The chamber they descended into wasn't just any room.It was a memory sealed in stone.
Dim lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows.Mavran stood by the low table, one hand resting on its obsidian surface, the other casually swirling the remnants of his tea.
Vyom sat opposite him — silent, cold, patient.
It was time.
Mavran's voice broke the silence, low and steady.
"Before we begin, Vyom… you need context.Without it, nothing I say next will make sense."
Vyom said nothing. He simply watched.
Mavran smiled faintly — a man about to open doors that should never have been built.
He placed his palm flat against the center of the table.
Hummm—
Soft vibrations pulsed under Vyom's fingertips as the table came alive.
From the obsidian glass, faint lines of golden light etched themselves outward — weaving into intricate patterns.
A holographic projection flickered up, hovering just above the table:
—An ancient dig site. Sandstorms whipping against half-buried monoliths.—A black, twisted object. Unnatural. Alien.—Figures in old-world gear surrounding it, faces blurred by time.
Mavran began.
"Long ago... when humanity still clung to gods for comfort, something changed."
He gestured casually, and the hologram zoomed in — the artifact pulsing ominously under the sands.
"A discovery.
Not a miracle.Not a curse.
An artifact."
He tapped two fingers lightly.
New images surfaced — eleven figures in silhouette, standing before the artifact in a shattered underground chamber.
"Eleven individuals. Different backgrounds. Different nations.All converged around it."
Mavran's tone lowered, almost reverent.
"They understood. Quickly. Too quickly.That this thing would shatter the world."
The hologram shifted — swirling into flashes of old news clippings, classified documents, erased internet records.
"So they buried it."
The image showed dark vaults. Shredded files. Empty temples.
"Burying it wasn't enough," Mavran said, voice like iron. "They buried the very idea of it."
More images appeared: public debates debunking ancient myths, textbooks being edited, digital archives rewritten.
"They debunked every story. Every miracle.They erased myths, legends — the very notion of the divine."
A final image materialized:
An old, cracked dictionary —The word 'God' violently scratched out.
Mavran turned, facing Vyom fully.
"They rewrote textbooks. Controlled narratives. Manufactured skepticism.Until finally...the word 'God' was erased from the dictionary."
Silence settled, heavier than stone.
The hologram dimmed, waiting.
Vyom's gaze remained impassive — but inside, something cold stirred.
"The first artifact," Mavran said, almost whispering now, "was the beginning."
The table hummed again — shifting holograms into a slowly spinning replica of the artifact itself.
Dark. Pulsing.Like it was still alive.
Mavran returned to his seat, sipping what remained of his tea.
"That's the beginning," he said."But not the end."
He set the cup down with a soft clink.
"There's more, Vyom. Far more.
About the artifacts.
About the bloodlines.
About the ones who still remember."
Mavran leaned in, his eyes gleaming under the holographic glow.
"And about you."
Vyom met his gaze head-on — unflinching, unbroken.
The air between them buzzed with unseen weight.
Mavran let the first hologram — the erasure of gods — fade slowly into darkness.
Then he stood again.
Palm pressed lightly to the table.
The glass pulsed once — and a new sequence began.
At first, there was just barren land.Mountains. Oceans. Forests.
Normal.
Peaceful.
Until—
KRRRRAAAAK.
The earth split.
Holographic fissures tore through the projection — glowing like ancient wounds.
From them rose impossible structures:
Black spires twisting into the sky.
Jagged gateways buried half in the ground.
Stairwells spiraling into endless darkness.
Mavran's voice was steady, cold.
"Centuries after the first artifact... the world changed again."
He gestured.
New images spun into focus:
Dungeons. Labyrinths. Rifts.
Structures that defied physics, covered in ancient script that no scholar could decipher.
"They appeared overnight. No warnings.No explanations."
He waved his hand.
The hologram zoomed into footage — explorers in archaic gear entering dark maws in the earth... never returning.
"At first," Mavran said, voice dry, "humanity thought they were... natural disasters."
The hologram shifted again:
Crumbling cities. News panics. Governments falling silent.
"But then..."
He tapped the table again.
New holograms sprang up:
Animals.Wildlife once familiar — wolves, bears, crows — now mutated, twisted into grotesque, monstrous versions.
Teeth too long.Eyes that gleamed with unnatural malice.
"Decades later," Mavran continued, voice a razor slicing through the room,"the world adapted... or tried to."
The holograms accelerated — armies mobilizing, scientists experimenting, cities fortifying.
"And just when mankind thought it had begun to understand..."
He snapped his fingers.
FWOOSH.
Another shift.
