun, illuminating the Earth at night. Depending on the time of the month, the amount of its surface visible from Earth changes. Slowly, it grows from a sliver of light into a full circle, the night of Purnima.¡±

    He pauses, glancing at me. ¡°You don¡¯t know what that is, do you?¡±

    I furrow my brow, trying to place the word. ¡°Purnima?¡± I repeat, shaking my head. ¡°Never heard of it.¡±

    He sighs dramatically, like a teacher disappointed by his student. ¡°Of course you haven¡¯t. It¡¯s the night of the full moon. The brightest, most complete phase of the lunar cycle.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s the opposite of that?¡± I ask, not sure if I¡¯m humoring him or genuinely curious.

    His grin returns, as if pleased by my question. ¡°Amavasya. The new moon. A night when the moon is completely hidden from sight, leaving the world in darkness. Purnima and Amavasya come 15 days apart from each other.¡±

    I stare at him, trying to wrap my head around it. The words sound strange and unfamiliar, like relics of a language no one speaks anymore. ¡°So¡­¡± I hesitate. ¡°The moon basically acts like some giant mirror for the sun?¡±

    He nods. ¡°Precisely. And without it, the nights have never been the same.¡±

    I glance at the sky, where the pale morning light is now giving way to the day.

    ¡°Alright, I get it. The moon lit up the night, it had these phases, and it¡¯s all very poetic. But¡­¡± I gesture impatiently. ¡°What¡¯s the point of all this? Why are you telling me this stuff?¡±

 Bygone - II

    Bygone - II

    ¡°If the moon still existed,¡± the old man says, his voice calm and measured, ¡°it would have been an Amavasya two nights ago.¡±

    I frown, my mind racing. Amavasya¡ªthe night of the new moon. He¡¯s already explained it, but the words don¡¯t quite sit right. For a second, his statement doesn¡¯t make sense. The moon, that symbol of ancient stories and cycles, is gone. Has been for ages. The sky is now just an empty canvas, a dark void where light once lived.

    Then, like a bolt of clarity, it hits me. Two nights ago. That¡¯s when I saw it¡ªthe lightning. A flash so sudden and bright, it briefly illuminated the night, cutting through the darkness like a thin crack in the air. I hadn¡¯t known what it was then, only that it was something I couldn¡¯t explain, a sharp flash that felt out of place, as if the world had shifted for a moment.

    My heart skips a beat as the pieces fall into place. I turn to the old man, my voice trembling slightly, and ask, ¡°So¡­ the things that happened¡ªthey¡¯re connected to the moon?¡± I try to steady myself, to make sense of this new layer of truth he¡¯s revealing. ¡°But the moon¡¯s been gone for ages. How¡¯s that possible?¡±

    The old man¡¯s lips quirk into a faint smile, though it isn¡¯t a reassuring one. It¡¯s the smile of someone who has seen the world unravel and has learned to see beyond the surface. ¡°It¡¯s not the moon itself,¡± he clarifies, his tone deliberate, as though he¡¯s teaching a child to understand the delicate complexities of the universe. ¡°The events aren¡¯t directly tied to it. They¡¯re connected to the two nights I mentioned¡ªAmavasya and Purnima. Even without the moon, those nights still carry their significance.¡±

    I blink, my brow furrowing in disbelief. It feels like I¡¯m missing something crucial, something fundamental. ¡°But how can that be?¡± I press, my frustration growing with every passing second. ¡°The moon is gone¡ªdestroyed. If it doesn¡¯t exist, how can events associated with it still happen? That doesn¡¯t make any sense!¡± The words feel like a plea for understanding, an attempt to grasp at something far beyond my current reality.

    He stops walking and turns fully toward me, his eyes no longer twinkling with amusement. Instead, there¡¯s a depth to his gaze, an intensity that almost feels¡­ too much. As if he can see through me, as if my questions are not just simple inquiries but a challenge to everything he knows.

    ¡°Child,¡± he says, his voice dropping lower, becoming more commanding, ¡°there¡¯s much more to this world¡ªand the universe¡ªthan your mind can comprehend. The moon may be gone, but its influence, its legacy, is not so easily erased. You see only what is in front of you. But reality¡­¡± He gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass something vast and unfathomable. ¡°Reality is not so simple.¡±

    I feel a shiver run through me. The weight of his words settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak, wrapping around me, constricting me. The universe isn¡¯t just what I see with my eyes. It¡¯s more¡ªinfinitely more. But how am I supposed to understand that? How am I supposed to even begin to grasp the immensity of something that isn¡¯t confined to what I know?If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Before I can respond, a frustrated question escapes my lips. ¡°What kind of phenomena?¡± I blurt, my voice sharp now, my frustration spilling over. ¡°What am I supposed to be looking for? You can¡¯t just keep telling me that something strange is happening without giving me more to go on!¡±

    He chuckles softly, but there¡¯s no humor in it¡ªjust an almost condescending calmness. ¡°You can find out for yourself, if you want to,¡± he says cryptically, his words like a puzzle piece that doesn¡¯t fit into place. ¡°After all, something strange is happening very close to you already.¡±

    I clench my fists at my sides, anger flaring inside me. ¡°Why can¡¯t you just give me a straight answer?¡± I snap, my frustration bubbling over. ¡°You keep beating around the bush, dropping hints, and I¡¯m just supposed to figure it all out by myself?¡± I pace in a small circle, the restlessness in me growing by the second. How can he be so calm when everything inside me is screaming for answers?

    The old man raises an eyebrow, his face remaining impossibly composed. He smiles, as if amused by my outburst, and yet there¡¯s a glimmer of something else in his expression. Perhaps he finds my impatience¡­ entertaining? ¡°I¡¯ve already told you too much,¡± he says, his voice light but firm. ¡°You¡¯re an impatient one, aren¡¯t you? Always in a rush. If I handed you all the answers now, what would you even do with them?¡±

    I open my mouth to retort, but he raises his hand in a quiet gesture to stop me. ¡°Relax, girl,¡± he says, his voice gentle but carrying the weight of unspoken authority. ¡°You¡¯ll get there. And besides¡­¡± He leans in slightly, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievousness, ¡°I thought you enjoyed a good mystery.¡±

    I scowl at him, my teeth gritted, trying not to let his teasing get under my skin. ¡°Stop playing with me,¡± I mutter, but he only smiles wider, shaking his head as if I¡¯m an amusing riddle he has yet to solve.

    He sighs in mock exasperation. ¡°Fine,¡± he says after a beat, clearly enjoying the power he has over my frustration. ¡°Since you¡¯re not going to let it go, I¡¯ll just say this: I won¡¯t give you any more answers. It¡¯s not my place to hand you everything you need. But¡­¡± He pauses, watching my face carefully. ¡°You¡¯re clever. You¡¯ll figure it out. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you will.¡±

    I cross my arms, my irritation simmering beneath the surface, but his words, more than anything else, strike something deep within me. A flicker of determination sparks in my chest.

    ¡°Fine,¡± I mutter, more to myself than to him, my voice low but firm. ¡°Since you¡¯re not going to tell me anything useful, I¡¯ll find out everything on my own. I¡¯ll figure it out, with or without your help.¡±

    He grins, his expression shifting from that of a knowing observer to something more approving. ¡°Good,¡± he says, his voice laced with satisfaction. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Let¡¯s see how far you get.¡±

    I take a deep breath, feeling the fire of challenge ignite within me. His cryptic riddles, his maddening smirks¡ªthey only fuel my resolve. I have no idea what the old man is hinting at, but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that everything¡ªthe lightning, the strange events, the words he¡¯s said¡ªare connected in a way that I haven¡¯t even begun to understand.

    ¡°I¡¯ll uncover the damned phenomenon,¡± I murmur, more to myself than to him, my voice steady now with a quiet promise. The world around me feels different¡ªcharged with potential. This isn¡¯t just a passing curiosity. This is a mystery that has taken root deep inside me.

    ¡°I¡¯ll solve the mystery of the lightning flash and the footprint,¡± I vow, my voice gaining strength with each word. ¡°No matter what it takes.¡±

    The old man doesn¡¯t respond immediately. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I can almost hear the silent approval in his eyes. Then, without another word, he turns and begins to walk away, his movements as slow and deliberate as ever.

    I stand there, rooted to the spot, my mind racing. There¡¯s something more happening here. Something connected to the moon, to the strange flashes of lightning, to the mysteries I haven¡¯t even begun to uncover. I will solve it. I have to.

    --------------------------------------------------------------

 Casual Progress

    Casual Progess

    I walk aimlessly through the forest, my mind still buzzing from the old man¡¯s cryptic words. None of it makes sense, and I can¡¯t seem to form anything solid out of the mess of information he¡¯s dumped on me. The more I try to connect the dots, the more frustrating it gets. I curse under my breath, muttering to myself as I kick at the dirt beneath my boots.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve just told me what I needed to know, old man,¡± I grumble, trying to make sense of it all. But it¡¯s like piecing together fragments of a broken mirror.

    I¡¯m so lost in thought that I don¡¯t realize how far I¡¯ve wandered. Eventually, I stop in my tracks, looking around. The forest has grown quiet, the kind of stillness that feels eerie.

    I make my way deeper into the woods, my eyes scanning the ground. The spot isn¡¯t far, but when I get there, I can¡¯t find anything more. Just footprint of a jumping elephant,trees, leaves, and the underbrush.

    I stand there for a moment, feeling like an idiot. Was this really worth it? I huff in frustration. ¡°Why do I even bother¡­¡±

    Then, my stomach growls¡ªloudly.

    I freeze.

    Not a distant rumble. No. A full-on roar.

    I glance around nervously, half-expecting something from the forest to attack. But no, it¡¯s just my stomach. My eyes widen in realization. ¡°I¡¯m starving.¡±

    With a defeated sigh, I turn back toward the town. Forget the footprint. Forget the mysteries. I need food.

    ----Hungry Hunter----

    I make my way into town, trying to ignore the increasingly insistent pangs of hunger. When I reach the shop, it¡¯s as quiet as usual. Perfect. I sit down at a table and glance over the menu.

    ¡°Bring me everything,¡± I tell the waiter, not bothering to even look at the choices. ¡°Just¡­ all of it. I don¡¯t care what it is¡ªjust bring it.¡±

    The waiter hesitates, then looks me up and down. He pauses, and then says, ¡°You¡­ uh, don¡¯t really look like someone who would eat all that.¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    I flinch, my face flushing. Of course, he¡¯d noticed. I¡¯m not exactly the picture of someone who could devour an entire buffet. But what does he know? ¡°Well,¡± I mutter, looking down at my lap, ¡°I¡¯m a¡­ bigger eater than I look.¡±

    He shrugs, still unsure, but nods. ¡°Right¡­ I¡¯ll get started.¡±

    The food starts to arrive in a never-ending stream. First, there are crispy appetizers, followed by buttery chicken, spicy curries, and endless rice and naan. I shovel it all into my mouth without thinking. I¡¯m ravenous. There¡¯s no slowing down.

    More food keeps coming: pizza, dumplings, and more rice. I barely even taste it¡ªjust keep eating. My stomach protests with each bite, but I ignore it. The moment is too good. My hands move mechanically from plate to plate, piling up the empty dishes like it¡¯s a game I¡¯m determined to win.

    Eventually, the waiter brings me the bill. I glance at it casually, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head. Two thousand seven hundred and fifty?!

    I stare at the number in horror. ¡°What the heck?¡± I mutter under my breath. ¡°This is enough to feed a small army!¡±

    The waiter, still standing there, watches me with an amused smile. ¡°Well, miss, you did order everything,¡± he says, as though it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to actually eat all of it.¡±

    I feel the heat rise in my face. Great. Now I¡¯m the girl who eats too much and spends too much. ¡°I¡­ I didn¡¯t mean to,¡± I say quickly, trying to recover from the embarrassment. ¡°I guess I just lost track of, uh, everything.¡±

    He looks at me like I¡¯m both a mystery and a walking disaster. Then he hands me the wireless payment terminal. I tap my wrist against it, cringing at the sound of the transaction going through.

    The beep is final. It¡¯s done. I¡¯ve officially spent a ridiculous amount of money on a food binge.

    As I slowly stand and make my way out, I feel a heavy sigh escape my lips. My mom¡¯s going to have a field day with this one. Another reason to add to the ever-growing list of things she can scold me for.

    With my stomach bloated and a little pang of regret settling in, I start the slow walk home, trying to ignore the feeling that I might¡¯ve just created a whole new set of problems for myself.

    ---Review Regret---

    By the time I reach the door of my house, the sky is already darkening. It¡¯s 7 pm, and I realize just how much time I''ve wasted. I left at 9 am, which means ten hours have passed. My slow walks, the endless food, and whatever else I did today have consumed the entire day.

    I stand there, staring at the door. I don¡¯t dare to enter. Not like I haven¡¯t been lectured before, but this time? This time, I¡¯m actually worried. Not only did I skip the session , I¡¯ve spent an insane amount of money on¡ªwhat? Food of course!!  What else would I be doing with my time?

    ¡°Damn it,¡± I mutter to myself. ¡°What the hell is wrong with me?¡±

    I can already hear the scolding in my head. The disappointment in my mom¡¯s voice. Ugh, this is bad. ¡°Okay,¡± I whisper, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°Everyone¡¯s kindly invited to my funeral tomorrow.¡±

    I give myself a moment. Steeling myself for the inevitable confrontation.

    With one final deep breath, I muster up all the courage I can find and push the door open.

    --------------------------------------------------------------

 Family - II (a)

    Family - II

    I push open the door. The scene is exactly what I expected. Father is sitting on the couch, his back towards me, hunched over his laptop, completely immersed in his work. The TV is on, playing the evening news in the background.

    But Ma¡­ she¡¯s not here.

    I stop in my tracks, my breath hitching. Without Ma, the house feels colder, heavier. She¡¯s the only buffer between me and him. Without her, it¡¯s like stepping into a lion¡¯s den without armor.

    I take a deep, silent breath and start walking on my toes, careful not to make a sound. Maybe, just maybe, I can sneak past him and lock myself in my room until Ma gets back. She¡¯s the ocean to his volcano¡ªthe only thing that can stop him from erupting. Without her presence, I¡¯m doomed to be turned into a pile of ash.

    As I inch closer to the hallway, each step feels like an eternity. I can already see my room, the door slightly ajar, my safe haven just a few strides away.

    And then, it happens.

    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±

    The voice sends a jolt of terror straight through my spine. My heart skips a beat, and I freeze mid-step. He caught me!

    ¡°I¡­ I¡­ a-am¡­¡± The words stumble out of my mouth, barely coherent.

    ¡°Come and sit down here.¡± His voice is heavy, leaving no room for argument.

    My shoulders slump, and I exhale in defeat, my head hanging low. I murmur to myself under my breath, ¡°Great. Superb. I¡¯m done for.¡±

    Dragging my feet, I make my way to the couch and sit down. Not next to him, of course¡ªno, I pick the farthest corner of the opposite couch. If I could sit in another room entirely, I would.

    I glance at him nervously. He hasn¡¯t looked up from his laptop yet, but I know better than to think he¡¯s distracted. His silence is always more dangerous than his words.

    I¡¯m sitting on the couch, my back straight, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I¡¯m sure my face looks like that of a pitiful kitten¡ªwide-eyed, pleading, and utterly helpless.

    He hasn¡¯t said a single word since he ordered me to sit. Nothing. Not even a glance in my direction. He¡¯s still engrossed in his laptop, his fingers moving over the keyboard like a machine running at full speed, precise and relentless.Stolen story; please report.

    And that silence? It¡¯s the worst thing imaginable.

    It¡¯s the kind of silence that wraps around you, tightening like a noose. The calm before the great storm. Every second feels like an eternity, and with each passing moment, my anxiety grows. My mind races with thoughts of what he might say, what he might do. The anticipation alone is enough to make me squirm, but I stay rooted in place, trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to give him any reason to notice me.

    I keep my gaze firmly away from his face, refusing to meet those sharp, calculating eyes that can see through every excuse, every lie. Instead, I turn my head toward the TV, desperate for a distraction.

    The news is playing, the same segment on loop¡ªsomething about the stock market, a political debate, and a weather update. It¡¯s mind-numbing, but I force myself to watch. Anything is better than looking at him.

    But even as I stare at the screen, I can feel the weight of his presence. The air is thick with tension, and every tap of his keyboard feels like a ticking clock, counting down to the moment he finally speaks.

    I swallow hard, my throat dry. I know it¡¯s coming. The questions, the disappointment, the scolding. But this silence? This unbearable waiting?

    It¡¯s worse than anything he could say.

    And then, just as the tension becomes almost unbearable, the deadlock is broken by the sound of the front door opening.

    It¡¯s Ma.

    She¡¯s finally here.

    A wave of immeasurable joy erupts in my heart, relief washing over me like a tidal wave. She¡¯s my ray of hope, my savior. With her presence, the suffocating heaviness in the air seems to lift, if only slightly.

    I want to jump up and run to her, to cling to her like a lifeline. But I stay seated, my heart hammering in my chest as I wait for her to step into the room.

    She comes to the place, breathing heavily.

    I nearly leave the couch and run toward her, but my body is suddenly stiff.My mind is replaying the sequence from two nights before¡ªmy harsh words, the reckless blabbering I spewed without a second thought. I made it unbearable for her and myself and didn¡¯t even care to apologize. Even if it was just for the sake of apologizing, I should have done it. Even if I didn¡¯t mean it, I should have.

    If I had, maybe I could go and hide behind her right now. But I can¡¯t.

    All the joy and hope that filled me moments ago vanish in an instant.

    My head hangs lower than it was before. I can only see my feet, and I don¡¯t want to look at anything else either. My mind won¡¯t stop torturing me, replaying my actions in vivid, excruciating detail. Every harsh word I threw at her feels like a weight pressing on my chest.

    For a moment, it¡¯s like the world has frozen in place, everything still except for the storm brewing inside me.

    A sudden force clasping both my arms. The grip is firm but familiar, yanking me out of my thoughts.

    I look up, startled, and there she is. Ma. Her face is inches from mine, her eyes filled with worry, frustration, and something I can¡¯t quite name.

    She forces me to stand, her hands still gripping my arms as though afraid I might vanish.

    ¡°Where were you all day long?!¡± she demands, her voice a mixture of relief and anger. ¡°What were you doing? Why didn¡¯t you call?! Did something happen on the way?¡± Her questions tumble out one after another, each one heavier than the last.

    ¡°Were you wandering in the forest again? Why do you look so pale? Did someone say something to you? Are you hurt anywhere? Did you get into trouble with someone? Did something happen to your phone? Why are you so quiet?¡±

    Her voice cracks slightly as the questions keep pouring out, her worry palpable. She¡¯s inspecting me with her eyes, scanning every inch of me for signs of injury or distress. Her hands move to my shoulders, then to my cheeks, cupping my face as though checking if I¡¯m real, if I¡¯m okay.

    I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My throat feels dry, and I¡¯m overwhelmed by her concern, by the guilt that¡¯s been eating away at me.

    ¡°I¡­¡± I manage to croak, but nothing else follows.

    Her face softens just a little, but her grip doesn¡¯t loosen. ¡°Why are you always like this?¡± she says, her voice quieter now, tinged with exasperation. ¡°You have no idea how worried I was!

    Her voice feels like she is on the verge of crying, and I am the cause of it.

    My heart feels heavy, my chest tight, and I can¡¯t bring myself to meet her eyes for more than a second.

    All I can do is do nothing.

    --------------------------------------------------------------

 Family - II (b)

    Family - II

    The living room feels colder than usual, despite the soft hum of the heater tucked under the table. The furniture, once comforting in its familiarity, now seems imposing. The dark brown couch where I sit feels firmer than ever, the cushions stiff under my weight. The coffee table is cluttered with stray papers, an empty mug, and the remote control for the TV. The screen is still on, muted, displaying a news anchor¡¯s exaggerated hand movements as captions scroll below.

    Ma¡¯s voice rings out sharply, a relentless tirade. Her words fill the space, leaving no room to breathe.

    ¡°Enough,¡± Father¡¯s voice cuts through like a sharp blade.

    He doesn¡¯t shout¡ªhe doesn¡¯t need to. His presence alone is enough to command attention. He walks over to the TV and switches it off with a decisive click of the remote. The room falls silent except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall.

    ¡°Calm down,¡± he says to Ma, his voice steady. He places a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her back from where she¡¯s standing over me.

    ¡°Calm down?¡± she retorts, her voice shaking. ¡°How can I calm down when¡ª¡±

    ¡°Sit,¡± he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. She glares at him for a moment but obeys, sinking into the armchair beside him.

    ¡°Get a glass of water,¡± he orders, his sharp gaze now on me.

    I nod and scurry to the kitchen, my hands trembling as I fill the glass. The clinking of glass against the counter feels deafening in the silence. I return, and Ma snatches the glass, drinking deeply before setting it down with a thud.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°Where were you all day?¡± Father¡¯s voice comes next, quieter than usual, devoid of its usual cutting edge. It makes my stomach churn.

    ¡°Nowhere,¡± I whisper, barely audible.

    ¡°Sit down there and answer properly,¡± he says.

    I sit on the couch opposite them, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I can feel their eyes on me, but I can¡¯t bring myself to look up.

    ¡°Raise your head,¡± he commands.

    My head snaps up instinctively, and my eyes meet his.

    ¡°Where were you all day long?¡± he repeats.

    ¡°I was wandering in the town¡­ and then I went to the forest,¡± I admit, my voice trembling slightly. There¡¯s no point in lying¡ªit¡¯ll only make things worse.

    ¡°So you were roaming around the town and the forest for no reason?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, my voice small.

    ¡°And you skipped the appointment without any reason too?¡± he presses, his tone still unnervingly calm.

    ¡°No,¡± I reply, shaking my head slightly. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to go. That¡¯s why I skipped it¡ªit¡¯s useless, a waste of time and money.¡±

    Father leans back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studies me. ¡°Since when did you start caring about time? If you really valued it, you wouldn¡¯t have wasted it wandering aimlessly.¡±

    I have no response. His words hang heavy in the air, unanswered.

    ¡°And you also spent a significant amount of money somewhere,¡± he continues. ¡°What did you buy?¡±

    ¡°Food,¡± I say softly.

    ¡°Food?¡± he repeats, his tone neutral but probing. ¡°You spent 2750 on food? Were you doing charity? Feeding everyone who passed by?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± I admit, my face burning. ¡°I bought it¡­ for myself.¡±

    I glance at his face, trying to read his expression, but it¡¯s like staring at a blank wall. There¡¯s no anger, no disappointment¡ªnothing. Ma doesn¡¯t say a word either, her hand resting lightly on her lips as she stares at me.

    ¡°You can go,¡± Father says suddenly.

    ¡°What?¡± The word slips out before I can stop it.

    ¡°That¡¯s all,¡± he says simply, waving me toward the stairs.

    I rise slowly, my legs feeling heavy. As I step toward the stairs, I pause and glance back.

    ¡°I can attend the session tomorrow¡­ if you want me to,¡± I offer hesitantly.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to,¡± he replies, his tone calm and steady. ¡°Since it¡¯s a waste of time and money, you don¡¯t have to go anymore. I¡¯ll cancel the subscription.¡±

    I blink, stunned. Did he really just say that? My eyes flick to Ma, but she looks just as shocked as I feel.

    I slowly climb the stairs, each step feeling like it stretches longer than the last. My room feels suffocatingly small as I close the door behind me. The faint smell of lavender from an old air freshener lingers in the air. I walk toward the room, open the gate, and I am on the bed in a flash, replaying what just happened.

    I still can''t believe it. I got out so easily? No taunts, no harsh words, nothing? This can''t be real¡ªno way. I move my legs like a kid, sitting up and lying down again trying to make sense of sequence I just witnessed.

    In my  happiness,I dump my face into the blanket. It feels soft. It''s sof.......

