It began while he was sitting cross-legged behind the press, eyes closed, just listening.
The day had been quiet. He'd touched no one new. But thirteen minds were still tethered to him. Threads floating just beyond reach, each one warm and steady.
Vikram leaned into the space where they lived — not the real world, not a dream. Something in between.
He focused.
And for the first time, it opened.
It wasn't just threads anymore.
It was space.
A vast field — endless, colorless, empty — stretching in every direction. Quiet. Slow. Each mind appeared as a small flickering point, glowing in dim pulses. Lines of connection wove out from him, anchoring each one.
And next to every point hovered orbs.
Softly spinning.
Some small. Some brighter than others. Some faint. All different.
He moved closer — not with feet, but with thought — toward Sattu's point. The boy's glow flickered quick and bright, restless even here.
Three orbs floated nearby.
Elementary Adaptability
Elementary Stamina
Beginner Newspaper Handling
The names weren't spoken. They just were. He understood them instantly. As if the knowledge had been whispered into his bones.
He moved to Ammaji's thread next.
Intermediate Cooking
Intermediate Cleaning
Beginner Stitching
Decades of daily routine, unbroken. Her skills radiated calm, steady energy. Her orbs spun more slowly. But heavier somehow.
Then Ramu's.
Beginner Leadership
Elementary Negotiation
Beginner Alcohol Tolerance
Vikram almost laughed.
He reached for one orb — Intermediate Cooking — and touched it.
The moment he did, it responded.
It pulsed once.
A quiet echo passed through the space — from her orb to him.
He felt a sudden shift in his body. His breath slowed. His chest felt heavier. His hands twitched — and without seeing it, he knew how to cut onions in half the time. How to flavor dal without a recipe. How to stretch ingredients to feed five instead of three.
Not memory. Skill.
Muscle. Precision. Instinct.
He reached deeper — and copied it.
The orb split silently. One floated to his thread and settled in.
Intermediate Cooking.
He opened his eyes.
His stomach growled, and he laughed under his breath.
Later that night, he tested the paste function.
He sat near Sattu's sleeping body, placed a hand on his wrist, and focused on the orb — Beginner Newspaper Handling — and added Elementary Cleaning, pulled from Ammaji.
The orb drifted.
Sank into the boy's thread.
Done.
The next morning, Sattu swept the press corridor in half the time and muttered, "Why did I never think of folding the cloth this way?"
Vikram said nothing.
It worked.
He leaned against the wall, watching. Inside, he already sensed seventeen orbs tied to him. His mind felt clearer than it ever had.
But that night — he hit a wall.
He tried to enter a new mind. A man at the end of the street. Name was Ashraf. But when Vikram touched him — three seconds exactly — and reached inside later, something resisted.
The thread was cloudy.
The orb space behind it shimmered with noise.
No skill names. No thoughts. No connection.
Nothing.
He pulled back.
Next night, he tried again. This time it was connected.
The thread had taken root, and the he was able to access memories and skills.
This wasn't just power.
This was infrastructure.
A system.
And he had the only key.
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