Images of humans — regular people — suddenly radiating light, darkness, elements.Contorting.Evolving.
The Awakened.
Heroes. Monsters. Legends.
No warning. No cause.
"People began to change," Mavran said.
His tone was almost sarcastic — as if mocking the absurdity of it.
"Randomly.Irreversibly.Spectacularly."
The holograms showed ordinary individuals blasting craters into mountains, freezing rivers solid with a touch, summoning flames from thin air.
Vyom watched in silence, his reflection flickering against the shifting lights.
Mavran folded his arms behind his back, pacing slowly around the table.
"And so the new world order began."
The final hologram formed above the table:
A globe — cracked, burning in places, shrouded in others.
Above it hovered three words, written in cold white letters:
Artifacts. Dungeons. Awakened.
Mavran turned to face Vyom fully.
His smile was thin. Measured.
"And now, Vyom... You're sitting at the center of the next disaster."
The last hologram — the cracked globe — hovered over the obsidian glass table, casting pale light across the silent chamber.
Vyom leaned back slightly, arms folded.
His voice was casual.
Too casual.
"Why am I the center of this?"
Mavran smiled faintly.
Like he'd been waiting for that question.
He moved a hand over the table — and the globe hologram shattered into a thousand fragments, reforming into a new symbol:
A single, twisted tree — roots spreading wide, branches clawing toward the sky, all drawn in lines of blood-red.
At the base of the tree: a name.
Aspen Order.
Mavran's voice was calm.
Measured.
"In theory," he said, "the world should have corrected itself."
He began to pace slowly around the table, fingers trailing over the glass surface, each word heavy as an executioner's blade.
"But theory forgets one thing."
He glanced at Vyom.
"Human greed."
The hologram shifted.
Scenes bloomed:
Hooded figures in ancient libraries.
Forbidden artifacts exchanging hands under torchlight.
Dark pacts written not in ink, but blood.
"Centuries ago," Mavran continued, "the wisest minds on Earth gathered."
His voice dripped with disdain.
"Scientists. Philosophers. Generals. Rulers.The best of humanity."
He chuckled humorlessly.
"And the worst."
The hologram zoomed in:
A clandestine meeting — robed figures around a fire, sealing a pact.
"They craved knowledge," Mavran said. "Knowledge beyond mortal limits.Knowledge that belonged to the ancient forces... the ones we only now understand as demons."
He turned to Vyom, eyes glinting.
"They didn't just stumble into darkness.They ran into it.Arms wide open."
The hologram showed demonic sigils blooming from human skin — binding contracts signed under blood moons.
"They made a pact," Mavran said.
"Power… in exchange for something simpler."
Vyom's voice cut in, low and sharp:
"...Desires."
Mavran smiled approvingly.
"Exactly."
He snapped his fingers once.
The tree's roots on the hologram spread, creeping into holographic images of ancient kingdoms... then modern nations... then global maps with flags.
"The Aspen Order grew silently. Patiently."
He stepped back, letting Vyom see it clearly:
Aspen agents embedded everywhere — governments, military councils, private corporations.
"They didn't conquer.They corrupted."
Mavran clasped his hands behind his back.
"For centuries, we didn't even know their true name."
He gave a rare smile — tight, grim.
"Until you, Vyom."
The hologram pulsed, showing a distorted image — a symbol Vyom recognized.
The mark he destroyed back in that ruined underground chamber.
"Thanks to you… their mask cracked."
Mavran waved his hand.
The tree's base — the HQ — was marked.
A brutal, fortress-like city: Zyphorion.
"We cut their funding lines when we burned their main roots there," Mavran said, his voice like a blade drawn across stone. "They're bleeding now."
Vyom exhaled slowly, absorbing the avalanche of revelations.
He stared at the tree hologram for a moment longer.
Then, deadpan, voice sharp:
"Still doesn't explain why I'm at the center.There's only one damn thing around me — Aspen."
The table dimmed slightly.
Mavran stopped pacing.
He turned — really turned — facing Vyom fully now.
The playful glint was gone from his eyes.
What remained was something colder.
Older.
Inevitable.
He spoke in a voice no louder than a whisper — but one that crushed the air around it:
"Because to them... you're not a player, Vyom."
He leaned in slightly.
"You're the board."
Silence hit.
Hard.
Vyom's gaze sharpened — but deep inside, something colder flickered.
Mavran straightened, setting both palms lightly on the table.
"And if they control the board…" he said softly, "they don't have to play fair."
For a heartbeat, the chamber was silent — just the low hum of the energy cores hidden in the walls.