    --------------------------------------------------------------

 Ms Know it All

    Ms Know it All

    It¡¯s been ten days since that conversation with Mom and Dad. Ten days of absolute monotony. Nothing exciting, no grand discoveries, just me, the forest, and a whole lot of wasted time. Every morning, I trek into the forest hoping for... I don¡¯t even know what. A glowing sign that says, ¡°This way to your destiny?¡± A supernatural creature to ambush me? Instead, I¡¯ve been greeted by squirrels. Judgmental squirrels.

    At home, things have shifted. The suffocating awkwardness we had built up over breakfast and dinner? Gone. We still eat together, though the silence is as thick as ever. But hey, at least now it¡¯s a comfortable silence. Progress!

    And then there¡¯s the unexpected gift from the heavens: my parents have stopped asking about my future. No more ¡°Have you thought about college?¡± or ¡°You should really find a productive hobby.¡± And best of all, no more soul-crushing lectures about my wasted potential. It¡¯s like they¡¯ve officially waved the white flag and accepted my role as the resident family disappointment.

    Some people might be heartbroken by this realization. Oh no, my parents have given up on me, whatever will I do? Me? I¡¯m ecstatic. It¡¯s liberating, like I¡¯ve been handed a "Get Out of Judgment Free" card. Now I can focus on what truly matters¡ªdoing absolutely nothing productive.

    Well, not nothing. I do have my ¡°research.¡± You see, I spend my days buried in historical records, studying bizarre phenomena that defy explanation. Ghosts, UFOs, mysterious disappearances¡ªif it¡¯s weird and pointless, I¡¯m on it. Why, you ask? Because of that thing. No, I¡¯m not going to name it. Thinking about it makes my blood boil, and I¡¯d rather not spontaneously combust today.

    My day is painfully predictable. Wake up, take a freezing cold bath (our water heater is dead, and we¡¯re apparently fine with that), eat breakfast with the parents, then retreat to my room to stare at a screen for hours. After that, I wander aimlessly around town, inevitably ending up in the forest, and then come back home to study some more. It¡¯s a glamorous life, truly.

    But let me tell you what I¡¯ve learned in these ten days. Prepare to be enlightened by Her Majesty, the Queen of Historical Trivia.

    So, let¡¯s start with the Gregorian calendar. You¡¯ve probably heard of it¡ªit¡¯s the calendar that was used for over 2,700 years, right up until humanity decided to blow up the Moon during the 8th Great Conflict. Yep, you heard that right. The Moon.

    The 8th Great Conflict was humanity¡¯s magnum opus of destruction, starting in the year 2623 and lasting a solid 64 years until 2687. Sixty-four years of pure chaos. It wasn¡¯t just Earth that suffered. Nope, we dragged the entire solar system into our mess. Planets, moons, satellites¡ªnothing was safe. By the time it ended, humanity was so broken, they figured it was time to hit the reset button.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    And what a reset it was. The world didn¡¯t just change¡ªit was unrecognizable. Political borders? Gone. The planet was carved up into seven superpowers, each controlling not only vast regions of Earth but also outer space. Imagine seven countries fighting over land, resources, and even space stations like kids fighting over toys, but on a much larger scale.

    Financial systems were rebuilt from scratch, too, because apparently blowing up the Moon is expensive. The economy? Let¡¯s just say it was reborn kicking and screaming, and not everyone survived the transition. Geographically, Earth itself looked different. Continents had shifted, coastlines were redrawn, and entire cities were lost.

    Outer space became a playground for the elite. Humanity had spread its influence across the solar system, colonizing moons, asteroids, and even planets. Space stations became bustling hubs of trade, politics, and¡ªknowing humans¡ªprobably corruption.

    It sounds impressive, doesn¡¯t it? The sheer scale of it all, the rise of the superpowers, the reconstruction of Earth and beyond. But honestly? I don¡¯t give a fruit to it. The politics, the power plays, the endless conflicts¡ªit¡¯s all noise to me. All I care about is what I can find in the here and now.

    And thus began the "New Era." The victors¡ªbecause of course there had to be victors¡ªdecided to scrap the Gregorian calendar entirely. Why? Probably because it reminded them of their colossal failure. They replaced it with the New Calendar, which starts at Year 1, marking the ¡°Rebirth¡± of civilization.

    Now, let¡¯s talk specifics. Under the New Calendar, we¡¯re currently in Year 332. The Gregorian calendar is basically a relic of the past, a dusty reminder of the time when humanity thought they had their act together. The New Calendar is used exclusively on Earth, which is why it¡¯s called the Earth Calendar.

    But wait, there¡¯s more! Timekeeping in space? That¡¯s a whole different beast. Enter the Solar Calendar, the overachieving sibling of the Earth Calendar. It¡¯s based on the movements of celestial bodies and is so ridiculously complicated that only scientists and space nerds bother with it. Thankfully, I¡¯m neither.

    So, to summarize:

    1. Gregorian Calendar: Dead and buried after humanity nuked the Moon.

    2. Earth Calendar: The new standard, simple and Earth-centric. Same function as the old one.

    3. Solar Calendar: For the space elite, aka ¡°not my problem.¡±

    And what have I learned from all this? That humans are just as good at screwing up as they are at starting over. Inspiring, really.

    Now, back to me. I¡¯m practically an expert on strange phenomena from the past thousand years. Most of these events have already been debunked, but I keep searching for something, anything, that might give me a clue about you-know-what. So far, nada. But hey, I¡¯ve got all the time in the world, right? I mean, it¡¯s not like I have a career to worry about.

    On that note, let me address the elephant in the room: yes, I¡¯m an unemployed bum. A drain on my family¡¯s resources. A shining beacon of wasted potential. But at least I¡¯m self-aware about it! That¡¯s got to count for something.

    The only downside to my newfound "freedom" is my eyes. Staring at screens all day has left them so messed up I¡¯m practically a mole. But no, it¡¯s fine. Totally fine. I¡¯m fine.

    And the day where I might get answers to my questions is arriving soon. Two days from this moment, it¡¯s going to be the night of Purnima, the night associated with supernatural events¡ªif Mr. OM is to be believed.

    Who is Mr. OM?   He is the same old annoying geezer who never gives straight answers and roams around chanting... something. Don''t ask me what.Yes, Mr. OM. I definitely didn¡¯t forget to ask his real name, and what you¡¯re thinking is absolutely wrong,it''s absolutely no right! Do you understand? You do right? Good.

    He is the reason I am doing all this hardwork because I took a challenge to myself that I will solve the mystery of ''You know what'' and shove it in his face.

    I haven¡¯t seen him since that day. I have no idea where he disappeared to¡ªprobably chasing some other ridiculous prophecy somewhere. Honestly, good riddance. I don¡¯t have to put up with his cryptic nonsense or his irritating behavior. My life is better without him in it.

    And that¡¯s my life right now. A thrilling mix of historical deep dives, awkward family meals, and existential dread. But hey, at least the squirrels like me.

    --------------------------------------------------------------

    * Please Read the Post Chapter Note *

 Waiting The Wait

    Waiting The Wait

    It¡¯s finally here¡ªthe big day. Or should I say, the big night? Either way, the moment of truth has arrived. According to the wise, cryptic, and totally not annoying Mr. OM, tonight is the fabled Purnima¡ªthe night drenched in supernatural energy. A small problem, though: there¡¯s no moon. You know, because it was blown to bits during the 8th Great Conflict.

    Honestly, I don¡¯t know how Mr. OM rationalized a full moon without an actual moon. But hey, the guy wanders around town chanting who-knows-what, so logic clearly isn¡¯t his strong suit. Whether he¡¯s right or just a lunatic, I¡¯m not letting this chance slip by.

    So here I am, knee-deep in preparations for what I¡¯m calling Operation Forest Siege. If something is going to happen tonight, I¡¯ll be ready for it¡ªor at least as ready as someone like me can be.

    ---        ---        ---        ---       ---       ---       ---

    Here  my darling list of necessities-

    First, the essentials:

    1. Canned food ¨C Enough to last a full-blown apocalypse. I¡¯m just going to the forest for one night, but better safe than sorry.

    2. Drinks ¨C Non-alcoholic, obviously. Nothing says ¡°bad decision¡± like stumbling through a forest buzzed.

    3. Thermal blanket ¨C Because forests have the magical ability to turn from sweltering to freezing in record time.

    4. Flashlight ¨C The industrial-strength kind that could probably signal aliens. If nothing supernatural shows up, at least I can blind myself for fun.

    5. Portable energy pack ¨C The lifeline of all modern adventures. No power? No problem. (Unless I forgot to charge this thing, in which case... huge problem.)

    6. Noise-canceling headphones ¨C The forest is terrifying enough without every rustle and chirp amplifying my paranoia.

    7. First-aid kit ¨C To remind fate that I¡¯m not completely reckless. If I end up needing it, though, I¡¯m blaming Mr. OM.

    8. Metal rod ¨C For... reasons. Look, I¡¯m not saying it¡¯ll help against ghosts or shadowy figures, but it makes me feel braver, okay?

    9. Video recorder camera ¨C For capturing whatever unfolds tonight. Paranormal activity or me screaming at a squirrel¡ªit¡¯s all content.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    10. Special spectacles ¨C The most vital piece of equipment. Their primary function? Making me look ridiculously cool. Secondary function? Intimidating absolutely no one.

    ---        ---        ---        ---       ---       ---       ---

    The Long-Short wait

    Though I¡¯m fired up for tonight, it¡¯s only 1 p.m. There¡¯s still a lot of time till nightfall, and in a situation like this, time seems to crawl.

    ¡°Oh, every second feels like an eternity!¡± I groaned, flopping dramatically onto my bed.

    Yes, yes, I know I¡¯m being overly dramatic. But really, what am I supposed to do until then? Twiddle my thumbs? Knit a sweater for a squirrel? Write a heartfelt apology letter to the ghosts in case I accidentally offend them?

    Then, like a bolt of divine inspiration, it hit me. Why don¡¯t I just go to the forest now?

    ¡°Brilliant, Vrishti!¡± I exclaimed to myself. ¡°I¡¯ll head there early, find a good spot, and set up my base. That way, I¡¯ll be totally prepared when the action starts!¡±

    ---        ---        ---        ---       ---       ---       ---

    The Great Journey

    (Panting) (Breathing heavily)

    ¡°It was way harder to get here than I thought!¡± I gasped, practically collapsing under the weight of my bag.

    I had gone completely overboard with the packing. Then, in a brilliant stroke of genius¡ªor sheer stupidity¡ªI decided to carry everything in one go. Because why make multiple trips when you can crush your own spine instead, right?

    By the time I reached the edge of the forest, my arms felt like noodles, my legs were jelly, and my back was one wrong move away from permanently locking up.

    To make matters worse, the judgmental gazes of passersby followed me the whole way. Oh, I could practically hear their thoughts:

    ¡°Look at that poor fool! Struggling under a bag that could crush her tiny, weak back!¡±

    Okay, fine, maybe they weren¡¯t all wrong. But the audacity! They¡¯re buried in their screens 24/7, drooling over fake lives and virtual nonsense, and they dare to judge me? Sure, I¡¯ve been glued to my own screen lately, but that¡¯s completely different. Totally different.

    And let¡¯s not forget the final boss: Mom¡¯s Nuclear Interrogation Barrage.

    ---        ---        ---        ---       ---       ---       ---

    Here comes the flashback!

    ¡°Where are you going with that bag?¡± Mom asked, her eyebrow arching higher than Everest.

    ¡°Uh... just, you know... observing the sky!¡± I said, trying to sound as casual as someone dragging a survival kit could.

    ¡°The sky? In the forest?¡±

    ¡°Y-yeah! The forest canopy creates a natural frame for stargazing, and I thought it¡¯d be cool to, uh, observe!¡±

    Mom wasn¡¯t buying it. ¡°And what exactly are you hoping to see?¡±

    ¡°Constellations!¡± I exclaimed, desperately grasping at straws. ¡°You know, the stars that align into shapes like the Big Dipper!

    She is not CONVINCED AT ALL!!!!

    And why should she be? I am not a person who is interested in any kind of studying or stuff.

    ¡°I... just want to get some fresh air?¡± I tried, voice cracking slightly.

    ¡°Fresh air,¡± she repeated, deadpan. ¡°And you needed an entire survival kit for that?¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh!¡± I said, nodding vigorously. ¡°You know, just in case. Safety first!¡±

    Mom didn¡¯t look convinced, but eventually, she let me go. Barely.

    ---        ---        ---        ---       ---       ---       ---

    Even after all that, I made it to the forest. My shoulders ached, my back was screaming, and I¡¯m positive I pulled at least three muscles I didn¡¯t know existed. But none of that mattered because I was here.

    ¡°That¡¯s a detective warrior for you,¡± I declared, standing tall (or as tall as someone bent under a giant bag can stand).

    ¡°And this baggage? No matter how heavy it is, it will never crush my determination!¡± I proclaimed, raising my fist in the air.

    ¡°FOR JUSTICE! FOR TRUTH! FOR... whatever¡¯s out there!¡±

    Then my stomach growled loudly, cutting my dramatic moment short.

    ¡°.....It''s lunchtime I guess...."

    I dropped the bag with a thud that echoed through the quiet forest and started rummaging for a snack. The canned food was staring at me smugly, as if mocking my struggle to open it without a proper can opener.

    ¡°Really?!¡± I muttered, glaring at the stubborn lid. ¡°You think you can defeat me, huh? Think again!¡±

    After a solid five minutes of wrestling with the can (and nearly stabbing myself with the metal rod in the process), I finally pried it open and devoured the contents. Not exactly gourmet, but it¡¯d do.

    With my energy partially restored, I turned to face the dense woods ahead.

    ¡°All right, Vrishti,¡± I said, slinging the bag back over my shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s time to crack the code of Mrs. Lightning and Mr. Footprint.¡±

    I took one determined step forward, then paused dramatically.

    ¡°And if anything out there wants to mess with me¡ª¡± I raised the metal rod like a knight brandishing a sword. ¡°¡ªjust know I¡¯m armed and sort of dangerous!¡±

    "Let''s goooooo"

 Ms. Detective at the Scene

    Ms. Detective on The Scene

    The forest has been eerily quiet since the moment I arrived. It¡¯s as though nature has decided to take a break, leaving behind only the occasional whisper of the wind threading through the trees. The trees loom tall and silent, casting long, stretching shadows as the sun dips lower. It feels unnatural, this absence of life, like I¡¯m intruding on a space that was never meant for living creatures. It¡¯s like stepping into another world.

    I drop the bag onto the ground with a dull thud and lean against a nearby tree, gasping for air. My chest heaves as I gulp down breath after breath. It¡¯s harder than I thought. I glance around, surveying the area. The spot I had mapped out earlier is perfect¡ªwell, almost. The ground is soft but uneven, with the occasional protruding root daring to trip me if I¡¯m not careful. And yet, it¡¯s the only place I¡¯ve found that feels... right.

    I can already hear the inner voice of doubt chiming in. What if it¡¯s too obvious? What if I look like a complete idiot out here with all my gear? What if I¡¯m just wasting my time?

    I shake it off, reminding myself of the purpose of this whole ordeal. ¡°No time for second-guessing,¡± I mutter, pushing the doubts to the back of my mind. It¡¯s not like I have any other options.

    Now that I¡¯ve set my mind to it, I start unloading the contents of my backpack. I first pull out a large tarp. I thought it was a good idea back home. It¡¯s perfect for setting up a ¡®base camp,¡¯ or so I tell myself. I unfurl it, but the wind isn¡¯t cooperating. The tarp flaps in the breeze, making that annoying slapping sound that would make anyone near me wonder if I¡¯m doing some sort of weird ritual instead of setting up a tent. But it¡¯s a necessary step, and I press on, fighting the tarp¡¯s rebellion.

    Now this piece of **it- The Stupid Tent

    The tent. Oh, God, the tent. I¡¯ve practiced setting this thing up at home, and it was easy. Simple, even. Just a few poles, a couple of snaps, and voil¨¤! A sturdy shelter. But out here, everything is more complicated. The ground isn¡¯t even, the wind keeps pushing the poles in odd directions, and my hands¡ªsuddenly more clumsy than I¡¯ve ever known them to be¡ªseem to have forgotten how to function.

    This isn¡¯t how it went in practice.

    I grunt as I fumble with the poles. They don¡¯t fit as smoothly as they did at home, and I end up getting tangled in the tent fabric more times than I¡¯d like to admit. I¡¯m starting to wonder if I¡¯m secretly being watched by a bunch of forest spirits who are getting a good laugh out of my incompetence. I finally manage to get the poles in place, though I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s not quite as taut as it¡¯s supposed to be. Still, it¡¯ll work for now.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Once the tent is up, I begin setting up my next task¡ªcamera placement. It¡¯s a little overboard, but I¡¯m determined to record whatever happens tonight. It feels like the only way to prove something is actually going on in this strange, lifeless forest. So I pull out my camera setup, feeling like some sort of professional investigator. A couple of cameras mounted on sturdy tripods, facing all directions¡ªjust in case I catch a glimpse of something supernatural. I¡¯m half-expecting to look up and find the cameras gone, swallowed by the air, but instead, I feel a small sense of pride when I get them just right.

    ¡°Look at me, I¡¯m practically a tech genius,¡± I mutter to myself, stepping back to admire my setup. The cameras are positioned just so, each one pointing at different angles around the clearing, capturing every inch of space. If anything happens tonight, it¡¯s going to be documented.

    With the cameras in place, I begin arranging my personal supplies. A bag of canned food¡ªbecause who doesn¡¯t want to eat beans while waiting for supernatural events to unfold? A bottle of water, non-alcoholic, obviously. I¡¯m not trying to have a spiritual encounter while tipsy. I also make sure to pack my flashlight and a metal rod ¡°just in case.¡± I know it won¡¯t be useful, but somehow it feels like the kind of thing I might need if a ghost decides to pay a visit.

    As I finish setting up, I glance at the sun again. Still hours to go before nightfall. I could sit and wait here, staring into the quiet forest, but that doesn¡¯t seem like the most productive way to spend time. Instead, I decide to try and relax a bit.

    I sit cross-legged on the ground, back against the tent, and just breathe. The forest remains as still as ever, but something about this place makes me feel¡­ off. Like I¡¯m being watched. Not by animals or insects, of course, but by something else.

    I shake my head and laugh quietly. ¡°Great, now I¡¯m giving myself the chills.¡±

    But then, my thoughts wander back to the real reason I¡¯m here. Mr. OM.

    I still don¡¯t fully understand what he¡¯s trying to tell me. He¡¯s such a strange man, speaking in riddles and always disappearing when I need him most. I haven¡¯t seen him since that day, and I¡¯m starting to wonder if he¡¯s even real. Or maybe he¡¯s just a figment of my imagination, some weird creation of my subconscious trying to pull me deeper into the mystery. Either way, I¡¯m here, and I¡¯m determined to crack whatever code he¡¯s left behind.

    As time passes, I start feeling more and more anxious. Sure, nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet, but still... I admit, I¡¯m a bit scared now. There¡¯s still a chance to turn back, to pack it all up and forget whatever the hell this is, but I¡¯d only be adding one more thing to my regret list if I do that. I¡¯ve already come this far.

    I take a deep breath and steel myself. No backing down now. I can¡¯t be chickening out. Not now. Not when I¡¯ve put this much effort into it. Not when I¡¯ve come all the way out here, alone, with all my gear set up like some professional.

    The sun is setting. The big boom night is finally coming... maybe. I got a call from Mom just a while ago, so I had to explain everything again. With lies, of course. I think I should recheck all the arrangements, just to be sure. I go around inspecting the cameras and the surrounding area one last time before retreating back into my base. Now all I have to do is observe from here, since I also placed a wireless live telecast camera.

    I step back into the shelter of my tent, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. I¡¯m ready. Or at least, I hope I am.

    The sky is turning a deeper shade of purple now, and the wind is picking up. The air feels different, as if something is stirring. Maybe this is it. Maybe tonight will finally be the night.

    And then again... maybe not. Either way, I¡¯m here. And I¡¯m not leaving until I find out.

 The Difficult Night

    The Difficult Night

    Inside the tent, I sit cross-legged in front of the screen. The live feed from the camera plays out in front of me, showing the dark, silent forest clearing. The faint glow of the screen bathes my face, the only source of light in this self-proclaimed command center. I munch on a leftover energy bar, the wrapper crinkling loudly in the otherwise suffocating silence. ¡°Nothing¡¯s happening,¡± I mutter to myself, the words breaking the monotony of watching shadows that refuse to move. My voice, quiet as it is, feels deafening in the stillness. ¡°Seriously, I could have been in bed. Or... no, who am I kidding? I¡¯d still be scrolling through useless articles about strange historical phenomena.¡±

    Hours pass¡ªor at least it feels that way. Time drags like an old man crossing the street, painfully slow and leaving you wondering if it¡¯ll ever move forward. Just when my eyes start drooping from staring at the screen, the feed shows a faint ripple in the air. My head jerks up. Did I imagine that? No, it was just a gust of wind, barely enough to stir a few leaves on the artificial trees.

    But then the wind picks up. The sound outside shifts from calm nothingness to a low, mournful howl. The tent¡¯s fabric quivers, the poles trembling slightly. My eyes dart back to the screen. Dark, ominous clouds begin to gather above the clearing, blotting out what little light the stars and artificial illumination provided. The scene on the screen turns even darker, and my heart beats faster. This feels familiar¡ªuncomfortably familiar.

    ¡°This... this is just like last time,¡± I whisper to no one, my voice trembling slightly. The first time I saw lightning¡ªnot the tame, controlled kind generated for energy grids, but wild, untamed lightning¡ªit had been under a sky just like this one. Dark, brooding, and alive, as if the heavens themselves were conspiring against the earth.

    A shiver runs down my spine. ¡°Mr. OM,¡± I mutter, remembering his cryptic warnings. ¡°Maybe he wasn¡¯t just spouting nonsense about Purnima and supernatural events.¡± My attempt to laugh it off falls flat.

    The wind outside grows fiercer, slamming into the sides of the tent with enough force to make it creak. I grab the poles instinctively, holding on as if my flimsy grip could keep the tent from being ripped away. ¡°Calm down, Vrishti,¡± I tell myself. ¡°It¡¯s just wind. It¡¯s just wind.¡± But the words feel hollow.

    And then, disaster strikes. The live feed on my screen blinks out with a sharp burst of static. ¡°No, no, no!¡± I hiss, frantically pressing buttons, trying to get the signal back. The screen remains stubbornly black, mocking my efforts. My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse loud enough to drown out the wind for a moment.

    ¡°What do I do?¡± I mumble, running a hand through my hair. My fingers tremble slightly. The rational part of me¡ªthe part that has kept me alive this long¡ªscreams to stay inside the tent. It¡¯s safe here, relatively speaking. But the other part, the reckless, curious part, insists that I need to check the camera.

    After a fierce internal debate that feels like hours but is likely just seconds, I make my decision. ¡°Fine,¡± I groan, pulling on my jacket and zipping it up to my chin. ¡°Let¡¯s go play hero.¡±

    Stepping out of the tent is like stepping into chaos. The wind roars in my ears, tugging at my clothes and making every step a struggle. The artificial trees around the clearing sway violently, their creaking almost drowned out by the storm. I force myself forward, one stubborn step at a time, until I reach the spot where my camera was set up.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    It¡¯s there, lying pathetically on its side like a defeated soldier. I pick it up, relief washing over me when I see that it isn¡¯t broken¡ªjust turned off from the impact. ¡°All this drama for nothing,¡± I mutter, shaking my head.

    I fasten the camera back onto its tripod, taking extra care this time. Using a piece of thread from my backpack, I tie it securely in place. ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere this time,¡± I tell the camera, as if it can hear me. ¡°If you fall again, I¡¯m leaving you here.¡±

    With that sorted, I hurry back to the tent, the wind pushing against me the whole way. By the time I get inside, the tent looks worse for wear, sagging slightly from the relentless assault of the storm. But it¡¯s still standing, and that¡¯s all that matters.

    Back inside, I glance at my bracelet, noting the time. It¡¯s nearly half past ten. ¡°Still a long way to midnight,¡± I mutter, settling back in front of the screen.

    Minutes crawl by, and the tension in the air becomes almost suffocating. I jump at every creak of the tent, every gust of wind that rattles the poles. My nerves are frayed, and I¡¯m starting to regret ever coming here.

    And then I hear it¡ªa soft, rhythmic spattering. It takes me a moment to recognize the sound. Rain. Droplets of water falling from the sky, tapping against the tent¡¯s fabric. I unzip the flap just enough to peek outside. Sure enough, tiny droplets are falling steadily, darkening the ground.

    ¡°Rain,¡± I whisper, my breath fogging up in the cool air. ¡°A rain that wasn¡¯t predicted in the weather forecast.¡± My heart races again. This can¡¯t be a coincidence. It has to be connected to everything else. Or... or maybe I¡¯m just overthinking because I¡¯m anxious.

    The rain starts to pick up, the spattering growing louder and more insistent. It¡¯s not long before it¡¯s a full-blown downpour, the kind that makes you wonder if the skies are trying to drown the earth.

    As I watch the rain, my bracelet lights up with an incoming call from my father. ¡°Oh, great timing, Dad,¡± I mutter, swiping to answer. ¡°Hello?¡±

    But I can¡¯t hear a thing over the roar of the rain. ¡°Hello? Can you hear me?¡± I shout, but the words are swallowed by the storm. Frustrated, I end the call, deciding to deal with it later.

    Leaning back against the tent wall, I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The storm outside rages on, and I can¡¯t shake the feeling that something is coming¡ªsomething big.

    -----    -----    -----    -----    -----    -----    -----

    The rain and wind have now taken on a life of their own. The storm outside has intensified, and I find myself holding my own against the heavy rain and the monstrous wind. The tent is fighting back, but the fabric strains under the pressure, as though it might fly off into the sky at any moment. Every gust of wind seems like it could tear the whole structure apart. The weather is relentless. I hunch my shoulders, trying to brace myself for what feels like an assault from every direction. The wind shrieks, pushing at the sides of the tent with a force that rattles the fabric like a giant¡¯s roar.

    The storm outside doesn¡¯t relent¡ªit only grows worse. The wind howls louder and louder, ripping through the trees. The rain doesn¡¯t just fall; it feels like it¡¯s being thrown at me, heavy and punishing. The pattering on the tent grows louder, merging with the roar of the wind to create a nearly deafening cacophony. But then, just as if on cue, I hear something else, something that makes my skin crawl.

    The first crack of thunder shakes the earth.

    It¡¯s so close, so impossibly close, that it seems to tear through the air itself, rattling the very foundation of the tent. I can feel the vibration in my bones, a deep, primal hum of sound that makes my heart race. Then comes the lightning¡ªa blinding flash that cuts through the storm¡¯s dark veil like a knife. It¡¯s so bright, so sudden, that it almost burns my eyes.

    My hands instinctively press against my ears. The sound of thunder comes almost immediately after the flash, and it¡¯s so loud that I¡¯m convinced my eardrums might burst. I wince, the noise so deafening that it becomes a physical presence, slamming against me like an unseen force.

    In the chaos, it¡¯s impossible to think straight. The storm¡¯s fury has consumed everything, and I feel as though I might drown in the overwhelming noise and chaos. The wind, the rain, the thunder¡ªthey¡¯re all here, all in this furious, unstoppable wave of nature. The storm outside feels like it¡¯s mocking me, challenging me to stay.

    Through the haze of sound, I check my bracelet. It buzzes again¡ªMom and Dad have been spamming calls and messages. I¡¯ve already replied with a simple ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± but even as I glance at the screen, I know that text won¡¯t be enough for them. They¡¯ll never believe it, not in this storm, not in this madness.

    Even if I feel like I¡¯m useless, like I¡¯m just a shadow among the chaos of everything happening right now, I am still their daughter, and in some small way, I know they care. The thought is fleeting, almost drowned out by the storm, but it lingers long enough for me to feel the faintest pang of guilt.

    Another burst of lightning splits the sky, and the sudden brightness makes me shudder involuntarily. Goosebumps erupt on my arms. I didn¡¯t think the storm could get worse, but it just keeps coming, harder and faster, as if it¡¯s determined to overwhelm me.

 Storm Struggle

    Storm Struggle

    The storm is relentless now. The wind howls like an untamed beast, shaking the trees and battering the tent with enough force to make me feel like I¡¯m trapped inside a collapsing bubble. Rain lashes against the fabric, each drop loud enough to drown out my thoughts. My heart pounds in my chest, an echo of the thunder cracking in the distance.

    I sit huddled in the center of the tent, arms wrapped around my knees, trying to convince myself that staying here is the smart choice. It¡¯s too dangerous to leave. Just wait it out. But the tent quivers again, the poles groaning as if the whole thing might take off into the storm like some cursed kite.

    My flashlight lies beside me, its cold metal surface a reminder of the outside world I¡¯ve been avoiding. Every few seconds, I glance at the zipper of the tent flap, half expecting it to rip open from the sheer force of the wind. It doesn¡¯t. But the sense of impending doom doesn¡¯t ease up either.

    This is stupid, I think, gripping the flashlight in my trembling hands. What am I even doing here? Pretending to be some fearless investigator? The answer doesn¡¯t come. All I know is that the storm isn¡¯t easing up, and staying here feels like tempting fate.

    I glance at my bag, lying open in the corner. The sweatshirt I¡¯d brought for emergencies is still dry¡ªfor now. With a sigh that¡¯s half regret, half frustration, I crawl over and grab it, pulling it on over my damp clothes. The fabric is cold against my skin, but it¡¯s better than nothing. I grab the metal rod and flashlight, securing the strap of my bag tightly across my chest.

    ¡°This is insane,¡± I mutter to myself as I unzip the tent and peer outside. The forest is barely visible through the rain, dark silhouettes of trees swaying violently in the wind. Taking a deep breath, I step out.

    The first step is the hardest. My boots sink into the muddy ground, the wet earth threatening to hold me in place. Rain pelts my face with such ferocity that it feels like needles against my skin. The wind, cold and unrelenting, tugs at my clothes and hair, making every step forward a battle.

    I keep my head down, one arm raised to shield my face from the rain. The flashlight beam flickers weakly, barely cutting through the sheets of water cascading from the sky. I clutch it tightly, my knuckles white from the effort.

    This was a mistake, I think, my mind racing as I navigate the uneven terrain. I should¡¯ve stayed home. What was I trying to prove? My boots slip slightly on the wet ground, and I steady myself against a tree, its bark rough and slick beneath my fingers.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The storm shows no mercy. The cold seeps through my clothes, each gust of wind cutting into me like shards of ice. My fingers are starting to go numb, and I can feel the shiver building in my body, my muscles tightening in protest.

    Keep moving, I tell myself, gritting my teeth against the discomfort. The alternative¡ªstaying in the tent and risking it collapsing or worse¡ªisn¡¯t an option.

    As I stumble forward, the thought hits me like a slap. I got myself into this mess. Trying to uncover whatever¡¯s happening in this forest, trying to make sense of the impossible... for what? I glance around, but the rain and darkness offer no answers.

    Despite everything, a flicker of curiosity still lives within me. But this rain is definitely going to put the fire of curiosity out very soon. I can''t be thinking about anything other than making out of the forest alive. That should be my only goal.The mud squelches under my boots as I trudge on, each step harder than the last.

    Suddenly, the sky lights up. A blinding flash tears through the darkness, illuminating the forest for a split second. The sight is otherworldly¡ªthe trees cast in stark black and white, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.

    I freeze in place, my breath caught in my throat. The lightning strikes somewhere nearby, the crack of thunder following immediately after. The sound is deafening, a raw, primal roar that seems to shake the very ground beneath me.

    My heart races, my pulse pounding in my ears. Anxiety creeps up my spine, cold and unrelenting. What if the lightning strikes closer? What if¡ª I shake my head, forcing the thoughts away. ¡°Just keep moving,¡± I whisper to myself, though my voice wavers.

    The wind howls louder, almost as if mocking my fear. My body wants to turn back, to retreat to the tent or anywhere that feels remotely safe. But my feet move forward, stubbornly defying the voice in my head screaming to stop.

    The rain intensifies, each drop heavy and cold against my skin. My sweatshirt is soaked through now, clinging to me like a second skin. I can barely feel my hands, and my legs are starting to ache from the effort of pushing against the storm.

    And then,

    A sound cuts through the storm¡ªa deep, resonant noise that makes me stop dead in my tracks. My eyes widen, every nerve in my body going on high alert. It¡¯s a sound I¡¯ve heard before, but only through my research. A low rumble, almost like a trumpet, unmistakable in its power.

    ¡°An elephant,¡± I whisper, my voice barely audible over the storm. My pulse quickens, a mix of fear and disbelief. No, that can¡¯t be right. Elephants don¡¯t live here. They haven¡¯t been seen in this region for years.

    But the sound comes again, louder this time. There¡¯s no mistaking it now. It¡¯s an elephant.

    My mind races, panic and curiosity battling for control. Why here? Why now? This storm, the lightning... is it all connected?

    I turn toward the source of the noise, my feet moving before my brain can fully process the decision. The storm seems almost secondary now, my focus entirely on that sound.

    The mud pulls at my boots, the rain stings my face, and the wind roars in my ears, but I don¡¯t stop. The flashlight beam bounces wildly with each step, casting fleeting glimpses of the trees and underbrush around me.

    This can¡¯t be happening, I think, my heart pounding in my chest. It¡¯s impossible. But... isn¡¯t that why I¡¯m here?

    To find the impossible?

 Airavat

    <font><b><u style="font-size: 1.5em">Airavat</u><u style="font-size: 1.5em; color: rgba(166, 30, 77, 1)"></u></b></font>

    The rain has only grown heavier, each drop feeling like a bullet hitting my back, its cold sting seeping through the layers of my jacket. But none of that matters now. Nothing matters. The world around me is a storm of wind, water, and chaos, yet I am driven forward by a force far more powerful than the elements. My eyes are fixed on the source of the sound¡ªthe only thing in this world that can pull me away from the storm¡¯s fury.

    The wind, once my greatest obstacle, now pushes me forward with an almost unnatural force. The gusts roar in my ears, urging me onward, and though the ground beneath me is slick and treacherous, I push through. I can feel my shoes slipping, my footing uncertain, but I do not care. I can¡¯t care. The sight, the sound, the promise of discovery¡ªit calls to me with an urgency I cannot ignore. The flashlight and the metal rod I was holding have left my hand. I don''t when it happened though.

    I feel my brain working at full capacity, processing every detail in a split second. The lightning, the footprints, the words of the old man¡ªall of it is clicking together in my mind, weaving a tapestry of mystery that I am desperate to unravel. The storm rages, but I barely notice anymore. All that matters is the next step, the next moment.

    The rain is relentless, each droplet hammering my skin, soaking me through. The air is thick with moisture, and every breath feels heavy, as though the storm itself is pressing in on me. My fingers are numb, my body shivering, but I press on, ignoring the cold, ignoring the pain. There is only the sound, the noise I cannot quite place yet. The answer I am chasing.

    As I push through the underbrush, the trees around me swaying with the force of the wind, I finally reach the clearing¡ªthe place where the sound originated. The same place I found the footprint of the animal and as I step into the clearing, my breath catches in my throat.

    The sight before me is like nothing I could have ever imagined.

    I freeze. Not out of fear, but because I cannot look away. I am captivated, consumed by the sheer magnificence of the creature before me. I cannot think, cannot move¡ªthere is only the overwhelming beauty of this being, a beauty that is so profound that it renders everything else meaningless. For a moment, my mind goes blank, as if the world around me has faded away, leaving only this perfect, celestial creature standing before me.

    It is an elephant¡ªa creature of such unimaginable beauty that it takes all the air from my lungs. But it is not any elephant. It is pure white, its skin glowing faintly in the dark, as if it absorbed the beauty of the moon when it was destroyed . Its tusks, four of them instead of the usual two, curl upward like the spires of ancient temples, gleaming in the light of the storm. And its trunk¡ªmajestic, long, and powerful¡ªrests against the ground as if it is a symbol of both strength and grace.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    But it is not just the elephant¡¯s form that strikes me. It is the way it is adorned. Every inch of its body is covered in jewels¡ªglistening, radiant stones that reflect the storm¡¯s fury in mesmerizing patterns. Around its neck, a thick necklace of gold and sapphire coils like a living river, its glow almost otherworldly. Its ears, wide and delicate, are lined with smaller jewels, their colors shifting in the lightning¡¯s flash. It is not just an elephant¡ªit is a creature of divine royalty, a being crafted by the gods themselves.

    The air around it crackles with an energy I can feel deep in my bones. The storm seems to bend around it, the wind swirling with a purposeful intensity. I can see the distant flashes of lightning reflected in its eyes¡ªeyes that shine with a knowing wisdom, ancient and powerful. And yet, despite the awe it commands, there is a gentleness in the way it moves, a grace that belies its size.

    The elephant, though, is not still. It shifts slightly, its enormous feet moving with a soft thud against the wet earth. And then, as if drawn by some unseen force, it takes a step toward me. Fear floods my chest, sharp and immediate, but I am rooted to the spot, unable to move. Its gaze locks onto mine, and for a few moments, the world holds its breath.

    I am acutely aware of the rain pelting my skin, the chill creeping into my bones, but none of that matters. There is only this connection¡ªthis undeniable link between me and the creature. My heart races, my thoughts spinning, but I cannot tear my eyes away. We stand there, locked in that moment, as the storm continues to rage around us, the world spinning in chaotic disarray.

    But the elephant does not move closer. It simply watches me, and I, in turn, watch it. And then, slowly, it raises its head. Its trunk arches high, reaching toward the sky, and I follow its movement, tilting my own head back to face the heavens. The rain falls harder now, stinging my eyes, but I cannot bring myself to look away from the elephant.

    The creature¡¯s trunk reaches even higher, its movements deliberate and measured. And then, without warning, the elephant makes a sound¡ªa deep, resonating call that seems to shake the very earth beneath my feet. It is a sound that reverberates in my chest, in my bones, sending shivers in my already shaking body.

    My heart skips a beat, and I feel a sudden surge of energy, as though something inside me is stirring. The noise of the storm, the crash of thunder, all of it seems to fade into the background as I focus entirely on the elephant. And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment passes. The elephant lowers its trunk and turns slightly, its gaze shifting to the sky again. The lightning builds, bright and fierce, and I can feel its energy, the crackling anticipation in the air.

    And then, the world tilts. The light from the lightning flashes blindingly, too quickly for me to react. My body is overwhelmed by the surge of energy in the air. My vision blurs, and before I can make sense of it, I feel my legs give way beneath me. The last thing I see is the elephant¡¯s form outlined against the storm, its powerful presence the only anchor in a world that seems to be unraveling.

    And then, everythi........

    (Thud)

    (Sound of Raindrops and Thunder)

 Varun

    Varun

    "Varun, what do you want to be when you grow up?¡±

    I can still hear my father¡¯s voice, gentle but teasing, as if he already knew the answer I¡¯d give. I was seven, sitting on the edge of my bed, clutching a toy blaster in one hand and a makeshift shield in the other.

    ¡°A hero!¡± I had declared, puffing out my chest with pride. ¡°A hero who will save the world.¡±

    My mother had laughed, ruffling my hair. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll save the world, will you? Like in those movies you watch?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± I¡¯d said confidently. ¡°I¡¯ll protect everyone and fight the bad guys. Just wait and see!¡±

    Back then, I believed it was that simple¡ªsaving people, protecting the innocent, doing what was right. But as I grew older, the simplicity of my dream began to clash with the complexity of reality.

    My parents, practical to the core, had other ideas for me. ¡°You need to think about a real career,¡± they would say. ¡°Heroism doesn¡¯t pay the bills, Varun.¡±

    ¡°Why does it have to pay bills?¡± I¡¯d argue. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with wanting to help people? Isn¡¯t that the best thing a person can do?¡±

    But I had no choice. I followed their advice, enrolled in college, and tried to fit into the mold they thought was best for me. At the time, I felt like I was being forced to abandon my dream. But I couldn''t have been more wrong. In the the college was the first time I again found the hope to fulfill my dream.

    It was there, in that sprawling futuristic campus of Santara-06qc, that I met someone who showed me what being a hero truly meant.

    Professor Devraj Rathore.

    Devraj was unlike anyone I¡¯d ever met. A former soldier turned lecturer, he carried himself with an unshakable confidence and quiet strength that commanded respect. He wasn¡¯t just teaching us about strategy and leadership¡ªhe embodied it.

    I¡¯d heard the rumors before I saw him. The whispers about the incident at Bapak-17nj, where he¡¯d single-handedly evacuated over fifty civilians during a chemical plant explosion, using nothing but his training and sheer determination. The price? His left arm, which had been crushed in the process.

    But when he entered the lecture hall for the first time, I was too awestruck to notice the gleaming metallic prosthetic that had replaced it. It was sleek, with faintly glowing lines etched across its surface, a marvel of advanced bio-mechanics. But what truly struck me wasn¡¯t the technology. It was his presence.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Devraj wasn¡¯t loud or intimidating. He spoke with clarity and conviction, and his words carried weight because they came from experience.

    ¡°Courage isn¡¯t the absence of fear,¡± he said once, pacing in front of the class. ¡°It¡¯s the choice to act despite it. In the field, you won¡¯t have time to think about your fears. You¡¯ll have to trust your training, your instincts, and your heart.¡±

    He was a hero in every sense of the word, and I wanted to be like him. No, I wanted to be better.

    Over the years, I followed his teachings like it was the only truth in the world. I absorbed every lesson, pushed myself harder than I ever thought possible, and finally, earned my commission. Every success, every promotion, I owe to the foundation he gave me.

    And now, at 26, as a high-ranking marine corps commander in Bharat¡¯s elite forces, I feel like I¡¯ve honored my childhood promise. But even heroes have lives outside the battlefield.

    I glance at the hologram on my desk, the image of my wife, Aditi, smiling down at our daughter, Meera. It¡¯s hard to believe that it¡¯s been two years since Aditi and I got married. Two years since we stood together under the glowing sky, exchanging vows in front of family and friends.

    My wife is what I call a wild Raccoon.She is a researcher in the field of biomechanics. Defining her is not so easy. And Meera? She¡¯s my world. Just three months old, with her tiny hands and bright, curious eyes, she¡¯s the embodiment of everything I fight for.

    But being a soldier isn¡¯t easy, especially when you have a family. The time I spend away from them feels like an eternity. I¡¯ve missed so many moments already¡ªMeera¡¯s first laugh, her first attempts to roll over. Aditi sends me updates, holograms of her giggling or babbling, but it¡¯s not the same.

    Sometimes, in the quiet moments, I wonder if I¡¯m being selfish. If my dream of being a hero has come at the cost of being a good husband and father.

    ¡°Varun, heroes don¡¯t just fight battles,¡± Devraj¡¯s words echo in my mind. ¡°They make sacrifices. They bear the weight of the world so others don¡¯t have to.¡±

    And so, I carry on. Because being a hero isn¡¯t about glory or recognition. It¡¯s about doing what needs to be done, no matter the cost.

    I look out the window of my quarters, the distant skyline illuminated by the faint glow of lightning on the horizon.The endless ocean is showing the sign of an impending storm.The storm reminds me of the unpredictability of the world we live in. Of how fragile everything can be.

    But it also reminds me why I chose this path. To protect what matters most. To ensure that my daughter grows up in a world where she doesn¡¯t have to fear the storms.

    ¡°Commander Varun¡±

    The voice pulls me from my thoughts, shattering the haze of nostalgia that had settled over me. I blink, taking a moment to reorient myself, before turning towards the door of my quarters.

    A junior officer stands there, her posture rigid, her uniform immaculate despite the long hours we¡¯ve all endured. She¡¯s young, likely not much older than 21, with sharp, focused eyes that carry an intensity far beyond her years.

    She snaps to attention and salutes with precision, her voice clear and steady. ¡°Lieutenant Aarohi reporting. We¡¯re ready to depart, sir.¡±

    For a moment, I study her. Aarohi is one of the most promising recruits I¡¯ve seen in years. Disciplined, quick-witted, and fiercely determined. She reminds me a little of myself, back when I was starting out, full of energy and idealism.

    I rise from my chair, straightening the lapels of my uniform. With a nod, I acknowledge her salute.

    ¡°At ease, Lieutenant,¡± I say, my voice firm but not unkind.

    She lowers her hand and steps aside as I stride past her, the weight of command settling back on my shoulders like a familiar coat. Aarohi falls into step behind me, her boots clicking softly against the sleek metallic floor of the corridor.

 Kranti to Kaalasya

    Kranti To Kaalasya

    We have been sailing for the past week aboard the pride of Bharat¡¯s naval fleet, the aircraft carrier SBF Kranti. It cuts through the ocean like a titan, a symbol of our nation''s strength and unity. But now, the mission requires a change in phase.

    The carrier will not proceed any further toward our destination. Officially, the reasoning is tied to the "security of the federation." Unofficially, I suspect the decision stems from the uncertainty surrounding this mission. The higher-ups are cautious, unwilling to risk the carrier and its invaluable personnel for a task veiled in so much mystery. The reality of the situation hangs heavily in the air.

    Instead, our forward fleet consists of five battleships and two submarines. The rest of the naval assets, including the carrier, remain behind, a safe distance away from the action. The aircraft aboard the Kranti are primed and ready but will only be deployed once we signal their need.

    The sea is restless, mirroring the unease that has settled over the fleet. Waves roll like dark mountains, crashing against the hull of the Kranti with relentless force. The winds are unyielding, carrying with them the sharp scent of salt and the bitter chill of the south. Heavy clouds loom overhead, their gray expanse broken only by fleeting glimpses of the pale sun. The air, thick with moisture, has a damp coldness that cuts straight through to the bone. The temperature has dropped significantly over the past two days, the cold seeping into every corner of the vessel, no matter how advanced its insulation. There is no escape from the ever-encroaching chill.

    Our destination is still two days away: Antarctica. Or, as the world now refers to it, Kaalasya¡ªa name derived from the ancient tongue, meaning "the realm of timeless shadow." A fitting name, given the recent developments. It has been years since any major operations have taken place in Antarctica, a continent governed by strict international treaties and regarded as the last untouched wilderness of the Earth. But all that has changed in the span of a single day, when a black cloud appeared over its icy expanse.

    A pitch-black cloud has appeared over the continent, an ominous presence that defies all known meteorological explanations. Its scale is humongous, stretching far beyond the limits of the human eye. What began as a suspected weather phenomenon quickly turned into something far more sinister.

    The day the cloud emerged, communication with every research station across the continent was severed. Efforts to re-establish contact have failed completely. Even more troubling is the failure of satellites and probes to capture clear images of the region. All visual feeds are obscured, as if the very light around Kaalasya is being consumed by the shadow. The news is a blow to the global scientific community, who have relied on those research stations to monitor the delicate ecosystem of the frozen continent.

    Several rescue operations have been launched in the early days of the crisis, teams dispatched to locate and extract the researchers stationed on the icy continent. But even their whereabouts have been lost, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions and growing fears.

    Now, intelligence agencies speculate that an underground organization might have taken control of Antarctica. They suggest the black cloud could be the result of one of their experiments¡ªa weapon or technology powerful enough to disrupt the natural order. On the surface, the theory holds some weight. An isolated continent, far from the oversight of global powers, would make an ideal stronghold for a group seeking to operate in secrecy.

    But I doubt it. Any underground organization willing to take such extreme measures would have to possess resources and resolve unlike anything we''ve encountered before. Even then, it feels like grasping at straws. It doesn¡¯t quite add up. The question lingers in my mind, gnawing at the edges of my focus: What has really happened out there?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Regardless, we don¡¯t have a choice, do we? The government cannot afford to abandon Antarctica¡ªnot after the immense effort and investment poured into preserving its pristine state. Billions of dollars, decades of negotiations, treaties, and pacts signed by global leadership to ensure that this untouched land remains a symbol of international cooperation and respect for nature. The ice-covered continent is vital not only for its resources but for its environmental significance.

    Antarctica has been a beacon of neutrality, an untouchable sanctuary, even during the Great Conflict¡ªa war so devastating that its influence extended beyond our planet, shaping the future of humanity on other worlds. And yet, not a single battle has tarnished its icy expanse. That alone speaks to its value. Now, the possibility of a rogue group threatening the region¡¯s sanctity cannot be ignored.