Vyom stared down at the table.
His expression unreadable.
Only the tight clench of his jaw gave him away.
Mavran spoke again — voice low, almost too casual.
"You're the board," he repeated.
"And they — they have been playing for longer than you have been alive."
He shifted slightly.
"And to keep their moves uncontested… they erased those who could interfere."
Vyom didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Mavran let the words hang — then dropped the blade.
"They are the ones who killed Varun."
The air turned razor-sharp.
Vyom's fingers twitched once.
Only once.
But on the obsidian table, the surface cracked.
Mavran continued mercilessly:
"And Bhanumithra."
Vyom's breathing was steady.
Too steady.
His eyes — half-lidded — reflected the broken holograms above.
Not rage.
Not sadness.
Something colder.
Sharper.
Mavran studied him carefully — measuring every millimeter of his reaction.
Then he turned the conversation — deliberate, controlled.
"But," he said, his voice almost philosophical now, "wherever there is a force…"
A new hologram bloomed — a faint golden pulse.
"...there must exist its exact opposite."
Vyom's gaze sharpened slightly.
Mavran folded his hands behind his back, voice deepening:
"The Aspen Order is not unchecked."
He smiled faintly.
"There exists another organization. One forged not from greed, but from necessity."
He let the tension hang — deliberate.
Vyom's voice cut through it.
Flat. Sharp.
"You're about to tell me its name?"
Mavran's smile widened slightly.
But his next words were absolute:
"You're not worthy to know of it yet."
Vyom didn't flinch.
Didn't protest.
He simply tilted his head slightly — reading between the words.
Then — with a soft chuckle that was almost humorless — he said:
"It's the fifth VVIP."
Mavran blinked once.
"And the one connected to the thief that stole from me."
Mavran's smile — real this time — was edged with pride.
"You're quicker than expected," he said.
"But still," he added, stepping closer, lowering his voice, "be warned."
The golden hologram pulsed once more, casting flickers of light across Vyom's face.
"They are not your allies."
Vyom raised an eyebrow, almost lazily.
Mavran's voice hardened:
"They are merely... another player."
Another pause.
He leaned forward slightly.
"And unlike Aspen — they believe in letting the game bleed before intervening."
The final hologram flickered once more:
Two forces — one red, one gold — spiraling endlessly around a shattered world.
Mavran watched Vyom carefully, studying the sharp gleam in his eyes.
"You've connected the dots well," he said finally, voice calm but tinged with something older — almost reverence.
"But there's something more."
He gestured, and the table shifted — holograms of artifacts, ancient and pulsing with unknown energy, hovered between them.
"This second organization…" Mavran continued, "their true purpose is singular."
He raised a finger, tapping the air.
A golden line of light traced itself in the air, spelling words that felt almost sacred:
"Protect the artifacts."
"These artifacts," Mavran said, "are the origin of every shift, every chaos, every twist of fate you've seen in this world."
The holograms blurred — images flashing —
The First Artifact.
The birth of Labyrinths.
The monstrous mutations.
The Awakening.
"Left unchecked," Mavran said, voice like steel, "these artifacts will birth eras of darkness."
He stepped closer.
"And if they fall into the wrong hands..."
The air thickened.
"...the world itself will be rewritten."
Vyom stayed still.
Still processing.
Still silent.
Mavran's voice dropped lower.
"I am one of their members."
Vyom's eyes narrowed slightly.
Mavran smiled faintly.
"And not just me. In every nation, every government, every hidden corner of the world... one of us watches."
The room vibrated lightly.
A pulse from Mavran's fingers.
SNAP.
The entire ceiling, the walls — everything shimmered — and vanished.
Vyom's breath caught for just a moment.
They stood inside something far larger than he had realized.
A titanic underground fortress — sprawling into darkness as far as the eye could see.
Gleaming machinery.
Weapon vaults.
Artillery lines.
Research labs.
A living monument to preparation.
Mavran stood tall — almost regal in that moment — as the true scale of his fortress was revealed.
"This…" he said, sweeping his hand across the horizon, "is my true stronghold."
Vyom slowly turned his head, drinking in the magnitude.
Mavran's voice softened — almost wistful.
"There will come a time when you will hear my full story."
He placed a hand on Vyom's shoulder — a rare, almost fatherly gesture.
"But today is not that day."
He turned sharply, walking away — the sounds of his boots echoing through the colossal underground citadel.
Vyom remained standing there.
Silent.
Surrounded by the weight of history, hidden wars, and truths far larger than himself.
The darkness of the fortress loomed — and somewhere deep within it, something ancient stirred.