    We must do anything to reclaim it.

    We must crush any organization that dares to spread its roots on the sacred ice of Kaalasya.

    Standing on the bridge of the Kranti, I can feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on me like the storm clouds above. Every officer, every sailor aboard the forward fleet relies on me to guide them through what can only be described as the unknown. My command is not just about strategy or tactics; it is about leadership in the face of something intangible, something that none of us can predict.

    It is time.

    I step out onto the deck, the sharp wind biting into my skin even through the layers of my uniform. The soldiers are assembled below, a sea of disciplined faces staring up at me. These are no ordinary men and women¡ªthey are elite, handpicked for missions where failure isn¡¯t an option. No matter the storm, no matter the enemy, I know these soldiers will stand their ground.

    I grip the railing, letting my gaze sweep over them. The rain has begun to fall in earnest, each drop cold and heavy, yet not a single soldier flinches or falters. They stand at attention, unwavering. The ship creaks beneath our feet as it pushes through the relentless waves, but their resolve is unshaken.

    ¡°Brothers and sisters,¡± I begin, my voice cutting through the wind like a blade.

    ¡°You know why we¡¯re here. You know the stakes. I don¡¯t need to tell you how capable you are¡ªI¡¯ve seen it with my own eyes. Time and again, you¡¯ve proven that there¡¯s no obstacle you can¡¯t overcome. No challenge too great, no enemy too fierce.¡±

    The sea roars below us as if in agreement. The sounds of the storm mirror the intensity of my words.

    ¡°We sail toward the unknown,¡± I continue. ¡°Toward a threat we don¡¯t yet understand. But let me tell you this¡ªfear has no place among us. Doubt has no place among us. Because we are not just soldiers. We are the shield of Bharat, the vanguard of our people. When the world looks for hope, they look to us.¡±

    A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd, barely audible over the storm. But the look in their eyes, sharp and unwavering, tells me everything I need to know.

    ¡°Our mission is not an easy one. But when has it ever been? We¡¯ve trained for this. We¡¯ve prepared for this. And now, we march forward together. For our nation. For our families. For the future of humanity itself.¡±

    I pause, letting the weight of my words settle over them. The rain hammers down, pooling on the deck, but no one moves.

    <strong style="font-family: var(--rx-font-text)">¡°Sa No Varuna!¡± I shout, raising my fist high.

    <em style="font-family: var(--rx-font-text)">¡°Sa No Varuna!¡± they roar back in unison, their voices echoing across the ocean.

    The war cry of the navy, invoking the ancient guardian of the seas, fills the air with a palpable energy. It is a moment of unity, of purpose, that no storm can diminish.

    As the soldiers begin to move toward their respective posts, I turn to Lieutenant Aarohi, who has been waiting patiently at my side.

    ¡°Any new information from Intelligence?¡± I ask.

    She hesitates for a moment, then shakes her head. ¡°No solid or reliable updates, Commander. The situation remains as unclear as before.¡±

    ¡°Expected,¡± I mutter, more to myself than to her. ¡°We¡¯ve got no choice but to follow orders and adapt as we go.¡±

    She nods, her expression steady but tinged with concern. She, like the rest of us, is aware of the uncertainties that surround this mission. The lack of information is a challenge in itself, but it is something we will have to overcome.

    We make our way toward the forward battleships, the icy rain now turning into sleet. The fleet is preparing to break away from the Kranti, engines roaring to life as the battleships and submarines ready themselves for the next leg of the journey.

 Aarohi

    Aarohi

    I was born into a fairly comfortable life. My father, a successful stock market expert, provided us with everything we needed, while my mother, once a small-time model, gave me a glimpse into a world of glamour and beauty. Growing up, I was captivated by her stories and the allure of the fashion industry. I idolized her and, at first, dreamed of following in her footsteps. It seemed like the perfect path for me, the life I was meant to lead. I even enrolled in college with the goal of becoming a model, believing that it was the only way I could truly make something of myself.

    I too wanted to be a model.

    It wasn¡¯t a dream born out of passion, but more of a fascination with the glamour and admiration that came with it. The glossy magazine covers, the runway lights, the allure of being noticed,and my Mum¡ªit felt like a world where I could finally be seen, where my presence would matter.

    My parents supported me wholeheartedly.My father was cautious at first, asking me to think about the challenges and competition, but they never discouraged me. Instead, he helped me find the right courses and supported my decision to pursue modeling. ¡°If this is what you want to do, we¡¯ll stand by you,¡± my mother had said, her voice calm but resolute.

    Their encouragement gave me the confidence to chase my dream. When I graduated high school, I joined a college course dedicated to modeling and fashion. My parents weren¡¯t thrilled by the distance¡ªit was in a different city¡ªbut they trusted me enough to let me follow my path.

    And for a while, everything seemed perfect.

    The turning point came in my first year of college when I encountered someone who would change everything I thought I knew about effort, determination, and what it truly meant to have a goal.

    He was a senior¡ªa fourth-year student¡ªand even before I saw him, his name echoed across the campus. He was the university¡¯s pride¡ªthe one everyone talked about in awe. Top of his class academically, unbeatable on the sports field, and a relentless worker who seemed to operate on an entirely different plane from the rest of us.

    At first, I didn¡¯t understand the fuss. ¡°What¡¯s so special about him?¡± I¡¯d think, rolling my eyes as my batchmates gushed about his latest achievement. ¡°We¡¯re all working hard to achieve our goals. Why is he treated like he¡¯s something extraordinary?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t admiration; it was irritation. Hearing his name over and over¡ªthis senior did that, this senior achieved this¡ªstarted to grate on me. I didn¡¯t see what made him any different from the rest of us.

    That changed the day I met him.

    It was a campus event, a casual inter-departmental meet, and I found myself paired with him for a team activity. I remember being unimpressed at first, thinking he seemed like any other senior¡ªpolite but distant, confident but not overly so. He greeted me with a small nod, not saying much as we worked through the task.

    But as the day progressed, I noticed things. Little things.

    The way he approached problems¡ªcalm, methodical, like he¡¯d already anticipated every possibility. The way he encouraged others without patronizing them, his words sharp yet supportive. And above all, the sheer intensity in his eyes, as if every second of his life was dedicated to a purpose far greater than the moment at hand.

    For the first time, I saw what everyone had been talking about.

    He wasn¡¯t just hardworking; he was relentless. There was a fire in him that I¡¯d never encountered before, an almost inhuman drive to push beyond his limits. It wasn¡¯t arrogance or ambition¡ªit was a profound sense of purpose that seemed to guide everything he did.

    After that first meeting, I found myself drawn to him in ways I didn¡¯t expect.

    I tried to associate with him more, finding excuses to cross paths or join activities where he was involved. I started observing him at every opportunity, from the gymnasium to the library, even tracking him to his favorite hobby spots. It was subtle at first, just casual curiosity. But before I realized it, I had become his craziest devotee.

    The more I watched him, the more impressed I became. He wasn¡¯t just driven¡ªhe was extraordinary, and I couldn¡¯t get enough of understanding what made him so different. Every detail I uncovered only fueled my obsession further. I wanted to know everything: what motivated him, what he thought about, how he stayed so focused.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    It became all-consuming.

    I barely noticed as my grades began to slip. My first-year finals crept up on me, and when the results came out, I had barely passed. It should¡¯ve been a wake-up call, but I didn¡¯t care. I didn¡¯t feel ashamed or disappointed in myself because I had found something far more important than academics.

    For the first time in my life, I had a direction, a purpose.

    Modeling, once my dream, now felt like a distant memory. It seemed shallow and meaningless compared to the fire I saw in him. I wanted to be like him¡ªnot in the sense of copying his achievements, but in embodying that same drive and commitment to something meaningful.

    The decision to change paths wasn¡¯t easy, and it wasn¡¯t quick. It took months of introspection, arguments with my parents, and moments of doubt. Surprisingly, they supported me here too, though it wasn¡¯t without some reluctance. My mother worried I was giving up my individuality, and my father was skeptical about my ability to keep up with such a demanding field. But in the end, they trusted my choice, just like they always had.

    Now, as I stand on the deck of the battleship that¡¯s been our home for the past two days, the cold ocean spray biting against my face, I feel a sense of pride I never thought I¡¯d experience.

    ¡°How long till we reach our destination?¡± Major Varun¡¯s voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

    Collecting myself, I quickly check my tablet for the ocean currents and weather data before replying. ¡°Normally, we should have reached by now, sir. But due to unfavorable conditions, we¡¯re almost a day behind. We can hope to reach the operation zone in 17 hours.¡±

    I know he already has a good estimate of how much we¡¯re lagging behind, but he¡¯s still engaging with me. It¡¯s his way of keeping us grounded, of showing that no one is beyond communication.

    Major Varun¡ªmy commanding officer, the commander of this mission, and the senior I was once obsessed with in college, and still am.

    A little secret I¡¯ve never admitted out loud.

    I know he is happily married and has a loving wife and beautiful daughter. He showed us the picture of his daughter when she was born three months ago, his pride practically radiating from the image he held in his hands. I remember the way his voice softened, a rare gentleness that stood out starkly against his usual commanding tone, as he told us about her tiny fingers and curious eyes.

    Even now, he keeps that picture close, tucked neatly into the case of his tactical pad. Whenever he¡¯s free¡ªeven if it¡¯s just a fleeting moment¡ªhis eyes find their way to that image. There¡¯s a quiet tenderness in those moments, a reminder that behind the soldier¡¯s facade is a man who treasures his family more than anything else.

    And yet, my admiration for him is different.

    It¡¯s not the romantic kind. At least, I don¡¯t think it is. It¡¯s more like the way you look up to someone who seems to embody everything you wish you could be. An idol. A guide. Someone who sets a standard so high that simply striving toward it feels like a victory in itself.

    I¡¯ve spent years trying to define what I feel for him, and this is the closest I¡¯ve come. There¡¯s no jealousy when I see the love he has for his wife or the joy he finds in his daughter. If anything, it deepens my respect for him. It shows that he¡¯s not just an exceptional leader but also an exceptional human being.

    Still, it¡¯s complicated.

    Admiration, inspiration, obsession¡ªwhatever this feeling is, it shaped the person I am today. And standing here, on this mission with him as my commanding officer, it¡¯s almost surreal. The distance between us is greater than ever. He¡¯s my superior, a decorated major in the Bharat Navy, entrusted with the kind of responsibilities that most people can¡¯t even comprehend. And I¡¯m... well, I¡¯m still trying to prove that I deserve to be here.

    I glance at him now, his sharp profile silhouetted against the steel-gray sky. The wind tousles his hair, but his stance remains steady, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if he can see the mission zone long before we ever reach it.

    We¡¯ve been sailing for two days since leaving SBF Kranti. The fleet¡ªfive battleships and two submarines¡ªcuts through the choppy waters with precision, a testament to the discipline and skill of everyone on board. The aircraft remain stationed on the carrier, waiting for our signal once we approach the operation zone.

    The sea is restless today, the waves surging against the hull with a force that mirrors the tension brewing in all of us. The air is damp, heavy with the salty tang of the ocean, and the sky is a dull shade of gray that seems to stretch endlessly in every direction. It¡¯s the kind of weather that makes you feel small, insignificant against the vastness of nature.

    And yet, even in this vastness, Major Varun stands unwavering.

    ¡°Keep an eye on the currents, Lieutenant,¡± he says, his voice calm but firm, breaking the silence.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    I return to my tablet, scanning the data again. The unfavorable conditions we¡¯ve been facing¡ªstrong headwinds, shifting currents¡ªare still slowing us down. It¡¯s frustrating, knowing how much every hour counts in a mission like this. But there¡¯s nothing we can do except adapt and keep moving forward.

    I sneak another glance at him, wondering if he ever feels the same frustration. If he does, he never shows it. That¡¯s another thing I¡¯ve learned from him¡ªcontrol. It¡¯s not about suppressing emotions but about channeling them, using them to fuel action instead of hesitation.

    I try to do the same, though I¡¯m still far from mastering it.

 Rescue

    Rescue

    As the massive ships churn through the icy waters towards the operation site, the tension in the air is palpable. We¡¯ve been moving for almost two days now, and still, the fog and haze of the storm loom heavy in every direction. It¡¯s as if the world around us has been swallowed by the cloud. The sea is calm¡ªtoo calm¡ªbut the cloud ahead, dark, endless, and impenetrable, casts a foreboding shadow over the operation. It¡¯s as if we are about to step into the maw of some unseen beast, and every second that ticks by feels heavier than the last. The time for hesitation has passed.

    I glance at the tactical display, watching as it flickers in and out of reliability. We¡¯re close now, too close to turn back, and still, the veil before us stretches out like a massive, suffocating wall. We don¡¯t have the luxury of time to second-guess. The mission has been set in motion, and we¡¯re damn well going to see it through.

    I turn to Lieutenant Aarohi, who is sitting next to me, her eyes glued to her tablet as she runs over the data again. It¡¯s not good news, as expected.

    "Signal Kranti¡¯s communication center," I order, my voice steady but firm. "Tell them to send the air force as soon as we¡¯re within range."

    Aarohi acknowledges my command with a simple nod, fingers already flying across the tablet screen as she relays the message. I watch her for a moment. She¡¯s efficient, precise¡ªan officer who knows her duty.

    Her eyes flick up to meet mine for a brief second before she reports. "Sir, we¡¯re nearing the veil. The storm conditions are still worsening. We can¡¯t rely on any sensor or radar data until we breach it."

    I nod, acknowledging the situation. There¡¯s no turning back now. "No other choice," I mutter under my breath. "We¡¯ll get through this."

    Aarohi doesn¡¯t respond, but I can tell she understands the gravity of the situation. She¡¯s been by my side for too long not to.

    "I¡¯m not sure how much the aircraft will be able to do in this situation," Aarohi says, her voice breaking through the silence. She taps on her tablet again, bringing up the weather data. "That cloud is too dense for them to gather any real intel. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll be able to do anything effective."

    I glance at her, my expression hardening. "The air force isn¡¯t for reconnaissance. They¡¯re part of the show of force. We need to intimidate them into surrendering, not fight. If they think we¡¯re willing to open fire, it may be enough to make them back down. The fewer casualties, the better."

    Aarohi nods, her brow furrowing slightly. She knows the weight of what I¡¯m saying. "Yes, sir."

    "The other factions should have already arrived by now, holding their positions. This is a joint operation. Everyone¡¯s got a stake in this," I continue. The world¡¯s superpowers are all aligned on this mission, all aiming for the same goal: stopping the criminal faction that has been running operations in this area for far too long. If they¡¯ve gotten wind of our approach, they¡¯ll be preparing themselves. It¡¯s a dangerous game, one that has no room for error.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    I turn back to the window, my mind racing over possible contingencies. I don¡¯t like it, but there¡¯s little we can do. We¡¯re too far into the operation now to pull back. The mission must succeed, no matter the cost.

    And then, a sudden shift in the air makes my instincts flare.

    I turn my attention back to the view, my heart rate increasing slightly. Something is moving within the veil. It¡¯s just a flicker at first, too small to identify, but as I focus, it grows clearer. Something is coming toward us, fast and purposeful.

    "Alert the crew," I bark into the comms. "Something¡¯s coming through the veil. Prepare for contact. Stay sharp."

    Aarohi¡¯s fingers fly over her tablet, trying to pull up anything useful, but the interference from the storm is too much. She shakes her head. "Nothing on the radar, sir. It¡¯s not showing up."

    I narrow my eyes, my pulse quickening. "Whatever it is, we can¡¯t afford to take chances. All units, take aim! Ready your weapons. We¡¯ll fire if necessary."

    I don¡¯t hesitate. This could be a trap, or it could be an attack, but I won¡¯t let my crew be caught off guard. I hand over the command center to Lieutenant Karan and make my way to the deck. I need to be at the front, watching this unfold in real time.

    As I step out onto the deck, the wind hits me hard. It¡¯s cold, biting, the kind of wind that makes you feel alive. The ship¡¯s engines hum beneath my feet, and I grip the mic tight in my hand. My voice carries over the deck, cutting through the stillness.

    "This is Major Varun of the Bharat Navy! Halt your advance immediately! This is a restricted zone. If you do not comply, we will open fire!"

    For a moment, nothing happens. The ship keeps moving forward, but at a much slower pace. The figures on the deck are hard to make out, but they¡¯re there, and they¡¯re moving in a way that doesn¡¯t look like a retreat. There¡¯s a hesitation, like they¡¯re not sure whether to stop or push through.

    "Hold your fire!" I shout. "Let¡¯s see what they do."

    I squint against the wind, trying to make out the figures better. They¡¯re waving. I can barely make out their faces through the mist, but there¡¯s something about them. They don¡¯t seem hostile¡ªjust¡­ confused.

    I¡¯m about to give the order to open fire when Aarohi¡¯s voice comes through my earpiece, urgent but calm.

    "Sir, it¡¯s them. The rescue squad. Their faces match the data we received. It¡¯s them. They¡¯ve made it."

    Relief floods through me. "Understood. Stand down, everyone. Lower your weapons."

    The ship finally slows to a halt at a safe distance from us. A man steps forward, and he shouts at the top of his lungs. "Hello, sir! I¡¯m Lieutenant Benjamin, US Navy! I¡¯m the leader of this rescue mission!"

    I breathe a sigh of relief. For a moment, it feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders. Finally, some good news. I step forward, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

    "Lieutenant Benjamin," I call out, my voice steady. "Major Varun, Bharat Navy. Welcome aboard."

    As Benjamin salutes me, Aarohi steps forward as well, offering her own greeting. She introduces herself briefly, and I see her eyes flicker with the same relief I¡¯m feeling. The worst has passed¡ªfor now.

    I shake Benjamin¡¯s hand firmly, his grip strong and sure. "You¡¯re a sight for sore eyes," I tell him. "We¡¯ve been waiting for you."

    "Thank you, sir," Benjamin replies, his expression earnest. "We¡¯ve had a hell of a time, but we¡¯ve made it through."

    I look around, making sure the crew is getting to work assisting the rescue squad. The soldiers are already on the move, helping the squad members off the ship and onto ours. I take a step back and look at Benjamin, my eyes narrowing slightly.

    "Now," I say, my voice lower, more serious. "What¡¯s really going on over there?"

    Benjamin¡¯s eyes flicker. There¡¯s hesitation there, but he¡¯s a professional. He tries to smile, but it¡¯s thin and strained. "Ah, about tha¡ª"

    Before he can finish, there¡¯s a sharp, unnatural sound¡ªlike metal scraping against stone. The noise cuts through the air like a knife, and then, in an instant, Benjamin is gone.

    I stand there frozen for a second, unable to comprehend what just happened. One moment, he¡¯s standing in front of me, the next¡ªnothing. I feel a strange warmth drip down my cheek, and I raise a hand instinctively to touch it.

    "Blood," I whisper to myself, barely able to make sense of it.

    I look down, and I see Benjamin¡¯s boots¡ªstill on the deck, as if he¡¯d simply vanished into thin air.

    A cruel silence falls over the deck. No one moves. No one speaks. It¡¯s like time itself has stopped. The men around me seem just as stunned, paralyzed by what just transpired.

 Of Blood

    Of Blood

    The deck is chaos. Blood coats every surface, pooling around my boots in a warm, sticky mess. The smell of iron fills the air, so thick it clings to the back of my throat. Chunks of flesh and mangled body parts are strewn across the ship, grotesque remnants of what were once living, breathing people. A severed hand, its fingers twisted and broken, lies just inches away, twitching as if it doesn¡¯t know it¡¯s dead.

    I¡¯m trying to breathe, to think, but the oppressive stench and the carnage make it almost impossible. Every breath feels like inhaling death.

    Beside me, Aarohi stands frozen. Her wide, glassy eyes flick to mine briefly, her blood-soaked uniform sticking to her trembling frame. The blood on her face isn¡¯t hers¡ªI can tell¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t make it any less horrifying.

    The other soldiers are no better. Some are retching over the side of the ship, others simply staring at the carnage, their weapons limp in their hands. Their fear is a palpable thing, choking the air, threatening to spread like wildfire.

    I grab the microphone clipped to my chest and force my voice to steady. "Attention soldiers!" I shout,the sound sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos. "DO NOT FALTER. BE CALM AND RATIONAL. I REPEAT, DO NOT LOSE YOURSELF!"

    For a moment, my words seem to take hold. Some of the soldiers straighten, their grips tightening on their weapons. Aarohi blinks, her breath hitching as she grips her tablet tightly. But before we can regain control, a chilling voice pierces the silence.

    "My my, what an ugly art. Though, I can¡¯t say I expected much¡ªthe material was low quality, after all."

    My head snaps up, and there he is.

    Perched casually on the mast of the ship, he looks down on us like a predator watching cornered prey. His dark, sharp eyes gleam with sadistic amusement, and his lips curl into a grin that sends a shiver down my spine. There¡¯s a terrifying ease in the way he sits, as if the carnage below is nothing but entertainment to him.

    Every instinct in my body screams danger. My grip tightens on my weapon, my muscles coiling, ready to act.

    "Who are you?" I demand, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the dread pooling in my chest. "Identify yourself! Are you the one behind this massacre?"

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The man tilts his head, as if amused by my audacity. "Huh? How dare you ask me for my identity before introducing yourself?" His voice is low and venomous, dripping with disdain. "Do you have a death wish, trash? Introduce yourself first."

    I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to snap back. "Major Varun," I state firmly, refusing to lower my gaze. "Commanding officer of this unit. Now answer the damn question!"

    The man chuckles, his laughter cold and mocking. "Now we¡¯re being civil. I guess I should return the courtesy." He stands, balancing effortlessly on the mast, spreading his arms theatrically. "I am Raktaka of Blood."

    The name sends a chill down my spine. "Raktaka?"

    "You don¡¯t understand, do you?" His grin widens, his voice laced with contempt. "Expected from trash. Let me simplify it for you." His tone darkens, every word dripping with malice. "I am your death."

    My jaw tightens, but I hold my ground. "Death? You think you can take on all these soldiers by yourself? Overconfidence will be your downfall."

    He bursts into laughter, the sound sharp and grating, echoing across the ship. "Soldiers?" he sneers, his gaze sweeping across the trembling figures. "You call this pathetic lot soldiers? Delusional. You¡¯re trash, Major, and the rest of them?" He gestures at the blood-soaked deck, his expression one of utter disdain. "They¡¯re worse than trash. Not even good enough to make my artwork. See how ugly this one turned out?" He points at the gory stain where Benjamin once stood.

    My fists clench. "So you admit it¡ªyou¡¯re the one who killed Benjamin. What did you use? Some kind of advanced weapon? Is that the source of your arrogance?"

    The man''s laughter intensifies, growing more unhinged. "Weapon?" he howls, clutching his stomach as if the thought itself is ridiculous. "You think I need a weapon for low-quality vermin like you? How quaint! You can¡¯t even begin to comprehend what I am, let alone how I do what I do."

    "Then why are you here?" I demand, trying to buy time, to assess the situation.

    Raktaka¡¯s laughter abruptly stops. His expression turns ice-cold. "Didn¡¯t I tell you already? Your death." His tone is calm, deliberate, and filled with a certainty that tightens the knot in my gut. He steps forward, and the air grows heavier with every move he makes. "And I¡¯m growing bored, Major. How about I end this charade right now?"

    Before I can respond, he lets out a guttural scream¡ªa sound so inhuman, so raw, it shakes me to my core.

    "FIRE!" I shout, my voice ringing out like a gunshot.

    But instead of the crackle of gunfire, a wet, sickening noise fills the air¡ªa sound like flesh tearing and bones snapping.

    I turn, and the world freezes.

    The deck has become a slaughterhouse. Blood erupts in crimson geysers, painting the ship in arcs of red. Body parts rain down, limbs and torsos ripped apart with horrifying precision. Intestines coil across the ground, steam rising from their exposed flesh. Severed heads, their eyes wide with terror, roll across the deck, leaving trails of blood in their wake.

    The soldiers are gone. All of them. Reduced to mangled heaps of gore and viscera. The air is thick with the coppery tang of fresh blood and the stench of ruptured intestines. It¡¯s suffocating.

    Aarohi is still standing, but just barely. Her pupils are dilated, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Blood drips from her uniform in streams, pooling at her feet. She doesn¡¯t move, doesn¡¯t speak, doesn¡¯t even seem to register the carnage around her.

    And me? I¡¯m still alive. It¡¯s just me, Aarohi, and him.

    The monster leans forward,still sitting, his expression  calm, almost bored. "See what your actions resulted in, Major?" he says, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "If you¡¯d surrendered, I might have made it less painful for you all. By killing you together, of course."

    My breath catches as his lips curl into a sharp, menacing grin. He raises his hand, pointing a bloodstained finger toward Aarohi.

    "It¡¯s your turn now, little bitch."

    I follow his gesture just in time to see Aarohi crumple to the ground. Her eyes widen in shock as a gaping, ragged hole blooms in the center of her stomach. Blood spills from the wound in thick, relentless streams, pooling beneath her as her body convulses.

    "Aarohi!"  "Aarohi!?" "Hey!!" "Aarohi"

 Saved?

    Saved?

    "Aarohi!!¡­?"

    My voice cracks as the word leaves me, swallowed by the suffocating silence of the room. My breathing is shallow, uneven, as though my lungs are struggling to keep pace with the storm raging inside me.

    What the hell just happened?

    The images surge forward, unbidden and merciless. I see it all again¡ªthe ship, the crimson-soaked deck, the shattered bodies of my comrades lying like discarded fragments of some grotesque puzzle. The images of Lieutenant Benjamin turning into......... I see Aarohi, her pale face contorted in pain, her body crumpling to the ground, the gaping hole in her stomach too vivid to forget.

    "No," I mutter, shaking my head in a desperate attempt to block out the memories. My fingers claw at my scalp, my nails digging into the skin as if I can tear the images out of my mind. "No, no, no. It can¡¯t be true. It¡¯s impossible."

    I press my hands against my temples, the pressure building in my skull like it¡¯s about to crack open. My breath hitches, and I feel my chest tighten.

    "This is a dream," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the frantic pounding of my heart. "It has to be a dream."

    But even as I say it, I know it¡¯s not. The pain coursing through my body is too real, too visceral.

    I close my eyes, but instead of comfort, the memory shifts, dragging me deeper into the nightmare. Aarohi¡¯s lifeless body crumples before me, her blood pooling around her like a grotesque halo.

    ¡°No!¡± I had screamed, charging at the monster¡ªat him.

    Raktraka¡¯s face was twisted with dark amusement as I lunged. I remember the fury coursing through my veins, the sheer desperation to do something, anything, to stop him. My hands trembled as I grabbed my rifle, unloading shot after shot into him. The bullets tore through the air, each one laced with every ounce of hatred I could muster.

    But it was useless.

    Raktraka didn¡¯t flinch. The bullets didn¡¯t even graze his skin. They disintegrated before reaching him, melting into nothing against some invisible barrier. He stood there, smiling like a predator toying with its prey, as if my defiance was nothing more than a fleeting entertainment.

    "Is that all you¡¯ve got, Major?" he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

    I had abandoned the rifle, rushing him with a combat knife. I aimed for his neck, his heart¡ªanywhere that might do damage. But he was too fast, his movements effortless as he dodged every strike. My attacks were clumsy in comparison, driven by rage and grief rather than strategy.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    And then, in a blur of motion, he struck back.

    The blow was swift, a single, brutal impact that sent me reeling. I felt a sharp, excruciating pain rip through my side as his hand connected with my torso. It wasn¡¯t just a punch¡ªit was as though my body was being crushed under unimaginable pressure. I staggered, gasping for air, and when I looked down, I saw blood soaking my uniform, spreading from a deep wound along my right side.

    "You''re boring me," Raktraka said, his voice devoid of interest now. "I thought you¡¯d put up more of a fight."

    I remember the feeling of my body failing me, the cold spreading through my limbs as my vision blurred. I tried to stand, to fight back, but my legs gave out beneath me. My right side was numb, useless.

    The last thing I remember is that monster''s laughter echoing in my ears as I fell backward. The ship¡¯s deck disappeared beneath me, and then there was only the icy embrace of the ocean.

    The water swallowed me whole, its freezing cold biting into my skin like a thousand needles. I couldn¡¯t breathe. My arms flailed weakly, but I was too far gone, too broken to fight against the pull of the current. The faces of my wife,my daughter,my friends flashing before my eyes.Darkness closed in around me, I was supposed to die there.

    The memory fades, and I¡¯m back in the dimly lit room, my body trembling as the images burn themselves into my mind. My breath is ragged, my chest rising and falling as though I¡¯ve just resurfaced from the depths of the ocean.

    I clutch my head, the weight of it all pressing down on me. "It can¡¯t be true," I whisper, my voice cracking. "No way it¡¯s true. Impossible."

    The door creaks open, and a deep, gravelly voice pulls me from the spiral. "You¡¯re finally up."

    I force my head up, my vision swimming as I focus on the figure stepping into the room. He¡¯s older, with weathered skin and a frame that¡¯s still muscular despite his age. His eyes hold a strange mixture of calmness and intensity, like he¡¯s seen more than I can imagine.

    "Who are you?!" I manage to shout through the pain, my voice hoarse and trembling. "What are you doing here? Where am I? And what the hell happened to my comrades?!"

    The man raises his hands in a gesture of peace. "Calm down, young man," he says evenly. "You¡¯re in no condition to be shouting, let alone picking a fight."

    Ignoring his words, I grit my teeth and push myself off the ground, my entire body trembling with the effort. Each movement sends fresh waves of pain rippling through me, but I don¡¯t care. "Answer me!" I snap, glaring at him with all the strength I can muster.

    He sighs, stepping forward to steady me. His grip is firm but not harsh, and he guides me back onto the bed. "Listen carefully," he begins, his tone calm but resolute. "I found you washed up on the shore, bleeding and half-dead. I brought you here, dressed your wounds, and kept you breathing. That¡¯s all I¡¯ve done."

    "You¡¯re lying," I hiss, my voice filled with venom.

    "I¡¯m not," he replies, his expression unchanging. "I can¡¯t tell you everything about who I am¡ªlet¡¯s just say my circumstances make that impossible. But I can tell you this: you¡¯re here because there¡¯s more to come. And as for your comrades¡­" He pauses, his eyes darkening. "You already know what happened to them."

    The weight of his words strikes like a blow to the chest. My vision blurs, and the memories I¡¯ve been trying so hard to suppress come rushing back with brutal clarity.

    "You said you found me on the shore," I manage to say after a moment, my voice trembling. "Does that mean¡­ I¡¯m in Antarctica? Inside the veil?"

    The man shakes his head. "Antarctica? No. You¡¯re in the Kochi-mz06 region of Bharat¡¯s coast."

    "Bharat?!" I repeat, disbelief lacing my words. "You¡¯re joking. You must be joking!"

    "

    No," he says simply.

    "You can¡¯t be serious!" I shout, pushing myself upright despite the pain. "I was standing on my ship¡ªright in front of the continent! How the hell can I be here, thousands of miles away from Antarctica?!"

    I glare at him, my hands trembling with rage. "You really can¡¯t be trusted."

    "If we¡¯re in Bharat," I growl, "then why do you act like you know what happened to me and my comrades? How do you know all this?"

    For the first time, his composure slips. There¡¯s a flicker of something in his expression¡ªhesitation, guilt, maybe both.

    "You¡¯re lying to me," I growl, my fists clenching. Before I can think better of it, I lunge forward, grabbing him by the collar. "Tell me, you old bastard!"

    His eyes meet mine, unflinching. "You¡¯re such a troublesome boy," he mutters, almost to himself.

    Before I can react, he flicks his fingers against my forehead¡ªa gesture so small and effortless it seems absurd.

    And then, everything goe.......

 Choice

    Choice

    The air inside the car is stifling, the low hum of the engine doing little to drown out the storm of thoughts racing through my head. I lie there, strapped in, unable to move. My body refuses to obey me. Every inch of me hurts¡ªmy right side is numb, the wounds deep and raw. I can barely remember how I got here, but the overwhelming pain makes it impossible to forget the consequences of the battle, of the destruction I witnessed. The faces of my comrades, their last moments, replaying like a broken record, haunting every thought I try to focus on. My head pounds, but I can''t bring myself to care. All that matters now is finding a way out of this.

    My hands are tied, the ropes cutting into my flesh, each movement sending waves of agony through my body. I force my fingers to flex, trying to work the ropes loose, but the strength I once had is gone. The pain is relentless, and each failed attempt to break free only serves to remind me how powerless I¡¯ve become. I grit my teeth and force myself to keep trying, but my efforts are futile. My arms feel heavy, useless. I¡¯m no longer the soldier I once was.

    I catch a glance of the the old man driving the car. He doesn¡¯t look at me, his hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. His silence unnerves me more than any words could. Who is this man? What does he want with me?  Where is he taking me now? And how did he knock me out then?

    My voice cracks as I shout, ¡°Let me go! Who the hell are you? What have you done to me?¡± My chest is tight with fear and confusion. I try again to break free from the ropes, but I¡¯m only met with the harsh sting of my injuries. Every movement is torture.

    Still, the old man doesn¡¯t answer. He continues driving, his face impassive, as though he hasn¡¯t even heard me. The silence between us is maddening. How can he be so calm when everything is falling apart?

    I try to push myself up, my body screaming in protest, and I almost manage to sit up before my head swims and I fall back against the seat. I can¡¯t focus. Everything is spinning, but I won¡¯t give up. I force my eyes open and catch a glimpse of him again. He¡¯s still staring straight ahead, unfazed by my outbursts.

    "Who are you?" I croak, my voice barely a whisper. "What¡¯s going on? Where am I?"

    "Can you please shut up for a moment? Are the soldiers nowadays not disciplined?"  His words hurt as much as my wounds does. "Untie me now" I shout again, trying to mask my own shame. "So you can jump at this old,frail man and take his life for no actual reason? Thanks but I have to decline your offer." This guys humour really irritates me. At this point I really can''t can kill him for these jokes. But I am currently powerless. All I can do is what this man makes me do.

    The road stretches endlessly ahead, a dark and barren wasteland stretching out of sight. I don¡¯t know how long we¡¯ve been driving, or where we¡¯re headed, but I can feel the pull of my exhaustion, my body begging me to give in, to let go. But I can¡¯t. I can¡¯t afford to. Not now. Not after everything.

    The car comes to an abrupt stop, and I barely manage to brace myself before the vehicle lurches forward. My stomach twists, nausea rising in my throat as the car skids to a halt. The old man doesn¡¯t seem to be affected by the sudden stop, but I can feel every inch of my body protesting.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Without a word, he opens his door and steps out of the car. I barely have time to process what¡¯s happening before he walks around and opens my door, dragging me out by the ropes binding me.

    I gasp in pain as I¡¯m roughly pulled from the car. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± I spit, but my words come out weak and breathless. My legs feel like jelly, barely able to support me. I almost fall, but the old man holds me up with surprising strength.

    ¡°Are you trying to kill me, you senile bastard?¡± I manage to force out, though the words come more like a rasp than anything else. My chest is tight, and my vision is starting to blur again.

    He chuckles, low and throaty, as he unbinds my legs. ¡°I¡¯m sure this much won¡¯t kill you,¡± he says, his tone surprisingly light for the situation.  "You were just jumping around the car¡±

    The sarcasm doesn¡¯t sit well with me. Anger flares up in my chest, mixing with the frustration of not being able to defend myself, of being so helpless. I want to snap at him, to demand answers, but the pain is too much. Every movement is agony, and I can¡¯t even focus enough to form a coherent thought.

    The old man lets go of my legs and steps back, watching me with a strange, almost amused expression.

    ¡°Get your feet under you,¡± he orders. ¡°We¡¯re not done here.¡±

    We are now standing face to face. The expression on the person''s face has changed completely. He looks like someone else entirely.

    "Do you want to avenge your fallen friends?" He asks me with dead serious face.

    ¡°Ofc- "

    But before I can even finish, the old man interrupts me. ¡°Not so fast,¡± he says, his voice calm but carrying an edge. ¡°If you try to take revenge, it will be the most dangerous thing you¡¯ve ever done¡ªor can even imagine doing. There¡¯s no guarantee that you¡¯ll succeed. Death might knock at your door at any moment. And even if you do succeed, the people who are gone will not come back. You¡¯ll have lost them forever.¡±

    His words strike deep, the weight of his meaning sinking in. I¡¯ve known the risks of this path, but hearing them laid out like that hits differently.

    He pauses, letting the silence hang between us like a heavy curtain. The faces of my comrades flash before my eyes¡ªtheir smiles, the camaraderie we shared, the trust we placed in one another. But as those images fade, the faces of my wife and daughter follow. Their eyes, their warmth, their love. Would I leave them behind if I walked this road? Would I ever get to hold them again, if I choose vengeance?

    The old man continues, almost as though he can see the storm raging inside my mind. ¡°If you choose the other path, you can live whatever is left of your life with the loved ones who are still alive. You¡¯ll have the chance to build something again, even if it¡¯s never the same.¡±

    His words hang in the air like a noose, tightening around my chest. He¡¯s giving me a choice, but it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I can still see their faces, my friends¡ªfighting for something greater, and failing. But then, I think of my family. What would they think if I throw my life away on revenge? What will happen to them if I disappear, consumed by the thirst for vengeance?

    The old man watches me closely, his eyes studying me as if he knows exactly what I¡¯m feeling. He nods once, as if he has said enough. ¡°Looks like you¡¯re finally putting some thought into it,¡± he says with a soft chuckle. ¡°Take your time. Think carefully about what¡¯s better for you.¡±

    He turns to walk past me, giving me the space I need to think. And I do. I think of my comrades, how they trusted me, how I failed them. I think of the love I have for my family and the promises I¡¯ve made to them. The anger inside me flares again¡ªthe desire to punish the man who took my friends from me, the need to make things right. But that desire is tangled with the fear of losing everything else. The old man¡¯s words echo in my mind, reminding me of the cost.

    After what feels like an eternity, I know what I need to do. I can¡¯t walk away from this. My comrades deserve justice, and I¡¯ll make sure that bastard pays. I¡¯ll survive this, no matter the odds. And I¡¯ll come back to my family, the ones who are still alive, the ones I promised to protect.

    ¡°I¡¯ve decided,¡± I say, my voice steady. The old man stops dead in his tracks, his back to me.

    ¡°I will avenge my comrades,¡± I continue, ¡°and I will live through it. I have my wife and daughter to take care of, after all.¡±

    The old man doesn¡¯t say anything right away. He just stands there, as though waiting for something, perhaps a confirmation in my voice.

    "Is that so?" Then come with me, I know just how you can do it."

    "But how?" I ask him,"And who are you?"

    "You will understand how very soon, just put some faith in me."

    "As for whom I am, I can''t tell you my na- , actually a certain idiot calls me Mr. OM, so you too can call me that."

    He says laughing as we get in the car and drive towards I don''t know where.

    -----------------------The End----------------------

    ?????

 New Path

    New Path

    I woke up to the smell of antiseptic, my eyes fluttering open to meet the whitewashed walls of a hospital room. The fluorescent lights above felt too bright, like they were determined to pierce straight through my skull. My whole body ached, each limb as heavy as lead.

    For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened. Images of the storm, the forest, and that magnificent elephant flashed through my mind like fragments of a dream. Was it even real?

    Before I could dwell on it, the door swung open, and in came my mother. Her face was a mess of worry and relief, and before I could brace myself, she had thrown her arms around me, squeezing so tightly that I thought I¡¯d shatter into pieces.

    ¡°Oh, thank God, you¡¯re awake! Do you know how scared I was?!¡± she cried.

    ¡°M-mom,¡± I croaked, ¡°I¡¯m fine. You don¡¯t need to¡ª¡±

    She pulled back, her eyes red and puffy, and gave me a look that could pierce through steel. ¡°Fine? You fainted in the middle of the forest during a storm! How is that fine?¡±

    I tried to protest, but my throat felt dry, and before I could say more, my father entered. He wasn¡¯t as dramatic as Mom, but his concern was written all over his face. ¡°Vrishti, what were you even doing out there? You had us terrified!¡±

    I didn¡¯t know what to say. What could I even tell them? That I¡¯d followed an old man¡¯s cryptic advice into the forest and found something out of a myth? They¡¯d think I¡¯d lost my mind.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I muttered, avoiding their eyes. I couldn''t tell them the truth ofcourse, I would definitely be thrown into the mental patient ward. But lying is a bad thing. Kids should not do it.But mom wasn¡¯t having it. ¡°Don¡¯t know? That¡¯s your explanation? Vrishti, you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let her rest,¡± Dad interrupted gently. ¡°She¡¯s clearly exhausted.¡±

    She sighed but didn¡¯t argue further, just muttering about how reckless I was as she smoothed my blanket.

    I spent the next few days in the hospital trying to piece everything together. At times, I¡¯d convince myself it had all been a fever dream. But then, the memory of that elephant¡ªits presence, its majesty¡ªwould flood back, and I¡¯d feel this strange pull in my chest. It was real. I didn¡¯t know how or why, but it was.

    When I was finally discharged, I expected life to go back to normal. Oh, how wrong I was.

    At home, things were anything but normal. Mom hovered over me constantly, acting like I¡¯d break apart if I so much as stepped outside. Dad, who was usually quieter, was suddenly more talkative and present. I should¡¯ve been annoyed by their overprotectiveness, but a part of me couldn¡¯t blame them.

    That evening, as I sat on the couch, trying to process everything, Mom and Dad called me to the dining table. Their expressions were...odd.

    ¡°We need to talk,¡± Mom started, looking nervous.

    ¡°About what?¡± I asked, suspicious.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°It¡¯s about how you ended up in the hospital,¡± Dad said. ¡°You should be thankful Mr. OM found you and brought you to the hospital.¡±

    I froze. "Mr OM? My Teacher? And how do they know that name? I am sure I have not told them anything about him." I thought to myself.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell us you were interested in archaeology,¡± Mom said, smiling a little too brightly. ¡°If we¡¯d known, we would¡¯ve supported you fully.¡±

    ¡°Archaeology? What are you even talking about? I¡¯m not¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, no need to be shy,¡± she interrupted. ¡°It¡¯s a great field! If you¡¯re passionate about it, you should pursue it wholeheartedly.¡±

    ¡°I am not interested in archaeology!¡± I exclaimed, baffled. ¡°Where are you even getting this idea from?¡±

    Mom waved me off like I didn¡¯t know what I was saying. ¡°Your teacher seemed very impressed with you. He said you had potential.¡±

    ¡°What teacher?!¡± I repeated, feeling like I was losing my mind.

    Before she could answer, she dropped another bombshell. ¡°Oh, by the way, you should get ready. Your master is coming to discuss your future education.¡±

    ¡°Master? Education? What are you even talking about?!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be dramatic,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯ll be here any minute. Go freshen up.¡±

    I didn¡¯t have the energy to argue, so I just sat there, fuming. This so-called "master" better have some good explanations.

    It was dinner time when the doorbell rang. Mom practically sprinted to open it.

    ¡°Hello, nice to see you again,¡± she greeted warmly. ¡°Please come in. Vrishti¡¯s here, too.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. It¡¯s nice to be here.¡±The voice,so familiar that it annoys me the moment it falls into my ear.

    No. No way.No actual way this is happening!!

    Mom walked into the living room, and behind her came him. The old man.

    ¡°You old geezer!¡± I shouted, springing to my feet. "What have you been telling my parents about me? Are you really seni-" I shouted to be interrupted by my ma.

    ¡°Vrishti! Be respectful!¡± She scolded.

    ¡°But, Mom, he¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Sit down and behave,¡± she snapped.

    The old man chuckled. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be too hard on her. She¡¯s got spirit, this one.¡± He turned to me with that infuriating smile. ¡°Nice to see you again, little girl.¡±

    We all sat down¡ªmy parents on one couch, and the old man,I call "Mr. Om," on the other. I sat stiffly, glaring at him, while my parents listened intently to whatever nonsense he had to say.

    ¡°As I mentioned before,¡± he began, ¡°Vrishti has a natural talent for archaeology. She has the drive and determination needed for the field.¡±

    What talent? I thought angrily. What drive? You tricked me into going to that forest, and I nearly got myself killed!

    "I want her to attend a university and pursue formal education in archaeology,¡± he continued. ¡°After that, I can take her under my wing, and she can either work with my team or go independent.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Om, I don¡¯t know where you¡¯re coming from, but I have zero interest in any of this¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are you not interested in finding the roots of what you witnessed?¡± he interrupted, his voice calm but pointed.

    I froze, my eyes widening. ¡°You don¡¯t mean...¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said simply.

    To my parents, he explained, ¡°I was here on a research project when I met Vrishti. She seemed interested, so I gave her a few clues, and she actually got results. That¡¯s why I believe she has potential. I¡¯m even willing to sponsor her education if necessary.¡±

    Mom looked like she might cry. ¡°No, no, please don¡¯t bow your head to us. If anything, we should be thanking you. I¡¯m ashamed to admit that, as her parents, we never truly understood her dreams and aspirations. We were only burdening her more and more. But to know that someone believes in her and wants to support her...I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡± She bowed her head.

    ¡°Mom...¡± I whispered, feeling a strange mix of emotions.

    Dad spoke up next. ¡°My wife already said it all, but I want to add that I, too, regret not seeing Vrishti¡¯s potential earlier. I only added to her struggles instead of supporting her. Please help her get into a good university. I¡¯ll do everything I can to back her.¡±

    ¡°Dad...¡±

    The old man smiled. ¡°See, little girl? Isn¡¯t it nice to have such loving parents?¡±

    I didn¡¯t respond, too overwhelmed to say anything. I could feel my eyes get watery but that doesn''t mean I was crying, I was not, you understand, I was not!!

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he added. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure she gets the best opportunities. I have a friend in the Patliputra University, he said he can she can directly get in as there is a lack of students in the archeology department."

    "Thank you so much, Mr OM, we can never repay you for your kindness."     My dad said in a passive tone.

    They even had me bow my head and thank him.

    This is all of the important events that have occurred since the last time. Why am I narrating in the past tense you ask? Because it''s already happened ofcourse.

    What I am doing currently? Well try guessing it. Try-try.

    Let me tell you, I am boarding the plane to Patliputra !!!

 To Patliputra

    <u>To Patliputra</u>

    I¡¯ve arrived. Patliputra station.

    Wait. Weren¡¯t planes supposed to be involved? Yeah, I thought so too. But apparently, only I thought so.

    The envelope Mr. Mentor gave me had a picture of a plane on it. Naturally, I assumed it was a plane ticket. I even had this whole mental image of myself gracefully boarding a sleek aircraft, looking all cool and unbothered. Instead, I get...a train ticket.

    A train ticket!

    Oh, and not just any train. A hyperloop train. Because, of course, why would the world stick to normal, non-stomach-churning transportation?

    At the airport, when I handed over the ticket to the attendant, she gave me this look¡ªa mix of pity and barely-contained amusement. "Ma¡¯am, this isn¡¯t a flight ticket. This is for the hyperloop station." She even pointed at the picture like I couldn¡¯t read.

    I wanted to disappear right then and there. But no, the embarrassment train doesn¡¯t stop there. My inner monologue decided to pipe up: Good job, Vrishti. Way to show off your brilliance.

    As for that old geezer? I can practically hear him laughing somewhere, probably patting himself on the back for ¡°teaching me a lesson.¡± Oh, he definitely did this on purpose.

    The hyperloop ride itself was...an experience. If by ¡°experience,¡± you mean ¡°being strapped into a metal capsule and shot through a tube at ridiculous speeds.¡±

    I mean, it was fast. Very fast. I barely had time to catch my breath before we were at the next stop. My stomach, however, did not appreciate this technological marvel. If it had a voice, it would be screaming, ¡°Never again!¡±

    Now, let¡¯s talk about the station.

    Wow!!!

    That''s all that comes to my mind when I look around.It looks so simple yet so grand that I can''t stop staring all around in all direction. Not as beautiful as the elephant though. (I am not obsessed with the elephant)

    Glass walls that seem to stretch endlessly into the sky. Floors that gleam so brightly I can practically see my reflection (and boy, do I look tired). The ceilings are adorned with dynamic LED displays showing routes, ads, and the occasional weather update.

    The whole place is lit up with a kind of neon glow that¡¯s both dazzling and headache-inducing.

    And then there¡¯s the crowd.

    People bustling everywhere, their faces glued to their screens, bumping into each other without a second glance. Robots glide around, carrying luggage or giving directions in soothing, robotic voices. Security drones hover above, their red lights scanning every inch of the station. It¡¯s efficient, sure, but it¡¯s also...creepy.

    This is the future, folks. A big, shiny, soulless mess.

    I make it through the security check, feeling like a contestant in some dystopian reality show. A scanner flashes across my face, and a cheerful voice announces, ¡°Identity verified. Welcome, Ms. Vrishti!¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Yay. Lucky me.

    When I step outside, my jaw nearly drops.

    The city is...magnificent. There¡¯s no other word for it. Towering skyscrapers made of glass and metal dominate the skyline, their surfaces reflecting the soft glow of holographic billboards. Hovercars zip through the air in neat, orderly lanes. The streets below are spotless, dotted with perfectly designed greenery that almost looks artificial.

    Our little town back home has its charm, sure, but this? This is something else entirely.

    But then I notice the people.

    It¡¯s the same story. Heads down, necks bent, eyes glued to their devices as they shuffle along like zombies. Robots guide them across intersections, their monotone voices blending into the background noise.

    It¡¯s suffocating. The grandeur, the technology, the lifelessness of it all¡ªit¡¯s too much.

    I hail a mobile¡ªa self-driving car. After punching in the destination code, the screen flashes the fare. I reluctantly swipe my bracelet to pay.

    As the car glides through the city, I try to take in the sights.

    For the record, I¡¯m in Patliputra right now. Or at least, what used to be called Patliputra. Thanks to the new WC naming system, cities now have generic words and unique codes instead of actual names.

    Apparently, you can use these codes to access all information about a city. And when I say ¡°all,¡± I mean all. Population, history, crime rates, weather forecasts, restaurant reviews, you name it. The system is efficient, I guess, but it¡¯s also...a little unsettling.

    Back home, I¡¯d joke about how our old town names didn¡¯t make sense anymore. But Mr. Mentor is very strict about this.

    ¡°The old names had meaning,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°They carried the culture, history, and spirit of the place. This new system? It¡¯s garbage.¡±

    For once, I actually agree with him.

    The mobile glides smoothly through the streets, finally coming to a halt. I step out, and there it is¡ªPatliputra University.

    The gates tower above me, sleek and modern, with holographic text welcoming visitors. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

    I hesitate for a moment before pulling out my ID card¡ªthe one Mr. Mentor insisted I bring along. I slide it into the slot by the main gate, and a soft beep echoes, followed by a cheerful voice announcing, ¡°Permission granted. Welcome, Ms. Vrishti.¡±

    The massive gates don¡¯t swing open like I expect. Instead, a narrow section of the door bends and contorts, creating a passageway just wide enough for me to walk through.

    It¡¯s...weird.

    As I step forward, the opening shifts, almost wrapping itself around me as I walk. It adjusts to my every move, its smooth surface nearly brushing against me.

    I shudder. This is so creepy. Who designs a door like this?

    It feels like the door is checking me out. It''s definitely made by a pervert.Yeah I know it doesn''t make sense but I say what I say. MY LAF MA RULES. Anyway, quickening my pace to get through as fast as possible.

    Before I can even take a proper look at the place, a voice interrupts my thoughts.

    ¡°Are you Ms. Vrishti?¡±

    I blink and glance around. The voice belongs to a man standing a few feet away, dressed in a sharp uniform with the university¡¯s emblem on his chest.

    ¡°Are you talking to me?¡± I ask, even though it¡¯s obvious.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he says with a polite smile.

    ¡°Well, yeah. I¡¯m Vrishti.¡±

    ¡°Ah, so you are,¡± he says, nodding like he¡¯s confirming something. ¡°You¡¯re here, finally. I¡¯ve been waiting for you. Please, come with me.¡±

    Waiting for me? I think, but before I can ask, he¡¯s already started walking.

    I follow him down the corridor, still trying to process everything. The walls are sleek and modern, glowing faintly with a soft blue light that pulses rhythmically. It¡¯s got this futuristic vibe, like something straight out of a sci-fi movie.

    But just as I¡¯m starting to take in my surroundings, the floor beneath me shifts.

    What the¡ª?

    The entire corridor starts moving!

    This isn¡¯t like one of those travelators at the airport. No, the whole corridor glides forward smoothly, carrying us along as if we¡¯re on some kind of conveyor belt.

    I nearly lose my balance from the sudden motion, flailing my arms to steady myself.

    ¡°Woah, woah, woah!¡± I exclaim, trying not to trip over my own feet.

    The man glances back at me, completely unfazed. ¡°Be careful. It can be a bit surprising the first time.¡±

    ¡°A bit?!¡± I mutter under my breath, clutching my bag tighter as the corridor glides forward.

    After what feels like forever (but is probably just a minute), the corridor comes to a gentle stop.

    The man gestures toward a large door ahead of us. ¡°This is where you need to go,¡± he says.

    I stare at the door, then back at him. ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡±

    He shakes his head. ¡°This is as far as I go. You¡¯ll find everything you need inside. Good luck, Ms. Vrishti.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± I say, swallowing hard. ¡°Thanks, I guess.¡±

    I step forward, my shoes clicking softly against the polished floor, and push the door open.

    The hall is mostly empty, with just a few people sitting here and there.

    "HEY, COME HERE" I look towards the source of the sound and it''s a old joke playing geezer waving his hands like a baboon.

 New Irritation

    New Irritation

    I move toward the old man, irritation already bubbling up at the sight of his smug face. Why does he always look like he knows something I don¡¯t?

    ¡°You know, it¡¯s a miracle you didn¡¯t lose your head along with your hair,¡± I mutter as I approach, fully meaning to insult him.

    ¡°Ah, little lady,¡± he says, grinning. ¡°Back with your sharp tongue. But you see my hair are definitely better than yours. Mine are silkier, sturdier,shine more than yours and are elegant, so you might want to take back the insults."

    Crushed. Absolutely decimated. I got defeated in my own game, in an instant. "My hair are short because I keep them so, moreover mine still have the colour, yours look like soba boba"

    "Now that hurts, but don''t be so happy, yours will be like mine very soon given your life style." He chuckles with a proud expression that fills me with a sense of defeat.

    I open my mouth to snap back, but before I can, I hear someone clearing their throat behind me. Startled, I spin around, and my eyes land on a girl sitting quietly in the corner of the room. How had I not noticed her before? She¡¯s wearing a sleek mask that covers most of her face, making it hard to tell what she¡¯s thinking.

    ¡°Oh,¡± I say, taken aback. ¡°You¡¯ve been there the whole time?¡±

    The old man steps forward, his grin widening. ¡°Vrishti, meet Ananya. Ananya, this is Vrishti.¡±

    Ananya stands up with a natural elegance. It gives the feel that she has been doing this from her birth. She adjusts her mask slightly, her movements slow and deliberate.

    ¡°Hello, I am Ananya¡± she says, her voice smooth and confident. ¡°You must have heard about me.¡±

    Heard about? Who? Her? Have I? I don''t think so. Maybe we have met in past? Probably not. "Sorry, I can''t seem to remember our previous encounter, maybe my memory is failing me. Can you please remind me?" Trying not to sound rude or offend her, why? Cause this girl seems like a bad news.

    "Encounter? Between us? You must be kidding. People know of me even without ever seeing me infront of them. I-"

    "I thought you wanted to keep your Identity secret" OM interrupts in between. ¡°Ananya will be accompanying you,¡± the old man announces cheerfully, like it¡¯s the best idea in the world.

    I blink. ¡°Accompanying me? Her? And where, exactly?¡±

    But as usual, he ignores my question, waving his hand dismissively. ¡°You two should get to know each other. I have preparations to make for tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°What preparations?¡± I demand, but he¡¯s already turning to leave.

    ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough, little lady,¡± he says over his shoulder, his laughter echoing in the room as he walks away.

    I grit my teeth, watching him disappear down the corridor. ¡°I really hate that man sometimes.¡±

    ¡°I agree with you on that" she comments. " Maybe you are not all that stupid as you look. You are just ignorant I guess."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    Stupid? Me? This b**** really isn''t holding back, I glance at her, my annoyance now redirected. ¡°What¡¯s your deal?¡±

    She tilts her head. ¡°Deal?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re acting all high and mighty like you are queen of somewhere , and what''s up with that stupid mask on your stupid face?  It''s so annoying." I think my insults are getting better and better due to association with Mr OM.

    ¡°First of all it''s not stupid, the only thing that''s stupid is you. As for the mask it¡¯s for privacy,¡± she says, sitting back down with a self-satisfied air. ¡°But I guess you must be curious, I mean it''s me you are sitting infront of, ofcourse you want to take a look. Well then, I should honour you.¡±

    See!! She is a bad news! And how did you even take my words in that sense? Is your head really filled with air? Are you really stupid? Ofcourse I can''t say it on her face. ¡°I¡¯m not curious,¡± I reply quickly, leaning back in my chair, trying to look as disinterested as possible.

    But. But. But. This airhead!, she¡¯s already reaching for the mask. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be shy. I can tell you¡¯re dying to know.¡±

    I am NOT DYING. I don''t have the slightest interest!!

    Before I can protest, she removes the mask with a dramatic flourish, revealing her face. She looks at me with big, expectant eyes, clearly waiting for a reaction.

    I blink. ¡°Uh... okay?¡±

    Her expression falters. ¡°Okay?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, okay. Nice face. Congrats, I guess?¡±

    Her frustration is almost comical as she leans closer. ¡°You don¡¯t recognise me?¡±

    I stare at her blankly. ¡°Should I?¡±

    Her jaw drops. ¡°Are you serious? I¡¯m Ananya! The Ananya! Internet sensation, award-winning dancer, trendsetter... Ringing any bells?¡±

    Ahhh... So that''s how it is. She is one of those self conceited Internet celebs who think the world revolves around and them. More importantly, weren''t you supposed to keep your identity secret? Well since it''s me so it''s not really an issue. I give her the look of "I don''t know" WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

    She looks genuinely offended, like I¡¯ve just insulted her entire existence. ¡°You really live under a rock, don¡¯t you. I don''t know what you were doing wasting your life if you don''t know me? Are you primate or something?¡±

    Critical Hit! Why? Because I did waste my life and am still doing so. But her reasoning is completely off the mark and that just shows how much conceited little BITCH she is!  Yes I said it! So what? She deserves it!

    I cross my arms. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for internet celebrities.¡±

    ¡°Well, that explains a lot,¡± she mutters, her tone dripping with disdain. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll just have to educate you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please don¡¯t,¡± I say, rolling my eyes.

    She glares at me, clearly not used to being dismissed so easily. ¡°You know, most people would kill to sit across from me right now.¡±

    ¡°Then maybe you should find them instead of wasting your time here,¡± I retort.

    The silence that follows is heavy with tension, and for a moment, I think she¡¯s going to explode. But instead, she leans back with a huff, crossing her arms like a spoiled child who didn¡¯t get her way.

    I can¡¯t help but smirk at the frustrated look on Ananya¡¯s face. Her perfectly curated confidence is starting to crumble, and it¡¯s strangely satisfying.

    ¡°How is it possible,¡± she says, her voice sharp and exasperated, ¡°to be so completely ignorant about something so important?¡±

    ¡°Important to you, maybe,¡± I say, leaning back in my chair. ¡°Not everyone revolves their life around internet celebrities.¡±

    Her nostrils flare as she stands abruptly, clutching her mask in her hand. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine getting along with someone like you. It¡¯s like trying to have a conversation with a caveman!¡±

    ¡°Well, excuse me for not being enlightened by your... internet stardom,¡± I reply, voice dripping with sarcasm.

    She huffs, putting her mask back on with dramatic flair, adjusting it like it¡¯s a crown. ¡°Hmph. This is a waste of my time.¡±

    With that, she spins on her heel and marches toward the door, her posture stiff and her annoyance palpable. The door hisses open, and she walks out without another word.

    ¡°Yeah, nice meeting you too,¡± I mutter, slumping back into my chair.

    The room falls into silence, and I let out a long sigh, rubbing my temples. That was... something. The girl barely lasted ten minutes in my presence. Not that I blame her, but seriously, what¡¯s her deal?

    I glance around the room, suddenly feeling the weight of being alone. ¡°What do I even do now?¡± I mumble to myself.

    My eyes wander to the window, where the sprawling university campus stretches out before me, a mix of towering futuristic structures and sprawling green spaces. The sight stirs a bit of curiosity in me, and I decide it¡¯s better than sitting here sulking.

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s see what this place is about,¡± I say, pushing myself up and heading for the door.

    The moment I step outside, I¡¯m hit with the warm buzz of activity. Students and faculty mill about, some walking in groups, others gliding along on hoverboards. The contrast between the advanced tech and the old-world architecture of the university is jarring but oddly fascinating.

    I head toward the central courtyard, thinking a self-guided tour might be the best way to kill some time. Maybe, just maybe, I¡¯ll stumble on something that doesn¡¯t make me want to roll my eyes.

 Little Journey

    Little Journey

    My eyes open and light falls into them creating the images of my surrounding. I am standing by the roadside with Ananya, both of us pretending the other doesn¡¯t exist. The silence between us is thick, filled with unspoken irritation. It''s not like I hate her or anything, but after our last conversation, I¡¯d rather not deal with her inflated ego first thing in the morning.

    "Since you are here already, I guess you really are interested in the journey we are going on." The usual annoying voice falls into my ear, sending me into irrigation attack. I look towards the source of the voice, who else could it be other than our very dear and annoying Mr. OM.

    "No one is interested in any of your stupid ideas our journey." Words escape my mouth without even me realising. I guess insulting him on every step has become a character trait for me.

    "Harsh as usual, little kid."

    "More importantly! What am I doing here? Wasn''t I SUPPOSED to be touring the university? Why are we cutting directly to this point? Where is all that was supposed to happen after my encounter with this girl?!!"

    "Shhhh! What are you saying? You aren''t supposed to say all this, not infront of everyone atleast. Save it for when we are alone!"

    "But how can my deserved tour can vanish like this? I want JUSTICE!! I want my tour! I want -"

    "Now listen here little lady, when we only come here once or twice a week, we lose the luxury of going into details. If we keep dragging minute details, people will lose even the little interest they have. So we need to keep on moving forward. Do you understand?"

    "But -"

    "No ifs and buts. Do you understand?"

    "Yes"

    "Wait here then, let me get our rude." The Old man leaves waving his hand as we stand their in silence again.

    Then, finally, the sound of an approaching vehicle reaches my ears. I turn my head, expecting something grand. Maybe a sleek, high-tech ride, considering how ¡°knowledgeable¡± that old man claims to be. But instead¡ª

    A jeep.

    Not just any jeep, but a four-seater, rugged-looking ancient thing, dragging a small trailer behind it.

    I blink. Then I blink again.

    "What in the rusted, barely-holding-together, pre-apocalypse contraption is this?" I blurt out, horrified.

    Mr. OM steps out of the driver¡¯s seat with his usual grin, patting the side of the jeep as if it¡¯s some prized possession. "This, little lady, is perfection on four wheels."

    I stare at him, then at the jeep, then back at him. "Perfection? This thing looks like it¡¯s held together by prayers."

    OM chuckles. "And yet, it''ll take us exactly where we need to go."

    Ananya crosses her arms, looking equally displeased but saying nothing. Probably too proud to be seen complaining openly.

    Mr. OM claps his hands together. "Alright, pack it up, kids! We¡¯re heading to Mahendra Giri."

    Ananya and I exchange glances. "Mahendra what?" I ask.

    "A mountain," he explains, as if that clears anything up. "It¡¯s about a thousand kilometers from here."

    "A thousand?" I repeat, my voice a little too high-pitched for my liking.

    He nods, completely unbothered. "We should get there in two days, give or take."

    My jaw drops. Ananya, for once, looks just as dumbfounded as I feel.

    "Two days?" she finally speaks.

    "That¡¯s what I said," old man confirms, opening the jeep door.

    I point at the thing we are supposed to be traveling in. "In this?"

    "Yep."

    "You do know we have things called hyperloop trains now, right?"Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Mr. OM shrugs. "And where¡¯s the fun in that?"

    I¡¯m speechless. Ananya sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose like she¡¯s regretting every life decision that led her here.

    This man is insane.

    With no other choice, we load up our bags and take our seats. I slide into the back, while Ananya sits beside me, as far away as possible. OM starts the engine, and with a loud, shaky rumble, the jeep moves forward.

    And just like that, we¡¯re off to Mahendra Giri.

    The jeep rattles like it¡¯s about to fall apart any second. I swear, I can hear screws loosening every time we hit a bump. The fact that this old man is driving it like it¡¯s a damn racing car isn¡¯t helping.

    We leave the towering structures of Patliputra behind, entering the outskirts where the buildings shrink in size, replaced by long stretches of roads cutting through fields. The roads here aren¡¯t the sleek, floating ones from the main city. They¡¯re just simple, grounded highways, used mostly by cargo transports and weirdos who refuse to adapt to modern transport systems¡ªlike OM.

    And how in the world you find such roads? I have not travelled much but the one who seems to have travelled (the little you know what) is surprised by the condition of the roads and the surrounding. It''s like he is deliberately choosing the worst path to reach the destination.

    Ananya has been silent ever since we started moving. She¡¯s sitting stiffly, arms crossed, probably regretting every decision that led her here. Her perfectly styled hair remains untouched, but I know for a fact that if we hit a big enough bump, it¡¯s going to get ruined.

    I, on the other hand, am slumped against the window, watching the landscape blur past.

    "So," I finally say, breaking the silence, "do we get an explanation as to why we¡¯re traveling like this for two whole days instead of, you know, taking something efficient?"

    Mr. Annoying chuckles, eyes fixed on the road. "Because this is better."

    I stare at him. "Better? You call this better? The thing under my seat just made a noise that no vehicle should make."

    "It¡¯s part of the charm," he says.

    I groan. "This is why I hate old people. They¡¯re all stuck in some romanticized version of the past."

    Mr. OM smirks. "And yet, here you are, being dragged into my romanticized version of the past."

    I want to throw something at him.

    Ananya sighs dramatically. "If I knew this was going to happen, I would have booked my own transport. This is ridiculous."

    "You kids and your instant conveniences," OM says, shaking his head. "No appreciation for the journey."

    "Who appreciates being bounced around like a ragdoll?" I snap as the jeep jumps over another bump, making me nearly hit my head against the roof.

    "Adventurers do," he says.

    "I¡¯m not an adventurer," I mutter. "I got tricked into this."

    OM just grins. "You¡¯re already here, aren¡¯t you?"

    I roll my eyes.

    After hours of driving, the sun begins to set. We¡¯ve left civilization behind, and now all I see are endless fields and occasional forests. OM finally decides to stop near a riverbank to set up camp for the night.

    The moment the jeep halts, I jump out, stretching my stiff limbs. "I feel like I¡¯ve aged ten years sitting in there."

    "You¡¯ll get used to it," OM says, setting up a small fire.

    I glare at him. "I¡¯d rather not."

    Ananya steps out, brushing imaginary dust off her clothes, looking absolutely disgusted at our surroundings. "We¡¯re sleeping here?"

    "Unless you want to sleep in the jeep," OM replies.

    She grimaces but stays silent.

    As OM prepares food from the supplies in the trailer, I wander toward the river, staring at my reflection in the dark water.

    This is weird. Two days ago, I was still at the university, arguing with this old man. Now I¡¯m out here, on some mystery trip to a mountain I¡¯d never even heard of.

    I sigh and turn back to the camp. OM has already laid out our sleeping bags. Ananya is sitting on a rock, still looking annoyed at everything.

    Dinner is quiet, aside from the occasional grumbles from Ananya. After eating, OM goes to sleep first, leaving me and Ananya alone.

    "So," I say, glancing at her. "Still regretting coming?"

    She scoffs. "Obviously. I could be in a five-star hotel right now, not¡­ this."

    "Then why are you here?" I ask.

    Ananya goes silent for a moment. "Because I have a reason," she finally says.

    I raise an eyebrow. "That¡¯s vague."

    She shrugs. "I don¡¯t have to explain myself to you."

    I smirk. "Whatever makes you sleep at night, princess."

    She huffs and turns away, ending the conversation.

    I roll into my sleeping bag, staring up at the night sky. Despite everything, I have to admit¡ªbeing this far from the city, with no glowing billboards or endless drone traffic above, the stars actually look¡­ beautiful.

    Maybe this isn¡¯t completely terrible.

    The next morning, we pack up and continue our journey. The roads start getting rougher, bumpier, and dustier. At one point, the jeep nearly tips over, and I swear I hear something fall off from the engine.

    "That didn¡¯t sound good," I say.

    "Relax," OM replies. "She¡¯s built for this."

    I glance at Ananya, who has a permanent scowl on her face. "I think your passenger isn¡¯t built for this, though."

    Ananya glares at me. "Shut up."

    Around noon, we stop at a small roadside eatery. It¡¯s one of those places where truck drivers gather, loud and crowded. The food smells good, though.

    OM orders for us, and we sit at a small table. I¡¯m already starving, so I dig in immediately.

    Ananya, however, stares at her plate like it¡¯s a foreign object. "You expect me to eat this?"

    I roll my eyes. "What, is it not fancy enough for you, princess?"

    She glares. "I just have standards."

    "Yeah, unrealistic standards."

    She scoffs but reluctantly takes a bite. The moment she does, her eyes widen slightly.

    "Not bad, huh?" I smirk.

    She clears her throat. "It¡¯s¡­ edible."

    I chuckle and go back to my food.

    By evening, the mountain finally comes into view. It¡¯s huge, its peak disappearing into the clouds. The dense forests at its base look untouched, ancient.

    He stops the jeep at the base. "We¡¯re here."

    I step out, stretching my sore muscles. "Finally. I thought I was going to die in that thing."

    Oji san laughs. "And you didn¡¯t. That¡¯s what matters."

    Ananya steps out next, looking equally exhausted. "So what now?"

    The great Geezer grins. "Now? Now we climb."

    I freeze. "Wait, what?"

    Ananya¡¯s eyes widen. "You didn¡¯t say anything about climbing."

    Mr. OM chuckles. "I didn¡¯t say a lot of things. Welcome to the real adventure, kids."

    I stare at him.

    I hate this man.

    "Just kidding, we will climb the mountain tomorrow." He says with a proud grin.

    Is that supposed to be better? I guess it is.

 The Climb and Ananya

    The Climb and Ananya

    I wake up in a mediocre hotel, but for me, it might as well be a roadside shack.

    The walls are plain, painted in a dull cream color that has long since faded. The furniture is functional, nothing more¡ªsimple wooden chairs, a small table, and a bed that is far too stiff for my liking. The room smells clean, but not in the way I prefer. There¡¯s no hint of expensive perfumes or the subtle aroma of fresh linen. Instead, it¡¯s just¡­ sanitized.

    This place is too low class for me.

    For me, a five-star hotel is the bare minimum. I¡¯m used to marble floors, elegant chandeliers, and rooms so luxurious they feel like miniature palaces. The kind of places where the moment you walk in, you¡¯re greeted with a personalized cocktail and a warm smile from the manager who knows your full name and preferences.

    But now?

    Now I¡¯m stuck in this.

    And worse¡ªI had to share a room with her.

    The ignorant, irritating, completely uncultured Vrishti.

    The night was a disaster.

    I turned off the lights at 10 PM sharp, as I always do. Sleep is important for maintaining beauty and health, after all.

    She?

    She did not care.

    She tossed and turned. She sighed. She mumbled in her sleep. At one point, she even had the audacity to kick off the blanket and let in the cold air.

    By the time morning came, I had barely slept.

    I am in a foul mood, and my mood gets even worse the moment I look at her face. HER face. It irritates me to my bones. I can''t get myself to believe that someone as ignorant as her exists in this world.

    I try not to let my thoughts travel from my mind to my tongue. It will cause unnecessary trouble.

    Anyway, let''s keep the ignorant fool aside and focus on what we are supposed to do now, climb this damn mountain, by foot at that.

    Standing at the base of the Mahendra Giri, I realize something.

    I hate mountains.

    I have never been the type to enjoy rugged landscapes. My idea of a trip involves ocean-view suites, rooftop pools, and private chauffeurs, not dirt-covered trails, uneven rocks, and the threat of wild animals.

    The mountain itself is¡­ imposing.

    The lower slopes are covered in dense forests¡ªlush green trees stretching endlessly in every direction. The air smells earthy, mixed with the scent of damp wood and wildflowers. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the faint sound of running water, likely a small stream trickling down from the higher peaks.

    Despite my distaste for the journey ahead, I have to admit¡ªit¡¯s beautiful in a way.

    The sky is a perfect shade of blue, stretching far and wide, untainted by pollution. The air is crisp, much cleaner than the artificial, air-conditioned environments I¡¯m used to. The wind carries a refreshing chill, making the morning sun feel pleasant rather than overbearing.

    But none of that changes the fact that I don¡¯t want to be here.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Grandpa, of course, looks thrilled. Oh I have started calling this man Grandpa. Why? Because this stupid man is not at all willing to tell me his name. I asked the other girl that if she really knew his name and she told me after ranting for hours that she gave him the name OM by herself.

    How stupid she has to be to follow someone who is not even willing to reveal his name to her? That girl really is stupid. I know I am the same too. I don''t know anything about him either,but one thing I do know that this man is something out of the world. His intellect is beyond anything I have ever seen among humans. He is on another plane and even though he goes around joking and all, my instinct tell me that he is a real deal. She probably feels the same way.

    He¡¯s already checking our climbing gear, making sure everything is secure. Ropes, harnesses, gloves, carabiners. He has it all. Where did he even get this stuff? And more importantly, why does he think this is normal?

    Vrishti, on the other hand, looks just as unimpressed as I feel.

    "This is ridiculous," she mutters, glaring at the mountain like it personally offended her. "Who wakes up and decides to climb a mountain?"

    "Exactly," I say under my breath.

    OM laughs, clearly enjoying our suffering. "This will be good for you two. Fresh air, a bit of adventure¡ª"

    "No internet," I interrupt. "No luxury. No actual reason to do this."

    Vrishti scoffs. "No food.."

    OM just grins, like this is all a joke. "You two should get along, you know."

    Neither of us answer. Just a murderous glare from my side to her.

    As we climb, my mind drifts back to the life I had before.

    I was born into wealth.

    My father was a buisness man and my mother was also the heir to a big bank.They had everything¡ªmoney, status, power. And as their only child, I was the center of their world.

    I never had to want for anything.

    If I saw something I liked, it became mine.

    If I wanted to go somewhere, I had a chauffeur ready to drive me there.

    If I craved something, it was prepared by the best chefs before I even had to ask.

    My life was perfect.

    Until I saw them. A famous dance group from foreign land. People called them ''Idol'' I didn''t know the meaning of the world but it fascinated my anyway.

    It was at a high-profile charity event, and on stage, a group of dancers performed in front of an awestruck audience. Their movements were graceful, fluid yet sharp, captivating every single eye in the room.

    I had never seen anything so beautiful.

    And I wanted it.

    That night, I told my parents, "I want to be a dancer."

    They indulged me, as they always did. They found the best trainers, enrolled me in elite programs, made sure I had the finest instructors. But unlike my past fleeting interests, dance wasn¡¯t something I could just buy mastery over.

    I had to work.

    And I did.

    I trained relentlessly, pushed myself beyond exhaustion. I sacrificed sleep, comfort, and even friendships just to become perfect at it.

    By the time I was fifteen, I had already debuted in a prestigious dance reality show.

    I made it to the finals.

    And I won.

    After that, my life changed forever.

    I signed a contract with a top talent agency, and a dance group was built around me. My face was everywhere¡ªon billboards, magazine covers, television. People screamed my name in concerts, cameras flashed wherever I went.

    I was a celebrity at twenty.

    It was everything I had dreamed of.

    Until the jealousy started.

    People who once smiled at me started whispering behind my back.

    Teammates who danced beside me began hating me.

    At first, it was subtle¡ªmissed rehearsals, cold shoulders, quiet insults.

    Then, it became worse.

    They sabotaged my performances.

    They spread rumors, whispering lies to the press, trying to tarnish my image.

    And when that didn¡¯t work¡ª

    They ruined me.

    One day, after a performance, I was resting in my dressing room when I heard chaos outside.

    I thought it was another prank.

    I tried to leave. The door was locked. I called for the service of the building but my call went unanswered.

    I went near the window. People on road seemed to be creating a ruckus when I noticed a strange smell.

    "Smoke" I realised. Everything came together in an instant. The building was on fire and I was trapped in it. Panick took over in an instant, I spammed calls on all the numbers possible, running around the trying to find a way to escape.

    I screamed, I banged on the door and I kept on banging till my hand started bleeding. I cried for help, I shouted for aid but no one came to save me.

    The fire eventually reached the room. I could hear the sirens of fire fighter outside but I didn''t give me any hope. It was too late, too late for me. I could only sit in the burning room and cry, waiting for the unavoidable death baring it''s fangs on me. I was helpless.

    The fire spread fast. The sprinklers were useless. The door wouldn¡¯t budge.

    The smoke choked me. The heat burned my skin. My lungs screamed.

    "I am going to die."

    I curled up on the floor, tears streaming down my face. It hurt. It hurt so much.

    "I don¡¯t want to die."

    "I still have have a lot to do! I have not accomplished anything yet!! My life can''t be this short!!  It cannot end like this" These voices echoed in my voice but I knew it was all hopeless.

    I had worked so hard.

    For what?

    For this?

    I remember the pain, the fear, the rage. These emotions filled my heart but were was all shadowed by one emotion, Despair.

    The flames charred my body,the smoke filled my lungs, death approaching me, I collapsed to the ground.

    "You poor thing",  voice fell into my ear, when I was half dead. "You must be in a lot of pain. Should I relieve you?" It asked me. My mind was clouded. I couldn''t think clearly. I didn''t know who was speaking and where from. I just wanted to live. I just wanted to be saved. I begged for my life, in my own thoughts.

    "Ok then. I shall save you but know this, ''YOU'' are already dead. The next time you wake up, your life is not going to be the same, and if you try to chase your previous life, I shall personally burn you to ashes. The new ''You'' belong to me. I shall mark you as mine."

    My scarred back is a testament to the torment I suffered, and the descision I made following the incident, which have now brought me here.

 The Hidden World

    The Hidden World

    My legs are on fire. Every step I take feels like walking on nails, my muscles screaming in protest. My lungs burn, my breath comes in short, painful bursts, and sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes. I force myself to keep moving, but at this point, even sheer stubbornness is starting to fail me.

    And we¡¯re still not at the top.

    I take a moment to glance to my side. Ananya looks just as miserable¡ªif not worse. Her perfectly styled hair is a mess, strands sticking to her flushed face, and her once-pristine clothes are covered in dust. She¡¯s gasping, her entire body trembling with exhaustion.

    I¡¯ll admit, I¡¯m a little impressed she¡¯s still going.

    I thought she¡¯d quit within an hour. I thought she¡¯d throw a tantrum and demand someone carry her. But she hasn¡¯t. She¡¯s still dragging herself forward step by step, her jaw clenched so tightly I can hear her teeth grinding.

    Not that I¡¯d ever say it out loud. No way am I feeding her ego. Maybe this suffering will knock her down a peg.

    The only one completely unfazed is OM.

    That damn old man is practically skipping up the trail. His movements are quick, precise, effortless. His breathing is normal, his expression completely relaxed. If anything, he looks like he¡¯s enjoying this.

    He¡¯s moving so fast that I swear he¡¯s showing off.

    "How¡­ how are you¡­ not tired?" I manage to pant out.

    He glances back at me, grinning. "Strong legs. Maybe you should do more squats."

    I shoot him a glare, but I don¡¯t have the energy to snap back.

    Ananya, however, does. "Are you human?" she demands, staggering forward. "No, seriously. Are you some kind of ancient mountain goat disguised as a man?"

    The geezer chuckles. "I¡¯ll take that as a compliment."

    "It wasn¡¯t one," she snaps, her hands on her knees. "You¡¯re a freak."

    I roll my eyes. "For once, I agree with you."

    OM just laughs, as if we¡¯re not dying behind him. No more ''Mr'' for him. I can''t keep saying it again. I am tired of him and him and HIM.

    But I really can''t afford to hold a word war with him while we still have more climbing to do.

    After what feels like forever, OM finally, finally lets us take a break.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    I drop onto a flat rock, rolling my aching shoulders. My legs are trembling, my arms feel heavy, and my entire body feels like it¡¯s been put through a grinder. Ananya slumps down beside me, her legs sprawled out, eyes shut like she¡¯s about to pass out.

    OM, of course, isn¡¯t even winded.

    He pulls out a water bottle and tosses it at me. I barely catch it.

    "Drink," he says casually. "Unless you want to pass out halfway through."

    I mutter something about old men and their annoying stamina but take a long gulp anyway. The water is blissfully cold against my parched throat.

    Ananya doesn¡¯t say anything¡ªjust takes her bottle and drinks in silence.

    For once, she¡¯s too exhausted to complain.

    The wind is cooler up here. It carries the scent of damp earth, pine, and something sharper¡ªlike fresh rain on stone. The air is thinner, making every breath feel lighter, yet somehow heavier at the same time. There¡¯s a strange stillness to the mountain, like the world is holding its breath.

    Somewhere in the distance, a bird cries out. Its voice echoes, fading into silence.

    I don¡¯t know why, but it makes me uneasy.

    It¡¯s too quiet.

    As if this place has been untouched for centuries.

    I glance at OM, but his expression is unreadable. He¡¯s staring ahead, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. Like he¡¯s waiting. Or maybe listening.

    We start again with our work.

    The terrain gets rougher. The path narrows, twisting between jagged cliffs and loose rocks. The sun glares down, casting long shadows that make the mountain feel even taller than it already is. The air grows thinner, drier, making it harder to breathe.

    Every step feels heavier.

    I glance at Ananya. She¡¯s struggling.

    Her face is pale, her breath ragged. Her fingers are trembling slightly, whether from exhaustion or the altitude, I don¡¯t know. She stumbles on a loose rock, catching herself at the last second.

    OM suddenly stops ahead of us.

    In front of us, the mountain splits open into a narrow crevice, barely wide enough for a person to slip through. It looks wrong, like the stone was deliberately carved rather than shaped by nature.

    A chill runs down my spine.

    OM steps forward without hesitation. He doesn¡¯t even glance back.

    Ananya hesitates. "You sure this is safe?"

    "Safe?" OM chuckles. "Ofcourse it is. Do you think I would take you girl somewhere that''s not safe? You really think too bad of me."

    Like you aren''t a danger yourself!

    She scowls, but before she can argue, I push forward. "Whatever. Let¡¯s just get this over with."

    The passage is relatively easy to pass through. It''s not as I expected. There is enough room for both of us girls to pass through it walking side by side. Even a giant like OM is not having any trouble moving through it. The air smells of moss and old stone. Our footsteps echo inside the tunnel.

    Then¡ª

    Light.

    The passage opens up, and I step out onto the other side¡ª And stop breathing.

    It¡¯s unreal.

    The valley stretches before us, golden sunlight filtering through towering cliffs. The air is warm, thick with the scent of wildflowers, damp earth, and something¡­ ancient.

    A river runs through the center, its water so clear I can see the smooth stones at the bottom. It winds lazily through the valley, feeding into a still lake that reflects the sky like a mirror.

    On the far side, waterfalls cascade down moss-covered cliffs, their silver streams catching the light like strands of silk. Mist rises from where the water crashes into rocks, creating tiny rainbows that shimmer and disappear.

    The wind moves gently, carrying the sound of rustling leaves and the occasional distant call of birds. Everything here feels untouched. Sacred.

    Like the world itself forgot this place existed.

    I glance at Ananya.

    She¡¯s silent.

    Her wide eyes take in the sight before her, lips slightly parted. No sarcasm. No biting remarks.

    For once, she¡¯s speechless.

    Seems like she has finally seen something out of ordinary, better than her 5 star hotels.

    I shake off my thoughts ,forcing my attention back to OM. He stands at the edge of the path, hands on his hips, staring at the valley like it¡¯s an old friend.

    "Well," he says finally. "

    "Welcome to the beginning of your real journey."

    I frown. "This wasn¡¯t real enough for you?"

    He just grins. "Oh, you¡¯ll see."

    "And try not offend the person you are about to meet." He says in a serious tone this time, it feels like a warning "He is not as easygoing as I am."

    Who is this "Not easygoing" person now? And what the hell is he doing at this place?

    Let''s see what''s waiting ahead for us.

 The Man Who Stood Above Me

    The Man Who Stood Above Me

    A place beyond reason, that''s the only phrase that comes to my mind when I look around myself. It has been a full week since I set foot in this land¡ªa place so incomprehensible, so otherworldly, that my mind still refuses to fully grasp its existence. Every single day I have spent here has been a war between my senses and my logic, as if the very air I breathe carries an enchantment designed to make me question reality itself.

    The first thing that hits me every morning is the silence¡ªbut not the silence of emptiness. It is a silence brimming with life, a silence that listens, that watches, that waits. The kind of silence that makes a man feel small, as though the land itself is something greater than him.

    The air is too pure, too crisp. Each inhale fills my lungs with something that feels unnatural, a sharp contrast to the heavy, sweat-laden oxygen of the training halls and fighting pits I am used to. Here, breathing feels effortless, yet somehow... heavy, as though the very act of taking in air means absorbing something more than just oxygen.

    The trees here are unlike any I have ever encountered. Some stretch so high that their peaks vanish into the sky, their bark smooth and polished like aged stone, yet humming faintly when touched¡ªas if they are alive in ways beyond mere existence. Others have thick, gnarled roots protruding from the earth, twisting into intricate, unnatural patterns that seem too deliberate to be random. Their leaves shift in color¡ªnot with the seasons, but with the time of day. At dawn, they shimmer in hues of gold and crimson, as if ignited by the rising sun. By noon, they settle into a deep, rich green. And at night¡­ they glow.

    It is unlike anything I have ever seen. Unlike anything I have ever heard of.

    And yet, here I am. Stuck in a place that should not exist, following a man I barely know, alongside a boy I can¡¯t stand.

    I look to my left and see Anil, standing near a cluster of glowing plants, his frail figure illuminated by their pulsing light. He does not touch them. He does not lean in for a closer look. He just¡­ stands.

    I do not understand him.

    I do not want to understand him.

    Oh, I should have introduced myself first. That''s a blunder on my part but I don''t ask for any forgiveness.

    My name is Balram, and I was born into a legacy of power.

    I have spent my entire life building my body into a weapon. I was not raised in luxury, nor was I granted any special privileges beyond my bloodline. No, my worth was determined the hard way¡ªthrough discipline, through sweat, through pain.

    My family is one of warriors, fighters, wrestlers¡ªmen who define their existence by the strength of their bodies and the will of their spirits. I was raised among giants, trained under the relentless hands of those who saw weakness as an unforgivable sin.

    From the moment I could walk, I was taught that power was everything. That a man without strength was a man without purpose. That in the world of battle, mercy was just another form of cowardice.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    I earned my place in the ring. Every scar, every muscle, every ounce of pride¡ªI carved it into my own flesh.

    And then came him.

    I still remember the day I met Mr. Ash.

    It had been an ordinary day¡ªanother opponent, another victory, another fight that I was certain I would win. I was at my peak, my body honed, my reflexes sharp. I had defeated every man I faced that day, throwing them to the ground with the ease of a predator hunting prey.

    And then he appeared.

    I had never seen him before. He was not one of us¡ªnot a wrestler, not a trained fighter from any discipline I recognized. He had no scars, no marks of past battles, no signs that his body had been shaped by the fires of combat. He looked so frail that I thought he would fall over the next second.

    And yet¡­ he stood there, looking at me as though he had already won.

    "You" he pointed his finger towards me, "Fight me"

    No introductions. No explanations. Just a demand.

    I laughed. Of course, I laughed.

    Who was this man to challenge me? A stranger, with a lean body that looked like it had never endured a day of true combat? He looked out of place¡ªtoo relaxed, too effortless, too damn calm.

    I did not want to seriously fight this weak old man, I mean why would a mountain be interested in crushing a grain of dust but the look he gave me like I was some kind of insect crawling on the ground, that look ignited an unknown fire in me, which definitely was not normal given the state of the man standing before me, but I wanted to crush him with everything I had.....I did not know why I felt those unstable waves of emotions then, but now I do.

    I accepted his challenge. I did have my sympathy for the old fellow but I also had my principles. I cannot reject any challenge from anyone, irrespective of their situation or background or my situation. If someone challenges me, I have to accept it, and I did.

    That was my first mistake.

    The Fight That Wasn¡¯t a Fight

    I came at him with everything.

    Raw power. Unrelenting speed. The kind of strength that could crush bone, the kind of force that had sent countless men sprawling at my feet.

    And yet¡ª

    He did not fight me.

    He moved.

    Like water slipping through fingers. Like wind shifting around an obstacle. Every strike I threw, he redirected. Every attack, he twisted against me.

    He was not blocking. He was not resisting.

    He was using my own strength to defeat me.

    I had never fought anyone like him before. Never faced a style that felt less like combat and more like¡­ inevitability.

    It was as if he had already seen the outcome of our fight before it even began.

    And the worst part?

    He wasn¡¯t even trying.

    I could tell. Every movement of his was too smooth, too precise. He could have ended the fight in seconds, and yet he let it go on¡ªlet me struggle, let me exhaust myself, let me understand just how powerless I truly was.

    And then, when he had finally decided that I had learned my lesson¡ªhe ended it.

    One single movement, and I was on the ground.

    I did not even know how I got there.

    And as I lay there, stunned, humiliated, something in me shifted.

    I was not angry.

    I was in awe.

    I had spent my entire life believing that raw strength was the ultimate power. That if my body was superior, then victory was assured.

    And yet, this man¡ªthis stranger¡ªhad defeated me without using even 1% of his strength.

    And then, as I looked up at him, he spoke the words that changed everything.

    ¡°You lost. That means you follow me now.¡±

    And I did.

    Not because I was forced. Not because I was broken.

    But because I knew, at that moment, that I had just met a man who stood above me.

    And I wanted to learn. Sounds pretty stupid but I couldn''t let go of the chance that might never come back to me.

    Now, here I am, in this impossible land, following a man I barely know, alongside another I cannot stand.

    Anil.

    I do not know where he came from. I do not know what he wants.

    But there is something about him that unnerves me.

    He is too quiet. Too still. He does not react the way a normal person should. Not to this place, not to Mr. Ash, not even to me.

    He just¡­ exists.

    I do not like it.

    I do not trust it.

    So I ignore him.

    I focus instead on this land¡ªthis strange, impossible land.

    The creatures here do not behave like normal animals. They do not fear us. They do not run when we approach.

    They watch.

    Their eyes are too intelligent, too aware.

    Even the ground beneath my feet feels wrong. It is too solid, yet too soft. As if the earth itself is listening.

    This place is unnatural.

    And yet, Ash moves through it like he belongs here.

    Like he understands something I do not.

    That is why I follow him.

    Because if I want to become stronger, if I want to truly understand what it means to be powerful, then I must walk this path.

    No matter where it leads.

 Meet Up - I

    Meet Up - I

    I swear, if I ever get out of this mess, I¡¯m going to make sure that criminal suffers. No, not just suffer¡ªI¡¯ll ruin him. I¡¯ll hack into every database that has ever recorded his existence and erase him from history. No name, no records, nothing. People will wonder if he was ever real. That¡¯s what he deserves for kidnapping me and dumping me in this manforsaken place.

    I still don¡¯t know how he did it. One moment, I was in my underground apartment, surrounded by my glorious, humming machines, bathed in the blue glow of multiple screens, sipping my overpriced energy drink, living my best life. The next moment, the screens glitched, the power cut off, and before I could react, someone grabbed me from behind. A hand clamped over my mouth, and then¡ªdarkness. When I woke up, I was here.

    At first, I thought I had been drugged. Maybe some underground rival had finally gotten sick of me. Maybe the feds had tracked me down. But no, it wasn¡¯t anything that simple. Because when I opened my eyes, I was in a world that shouldn''t exist.

    This place¡­ it¡¯s like some twisted fairy tale. The trees are too tall, too ancient-looking, their bark shimmering slightly under the light. Some of the plants glow at night¡ªnot like the bioluminescent ones I¡¯ve seen in science documentaries, but in eerie, unnatural colors. And the animals? Let¡¯s not even start on them. There are creatures here that I don¡¯t have words for. Some look like mutated versions of animals I know, while others seem like they¡¯ve stepped out of some fantasy novel.

    And then there¡¯s him. The man who ruined my life¡ªAsh.

    I hate him. I hate everything about him. His stupid composed face, his quiet arrogance, the way he acts like everything is beneath him. He walks like he owns this place, like none of this is a big deal. But worst of all¡ªhe¡¯s the reason I¡¯m here.

    And that muscle-headed idiot, Balram, is following him willingly. Seriously, what kind of moron gets beaten up once and decides, "Yeah, I should totally dedicate my life to this guy now"? Balram¡¯s the very definition of a dumb brute. Muscles for brains. A walking pile of biceps with no common sense.

    I¡¯ve been stuck with them for a week. A week. I thought I would go crazy. I did go crazy. Not that anyone noticed, because I haven¡¯t been able to say a single word.

    Yeah. That¡¯s another thing. I literally couldn¡¯t talk. I tried. I screamed, I yelled, I cursed every deity I could think of, but my voice just wouldn¡¯t come out. It was like my mouth had been sealed shut by some invisible force.

    But now¡­ now something is different.

    We¡¯ve been walking through this strange valley for a while now, following Ash. He told us that today, more people would be arriving. I don¡¯t know if that means more poor souls kidnapped like me or more brain-dead followers like Balram, but either way, I don¡¯t care. I just want to get out of here.

    And then we see them.

    A small group is approaching from the other side of the valley, moving through the rugged terrain. I can¡¯t make out much from a distance, but then¡ªsomething even more bizarre happens.

    Ash BOWS!!

    Wait. What?!

    This guy¡ªthe same guy who acts like the entire world is beneath him,this arrogant piece of shit bows? He is lowering his head infront of someone? Who could be the person who can do this to this abducting bastard?

    That¡¯s when I realize the old man leading the other group must be someone important. REALLY IMPORTANT.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Balram is stunned. I can practically feel his brain short-circuiting. He looks like a kid watching his hero get beaten in a wrestling ring. His entire worldview is probably shattering. I don¡¯t blame him. If even someone like Ash shows respect to this old man, then who the hell is he?

    The man has white hair, long and slightly unkempt, and he carries himself with a relaxed but commanding presence. Something about him seems¡­ old. Not just in years, but in experience. He radiates a kind of authority that¡¯s different from Ash¡¯s. While Ash is sharp and unreadable, this man is like a mountain¡ªimmovable and solid.

    I decide to call him Gold-Man.

    Not because of his hair, but because it stands for Good Old Legendary Dude. (Or something like that.) Also, he just criticized Ash, so he¡¯s instantly my favorite person here.

    Then my eyes move to the others.

    The first one I recognize immediately- Ananya.

    Of course, I know who she is. Who doesn¡¯t? She¡¯s a freaking celebrity. The famous dancer, adored by millions. I actually have some past connection with her but she probably doesn''t know anything about it so I don''t want to bring it up either. I don''t want to be hated after all. Back to Ananya, She looks just as flawless in real life as she does on screen, even in the middle of this wilderness.

    Then my gaze moves¡ªand I freeze.

    There¡¯s a girl standing next to Ananya. She¡¯s not dressed as fancy, not carrying herself like someone used to the limelight. But there¡¯s something about her¡ªsomething different.

    She¡¯s small, but not delicate. Her dark short dark hair are so messy, as if she couldn¡¯t be bothered to fix it. There¡¯s something sharp in her eyes, something fierce. And yet¡­

    ¡°Cute.¡±

    The word escapes before I can stop it.

    Balram shoots me a weird look. Ash glances at me like I¡¯m an idiot.

    I don¡¯t care.

    Because something even more important just happened.

    I spoke! I actually heard my own voice after a whole week!!

    For the first time since I got kidnapped, I was able to say a word.

    And just like that, the floodgates open.

    ¡°You kidnapping son of a b-¡±

    I whirl on Ash, my voice finally back, and let loose every ounce of frustration I¡¯ve been holding in for a week.

    ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?! Who the hell kidnaps people in this day and age?! Do you have any idea how illegal this is?! I swear to every law enforcement agency in existence, I will ruin you! You better have a damn good reason for bringing me to this madhouse because I am two seconds away from losing my mind! And don¡¯t even get me started on this muscle-head following you around like some lost puppy¡ª¡±

    Balram steps forward, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Who the hell are you calling a muscle-head, you twig?!¡±

    ¡°You, you dumb slab of meat! Who follows a random criminal just because he lost a fight? Have you never heard of self-respect?!¡±

    Balram growls. ¡°You¡¯re really asking for it, brat.¡±

    ¡°Try me, biceps-for-brains!¡±

    Before Balram can lunge at me, Ash casually flicks his fist out¡ªand punches me right into the gut.

    I double over, wheezing. The world tilts for a second. Damn it. How the hell is he this strong?!

    Gold-Man sighs, shaking his head. ¡°Ash, you didn¡¯t actually kidnap this kid, did you?¡±

    Ash shrugs. ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°I knew it!¡± I wheeze.

    Gold-Man pinches the bridge of his nose. ¡°I don¡¯t approve of that. You can¡¯t just drag people here against their will.¡±

    Ash crosses his arms. ¡°It was the fastest method. I know you wouldn¡¯t agree, but I don¡¯t have the patience to go around playing silly characters like you do. And my head already hurts enough as it is. I can''t go around taking care of stupid brats.¡±

    ¡°That''s no reason to go around kidnapping kids and bringing them here without their consent " Mr Goldman suddenly becomes my second favourite person in this gathering. First is ofcourse the girl I do not know name of.

    "I don''t need your lectures. We are behind the schedule because you played around so much. If you had brought them here earlier, we could have moved ahead in the program. I brought these guys before you brought yours, I am clearly the winner and you have to respect." Ash comes with a counter but he is a stupid criminal so who cares about what he says.

    MORE IMPORTANTLY

    What the hell are these guys even talking about? What program? What schedule? They are not going to dissect us, are they? I think all of us here have the same question, except the muscle head ofc.

    "I got late because I didn''t go around kidnapping kids, you stupid brat!! But it''s not completely surprising given your situation and character. So, what about the other one? Did you abduct him too?" Old man for the win!!

    Balram, rubbing his chin, finally speaks. ¡°I wasn¡¯t kidnapped. I followed him willingly.¡±

    I glare. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re a muscle-head. Who follows random criminals?¡±

    Balram bristles. ¡°Say that again, twig.¡±

    ¡°Muscle. Head.¡±

    We glare at each other, ready to fight¡ªuntil Ananya sighs loudly.

    ¡°Can you all stop acting like children?¡±

    We both pause.

    She crosses her arms. ¡°This is getting annoying.¡±

    ¡­Fair point.

    ¡°What''s done is done. No use crying over what''s already happening. Why don''t we move forward now?" Ash says acting like some wise old prophet but remember - he is just a CRIMINAL who kidnapped me. REMEMBER IT!!

    "That''s right . No use crying over spilled milk. Let''s proceed".

    Concluding words by Mr Goldman

 Bombshell

    Bombshell

    The argument dies down, though not before Anil and Balram throw a few lingering glares at each other, their silent battle continuing in their heads. Oh, Anil and Balram are two new heads joining our group or should I say that we are the two new heads joining the group? I will call it my group, why? Because no gives a fruit!!

    Honestly, what a weird group we¡¯ve gathered. First, we have the stupid old Man¡ªOm¡ªwho seems to have some kind of untouchable authority. This man is more mysterious than a murder mystery film, not that I have watched any but still. I say this because of the layers in his character, sometimes he seems so aloof and next second he be looking like he is going to war. It should be better to call him Mr. Onion. Actually, that''s what I calling him from now!!

    Then there is Mr. Criminal¡ªAsh, yes a criminal. Why? Apparantly he kidnapped this boy named Anil and dragged him all the way here without giving him any reason or anything. I kind of feel bad for him as I can understand the pain of people forcing their own descision on you, but I can only sympathise with him, I don''t really want to get ahead of myself and let him hear some words of comfort, mostly because I am a cow- ehm, Introvert. I am a INTROVERT.

    He has been snapping at him every other moment only to be stopped by the Mr Brute, or Muscle Head, as Anil calls him¡ªBalram¡ªwho is following Ash like an obedient dog. He got defeated by Ash in a wrestling match and now has become his devoted follower. I actually saw his jaw drops more than anyone else when Ash bowed to Onion. Ofcourse I found the fact of his defeat from Anil''s continuous rant. Balram is a pro wrestler, hailing from a family of wrestlers. He has the build of mountain, even I can tell that he has more muscles than anyone here. Honestly, how did he even manage to lose to Ash? Sure Ash is taller than him but he seems so frail that this muscle gorilla could have defeated him by just falling over onto him. How did you manage to lose to him, Mr. Gorilla? Damn!! I have to put a leash on my tongue or it will be I who will be flattened by this walking monster truck if I end offending him.

    Then last but not the least, Ms. Internet sensation with a arrogance bigger than the elephant I saw in the forest, Lady Ananya. And guess what? Her ego just grew bigger? Why? Because... Because, these two new guys recognised her as the award winner, Ms beautiful diva famous dancer and she has been looking at me with this wierd expression since then and it feels like she is laughing at me, but the smug face she made immediately after Balram recognised her was worse than this. The scene of her keeping her hand on her waist and puffing her chest with pride, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, it fills me with a sense of defeat! That''s why I have been avoiding her eyes, and this girl is trying every possible way to get me to look at her so that she can give me that smug look, BUT I AIN''T LOSING THIS FIT!!!

    My condition is honestly the worst in all of the group. First of all, I have zero, literally zero experience of associating with people and having conversation with them. I have not said anything other than my name, just my name from the moment everyone introduced themselves. Secondly, this other girl in the group doesn''t leave any chance to put me down and establish herself as the superior one. Probably because I didn''t recognise her when we first met at the University but can you really blame me for that? I really am not interested in her world or work and I have no intention to be, I don''t understand why she would take it so seriously. Why? I don''t understand and I can''t because our brains function at completely different levels so it''s just wasting energy and asking for am unnecessary headache, and I don''t want that.

    All in all, I would be better sleeping in my bed right now than being with all of these people. But I brought this on myself be agreeing to come here in the first place, for some reason I have no idea about.

    Anyway, we begin moving again, weaving through the surreal landscape of this so-called heavenly place. I glance around, trying to take in every bit of it. It¡¯s breathtaking, like something ripped straight out of a fantasy novel¡ªexcept no one in their right mind would actually believe this place exists.

    Towering trees with luminescent veins stretch into the sky, their branches twisting unnaturally, casting ethereal glows across the terrain. Beneath them, wildflowers in colors I¡¯ve never seen before sway despite the lack of wind. Strange little creatures skitter around¡ªsome with more eyes than necessary, others with translucent bodies that shimmer in the dimming light. It¡¯s beautiful, magical¡­ and completely unnatural.

    It¡¯s like stepping into a dream that isn¡¯t entirely safe.

    As we walk, Om suddenly halts and raises a hand. ¡°Listen up,¡± he says, his tone sharp and commanding. We stop in our tracks immediately. Even Anil, who had been mumbling complaints under his breath, shuts up.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    ¡°You are not to offend or enrage the people we are about to meet. At any cost.¡±

    The weight in his voice is unsettling.

    ¡°Do not do anything that might be considered even slightly offensive,¡± Om continues. ¡°That means no unnecessary movements, no talking out of turn¡ªhell, don¡¯t even blink the wrong way. Understood?¡±

    I exchange a glance with Ananya, who has finally dropped her smugness and looks equally wary.

    Ash, standing beside Om, crosses his arms and nods. ¡°He¡¯s not exaggerating. Keep your mouths shut unless spoken to.¡±

    ¡­Okay. That¡¯s serious.

    A shiver crawls up my spine as tension spreads through the group. If even Ash is agreeing with Om, then this is no joke. I gulp and glance at the others. All the young ones share the same expression, a slight fear has probably taken roots in them too.

    Who are these people we¡¯re meeting?

    I keep quiet as we resume our trek, my mind racing. The entire situation is bizarre. Why would Om and Ash¡ªboth powerful in their own right¡ªbe this cautious? Who exactly are we about to meet?

    Minutes stretch into what feels like hours before we finally reach an open clearing. The air here feels heavier, almost charged with something unseen.

    And then I see them.

    Three figures stand at the center of the clearing, each one vastly different from the other.

    The first is a towering mountain of a man¡ªeasily over eight feet tall! Yes, a eight feet tall tower¡ªwith a build that could make even the most intimidating wrestlers look small. If Balram is the gorilla, them this man would be the one who eats thousands of balram for breakfast. His black-and-white hair is wild, streaked with age but still thick, and his massive beard looks like it could house a small bird¡¯s nest. His arms are folded, muscles bulging even under his loose garments, and his mere presence is suffocating. He could probably snap someone in half with a flick of his fingers. I sort of understand why we were warned about not angering them, and I don''t want to do it either, I mean who wants the wrath of a gorilla overlord directed at them.

    The second man, standing slightly behind the first, is shorter but no less imposing. Dressed in a simple orange robe, his pure white hair flows past his shoulders, and his long beard makes him look like one of those monks from ancient paintings. But his lean frame and piercing eyes make it clear¡ªthis isn¡¯t just some old hermit.

    And then there¡¯s the third figure.

    A young man. Tall¡ªprobably the tallest among us younger people¡ªand standing with an unnerving rigidity. His posture is too straight, his expression unreadable. His fair skin and sharp features make him stand out, and for some reason, I get the feeling he doesn¡¯t quite belong here.

    Who is he? Another recruit? Or was he also dragged here like us?

    Before I can dwell on it further, something insane happens.

    Onion Om bows.

    And not just a polite dip of the head¡ªa full, deep bow.

    My jaw drops.

    Then, as if that wasn¡¯t shocking enough, Ash drops to both knees and touches his forehead to the ground.

    What the actual hell?!

    If Ash bowing was insane, Om bowing is unthinkable. I glance around, and everyone else is just as stunned as I am. Even Balram¡ªwho follows Ash like a loyal disciple¡ªlooks utterly floored.

    Who the hell are these old men?!

    The two elders raise their hands, their palms facing us. Om slowly straightens, but Ash remains kneeling, his head still lowered.

    And then the leaner man speaks.

    His voice is gentle, warm, and oddly soothing¡ªlike a grandfather talking to his grandchildren. ¡°Children, you are finally here. We have been waiting for your arrival for quite some time.¡±

    The tension in the air instantly dissolves.

    ¡°We understand that you are confused about why you are here,¡± the man continues, his tone kind and patient. ¡°But do not worry. You do not need to fear us. Everything will be explained. First, you must rest. You must be tired from your journey.¡±

    The soft-spoken kindness makes something in my chest ease. Maybe this isn¡¯t as bad as Om and Ash made it seem. Maybe we aren¡¯t about to meet some terrifying overlords.

    And then the other old man speaks.

    His voice is deep, thunderous, and absolutely terrifying. It crashes through the air like an explosion, sending shivers down my spine.

    ¡°There is no time for rest.¡±

    I physically flinch.

    ¡°If they are so weak that a simple journey up the mountain has tired them, then they might as well be useless,¡± he declares, his voice dripping with authority and impatience. ¡°We cannot afford to waste time. We must start. Now.¡±

    Silence.

    Om steps forward hesitantly. ¡°But my lord, they are not ready to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡± The old man¡¯s roar shakes the ground beneath us. ¡°Do you think we have time to waste?! They must be drilled into shape immediately. There is no room for delay.¡±

    I gulp. What the hell is going on?

    I glance at the others. Balram¡¯s jaw is clenched, Anil is frozen in shock, and Ananya¡¯s lips are pressed into a thin line. Even Ash¡ªwho bows to no one¡ªdoesn¡¯t dare look up.

    What could be so urgent?

    The soft-spoken elder sighs. ¡°Then so be it. I will explain everything now.¡±

    He turns to us, his gaze kind yet firm.

    ¡°My children,¡± he says, ¡°we have brought you here because you have been chosen to fight a war.¡±

    I stiffen. A war? My ears are not ringing are they? Or I am probably hallucinating from the fatigue? What the hell you mean "We brought you to fight a war!!!" You can''t go around spouting any nonsense just coz you are old. If you are senile, go to doctor or something instead of living up in some mountain!! This is what I want to say but words don''t dare to leave my mouth, the presence of the giant makes it impossible to even breath properly, let alone saying anything.

    ¡°A war against the Asuras¡ªan otherworldly race far beyond your imagination.¡±

    Asuras?

 The Truth

    The Truth

    The valley stretched before me, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The air here was unlike anything I had breathed before¡ªclean, untouched, almost sacred. This place seemed like something born straight out of miracle, something that came out of a beautiful painting.

    I¡¯ve been here for a while now, long enough to stop counting the days, long enough to realize that the world I knew is nothing but a shadow of what truly exists. Though I am completely ignorant compared to the person who brought me here and the people who live here, I can claim to know more than all the population of the world. I have been told just enough to satisfy my heart and bind me to this place, and this information is just the tip of the iceberg, I think.....

    After the accident near Antarctica, after watching my comrades die, disappear from my sight in an instant, turning into something unimaginable, I should have died too. But somehow, I didn¡¯t. I got saved. I somehow ended up in a coast city in my country, thousands of miles from where I was supposed to me. Mr OM, found me near the coast dragged me out of my grave, eventually bringing me to this place. I should be grateful to him. Maybe I am. But that doesn¡¯t change the fact that everything I believed in¡ªeverything I thought was real¡ªhas been torn apart.

    When I arrived here, I was even more ignorant than I am now. I knew nothing about the anything. I agreed to come here because Mr. Om said that I could extract revenge on the man who slaughtered my friends, that was the sole reason I followed him, to find a way to kill Raktraka. But what I found out from these people completely shattered my belief system and my view of the world.

    Raktraka¡ªthe man I saw during my voyage, the one who tore through my unit like we were insects¡ªwas no human. He was an Asura.

    I had never heard the word before. Even now, it doesn¡¯t sound real.

    Diatas, the old man draped in orange robes, was the one who explained it to me. He said Asuras were an ancient race, powerful beings from Patal Lok, a realm beyond our understanding. He told me that they were evil, that they had returned to Earth, and they had to be stopped at any cost to prevent the destruction of the entire world.

    At first, I thought they were just senile old men telling stories to cope with whatever madness had consumed them. It was easier to believe that than to accept the alternative. I tried to rationalize what I had seen¡ªmaybe Raktraka was some failed experiment, some genetically engineered monster that had escaped a black-site lab. That made sense. That fit within the world I understood.

    I argued with him for a long time, trying all logics to deny whatever he was saying and explain Raktraka with my view, the view which would seem more believable to anyone than what Diatas was saying. It proved to be bad idea, my constant argument made me the recipient of Ram''s wrath. He would have crushed me under his palm if Diatas, Ash and Om had not begged him to stop. My life was spared but then he did something that actually made them beleive there words.

    The massive, muscle-bound elder crushed a boulder ten times his size with a single punch. No tricks, no technology¡ªjust raw, unexplainable power. I saw it with my own eyes, felt the tremors beneath my feet as the rock shattered like glass.

    "You think you know everything? That your knowledge is sufficient to explain all that occurs in this universe?" Ram thundered. "Don''t be a fool brat! You know nothing and you will never learn anything if you are not ready hear and understand what others are saying! You saw it for yourself! How your friends turned into a pile of meat in an instant and you couldn''t do anything but stand there, frozen with horror. We are not running some fools show here and playing pranks on you. If you want to accomplish why you came here, then you have to believe what you are being told or else you can keep dreaming of avenging your comrades." His words struck all my weak points, rendering me unable to bring forth any argument. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    One thing that I realised after hearing his words was that I do not know anything.

    And now, more people have been brought here by Om and Ash, for the same reason as me - To participate in the upcoming struggle against the Asur race.

    Lord Diatas just dropped a bomb on them, mostly due to the impatience of Lord Ram and now they are completely thrown into a spiral of confusion with no way out and it''s completely clear from their facial expression. They have no understanding of what they have  heard just now.

    "Varun", he looks at me, can I count on you to make them understand the situation. I nod in agreement. He probably thinks it would be easier for them to believe from someone who is same as them.

    "Please follow me" I say, addressing four of them.

    All of them start walking behind me immediately, probably out of terror of Lord Ram, completely understandable given his behaviour in the past few minutes.

    Two boys, two girls. I take my time observing them, breaking them down the way I would new recruits.

    The first boy is built like a fighter¡ªbroad-shouldered, strong, confident. He carries himself like someone who has seen combat, or at least believes he has, doesn''t seem very intelligent though. And honestly, I don''t want to count his wrestling skills and experience as combat knowledge given the enemies he might face of He continues on this path, even the skills taught in army were completely useless against that monster, and there are probably more of his kind in the enemy camp. This guy introduced himself as Balram. He¡¯ll be easy to work with, I hope.

    The second boy, called Anil is the complete opposite¡ªlanky, almost skeletal, his dark eyes restless, constantly shifting like he¡¯s searching for an escape route. There¡¯s something about him that puts me on edge. He¡¯s not afraid, not in the way he should be. Instead, he looks like he¡¯s playing along, waiting for an opportunity to turn the situation to his advantage. He¡¯s going to be a problem.

    The girls seem more neutral. The first has sharp, intelligent eyes. She listens intently, analyzing every word. The second girl is harder to read, but she seems calm. Normal.

    I straighten my stance, speaking clearly. "My name is Varun," I tell them. "I was in the military before coming here. I was the same as you when I arrived. I had no idea about what was to come and I was not prepared at all. I just came here to fulfill my personal desires. I am curious as to why you agreed to come here too but we can save that talk for later, first I should make you aware about the situation you are in." I speak as softly as possible, to let them know that I am not very different from them.

    They listen carefully while walking behind me.

    "The reason you¡¯re here is simple. As Lord Diatas already told you, oh, he is the lean man in saffron robe, in case you are confused. You have been brought to participate in a armed conflict against a powerful foe of which, I don''t have much of understanding myself." I remind them what they were just told and let the words settle before I continue.

    "I know you still can''t understand what I am saying or should I say your brain is simply not accepting what your ears are hearing but what Lord Diatas said and what I am going to say is absolutely true." I keep going on to supress the doubts that might be taking birth in their minds.

    "We are to be the part of the team that has to fight this Asur race and stop their advance. You must have already heard about Antarctica somewhere or the other and the strange things happening around it, right?" I put up a question while providing them with crucial information. "Everything that is happening here is due to these Asura."

    I really don''t think they will beleive me so easily, I expect resistance. Doubt. Skepticism. But to my shock, Vrishti, one of the girl says that she believes what I am saying. "I have experienced some supernatural things too, so what you are saying is quite believable to me." She says without a trace of doubt and hesitation in her eyes. Her words have drawn the unbelieving eyes of both the boys but the other girl seems to debating with herself wether to accept what I am saying or not.

    "They¡¯re an ancient race. Not human. Not from this world. They possess abilities beyond anything we can understand¡ªstrength, speed, intelligence that surpasses anything we¡¯ve ever encountered. For centuries, they were sealed away in Patal Lok." I continue.

    The lean boy tilts his head, smirking slightly. Of course. He doesn¡¯t believe a word of it. The other one seems completely clueless.

    I ignore them. "Somehow, they¡¯ve broken free. And they¡¯ve already started moving. I have personally encountered one of them. His name was Raktraka. I fought him."

    I don¡¯t mean to clench my fists, but I do. "And I lost."

    That gets their attention.

    "He massacred my team. Not with weapons. Not with technology. With his bare hands. I tried to fight. I should have died there."

    I take a step forward, locking eyes with each of them. "You think this is insane? That it¡¯s impossible? I thought so too. Until I saw it with my own eyes." I seem to be losing control of myself as I tell them my own experience. I have to end this before my nightmare swallows me.

    "That''s about all you need to know about your situation. What you want to do next is completely on you." I conclude my education session.

    "As for me, I have decided that I will stay here and fulfill my purpose. You decide what you want to do."

    " Will you stay here and fight to save the world and fullfill the role decided for you or will you go back living your life, at the cost of many more?"

 Thinking The Future

    Thinking The Future

    A choice.

    That¡¯s what it all comes down to.

    The four of us sit inside a wooden cottage, surrounded by a silence thick enough to drown in. The only source of light is the strange flickering lamp on the table, casting our shadows against the walls in eerie patterns. It¡¯s not an ordinary lamp¡ªit glows with an unfamiliar hue, something neither artificial nor entirely natural. Like everything else in this place, it feels¡­ otherworldly.

    We have until morning to decide.

    To stay or to leave.

    If we leave, we get to walk away from all this madness. Go back to our normal lives, pretend none of this ever happened. If we stay¡­ we risk everything. Our safety. Our future. Our lives.

    And for what? To fight a race of beings we never even knew existed? To take part in a war that isn''t ours?

    Anil breaks the silence first. "You really believe these old fools?" His voice carries that usual sharpness, a mixture of mockery and irritation. "I¡¯m one hundred percent sure they¡¯re just some senile old men with an agenda. They probably need idiots to do their dirty work and came up with this crazy story to manipulate us."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "And you think that was the best story they could come up with?" Ananya shoots back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You really believe someone would go through all this effort just to convince us of some nonsense? If they were lying, wouldn¡¯t they have made it at least a little more believable?"

    Anil snorts. "Yeah, because ¡®you are chosen warriors meant to fight space demons¡¯ is totally the most convincing lie they could tell."

    Ananya rolls her eyes. "And yet, here you are, still trying to come up with an explanation that makes you feel better about this whole thing."

    I lean back, watching them bicker. It¡¯s almost comforting. A familiar kind of noise in the midst of an unfamiliar situation. But my mind keeps returning to that night in the forest.

    I saw something. Something I know was real.

    I¡¯ve never believed in fate or destiny. Never thought life had some grand purpose. If anything, I¡¯ve always thought the world was pointless. And yet, when I stood beneath that storm and saw him¡ªwhen I felt something I couldn¡¯t explain¡ªit shook me.

    For the first time, I don¡¯t want to dismiss something as nonsense.

    And that terrifies me.

    I glance at Ananya. She seems far too ready to accept all this. Why? What has she seen? What does she know?

    Meanwhile, Balram sits quietly in the corner, saying nothing. His arms are crossed, and his expression is unreadable. He doesn¡¯t seem particularly worried. If I had to guess, he¡¯s already made up his mind. Probably going to follow Ash no matter what. He barely knows the guy, but the way he looks at him¡ªit¡¯s like he¡¯s found a mentor. Or maybe something more. A purpose.

    The thought makes my stomach twist.

    How can someone just decide something like this so easily?

    "I don¡¯t trust them," Anil continues, more serious now. "And even if they are telling the truth, why should it be our problem? Let someone else deal with it. We didn¡¯t ask for this."

    For once, I kind of agree with him. But then¡­

    "What if we are the only ones who can do something?" Ananya asks.

    That question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

    None of us have an answer.

    And the night stretches on, filled with uncertainty.

    Tomorrow, we choose.

    And whatever we decide¡­ there¡¯s no turning back.