The stolen rebel craft tore through the clouded air like a wounded hawk. Its hull rattled from residual impact damage, and smoke still bled from its rear engine vents. Below, the charred ruins of Samaypur shrank into distant ash. Ahead, the dark underbelly of Mayapuri loomed like a city suspended by strings — beautiful and heartless.
Inside the carrier, silence took root. Twelve survivors. That's all that made it out from a strike team of over thirty. Twelve. The crates of Noctirum sat latched and glowing — precious, volatile, and now paid for in blood.
Shivam sat alone at the edge of the bay door, back slumped against the wall, arms resting limp over his knees. His body, bruised and gashed, was a map of the chaos left behind. The orange-gold glow that had once stormed around him was now little more than flickering sparks. His breath came shallow. No one said a word to him. Not yet.
Naina's knuckles were white as she held a cloth to Dikshant's leg. He lay beside her, still unconscious but breathing. Aman paced near the med bench, a storm building behind his furrowed brow. Aanchal leaned against a strut beam, her side stitched hastily with med gel, eyes burning holes into the floor. Tension rolled in waves — not anger at the world, but at each other.
Robin Rayudu flew in silence. Even he knew better than to speak right now.
"You should've waited." Aman's voice broke first — sharp, low, and dangerous. He turned to Shivam, not hiding the fury in his expression. "You should've waited for us. For a plan. For anything."
Shivam couldn't respond. "You ran in," Aman continued, stepping forward. "You flew in like a damn superhero, and now Adhivita's is captured by that monster and maybe even killed."
"Aman—" Naina started. "No. Let him hear it." Aman's voice cracked. "We're not gods, Shivam. We're not unkillable. You think just because you can punch through tanks, that makes you, our leader?"
Shivam raised his head. "I thought I could stop Lavin," he said quietly. "You thought," Aman snapped, "and almost 30 people died. Thirty." Aanchal pushed off the wall, wincing from the pain. "Enough." "No, it's not enough," Aman growled. "He needs to hear this. He nearly got us all killed."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Shivam's voice came low, hollow, but trembling. "I saw her fall. I saw people die. I felt it. All of it."
The ship trembled slightly — not from turbulence, but from the slight flare in Shivam's aura as emotion leaked through. Robin's hands tightened on the controls. "I didn't ask for this," Shivam muttered. "I didn't want any of this. I'm just trying to survive."
"And the rest of us aren't?" Naina's voice had turned sharp now too. "We were trying to survive. You made a call that none of us agreed to." Silence. Commander Vidhart, slumped in a rigged-up med harness, groaned as he sat straighter.
"You all think he made a mistake," he rasped, "but you're wrong." Everyone turned.
Vidhart's one good eye locked onto Aman. "You're angry because you lived. You're angry because it wasn't perfect. But the truth is, if he hadn't gone in, I'd be dead. So would the rest of you. We would've lost the ore. And then we would've lost the war before it began." "He acted recklessly," Aanchal said, quieter now.
"Yes," Vidhart agreed. "But not without purpose." Naina sat back, biting her tongue. Aman turned away; jaw clenched. Robin finally spoke from the front. "We've got a hideout. South Mayapuri. It's under the casino district, old Dominion sewage tunnels repurposed into a rebel listening post. Nobody knows about it but me and Anchal Rathod's squad. We'll lay low there. But if you plan to keep bickering, you'll get each other killed before Dominion ever finds you."
The tension settled, heavy and unspoken. Agastya, having tended to Dikshant's leg, stood and turned to Shivam. "We'll talk later," he said. "About your powers. And theirs."
Shivam looked up, confused. Agastya nodded toward the others. "They may have the spark. But they'll need your help to find it. Just like you needed hers." That cut deeper than expected. Shivam nodded, slowly.
Behind them, the lights of Mayapuri shimmered through the clouds — a false paradise waiting to swallow them whole. The ship dipped beneath the cloud line, approaching the glittering leviathan that was Mayapuri. To the untrained eye, the floating city looked like paradise — polished skybridges, floating lounges, neon waterfalls spilling from rooftop clubs. Luxury pulsed through the veins of the skyline like synthetic blood. But beneath the glamour, darkness brewed. And under that, far below the casinos and fashion towers, the city rotted.
Robin Rayudu guided the ship around a circular hover pad camouflaged by broken scaffolding. The landing zone was built into the lowest tier of Mayapuri — a place not even the nobles bothered to scan anymore.
"We're going in quiet," Robin muttered. "This place doesn't exist on Dominion logs. Let's keep it that way."
The ramp lowered, and the group stepped into a corridor of forgotten engineering. The walls were lined with decayed Dominion pipes, cracked neon panels, and rusting security doors. Faint lights flickered above, barely illuminating the path.
"Stay close," Robin Rayudu said, stepping down the ramp first.
The team followed, weary but alert. The air down here smelled of metal and stale coolant, mixed with old ash. Their boots clicked against ferro steel walkways, illuminated only by flickering side-lamps powered by hacked solar lines.
A faded Dominion sigil loomed over a rusted gate:
SECTOR 0 – DELTA.
A voice rang out. "Hold position!" Two rifles snapped up from behind a stack of derelict crates. Shadows shifted — and then three figures emerged. The first stepped forward — tall, clad in tactical matte-black gear, her cropped hair tucked under a dark hood. Her rifle didn't shake. Her presence could melt stone.
Robin raised a hand. "Easy. It's us. We made it." "Barely," the woman replied. Then Shivam's eyes widened. "...Rathod?" The rifle lowered. "Shivam?" Her voice cracked, just slightly. "By the gods. It's really you."
Before another word, she moved. In seconds, she crossed the gap and pulled him into a rough, sudden hug — not gentle, not polite. The kind of hug that comes after months of fearing someone dead. "You idiot," she muttered, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "You're hurt." Shivam let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "You've barely changed."
"That's insulting," she said, pulling back. Her eyes scanned the rest. "Naina. Aman. Dikshant—" Naina didn't hesitate. She stepped in and wrapped Rathod in a tighter hug. Aman followed with a nod, and even Dikshant, limping badly, managed a wry grin. "Told you we'd make it out."
From the crates behind, Mansi emerged next — thinner than before, her face pale but eyes sharp as ever. "Took you long enough." "Still alive, huh?" Aman said, his grin softening.
She flicked him on the forehead. "Barely. Don't screw it up for us now." Suchitra came next — silent, steady, her smile small but honest. She clasped Naina's hand briefly, then moved to help Dikshant toward the hangar gate.
Robin stood aside, letting it all happen. "These are the kids I told you about," he said quietly to Anchal Rathod. "And I think they're about to become more than kids."
The reunion wasn't long — but it was real. Grounding. Healing. For the first time in weeks, they weren't just ghosts running through someone else's war. They were together. Rathod finally turned. "Let's move. This place isn't safe for long."
They were led through a winding network of maintenance tunnels and back-channels, once used by engineers long gone. Graffiti from older resistance movements lined the walls — messages written in blood and fire and hope.
Finally, the tunnel opened into a hidden rebel base — old Dominion metal, repurposed tech, patched solar grids, and a central hub where flickering holograms showed the world above: troop patrols, extraction routes, the pulse of enemy movement.
This was Mayapuri's underbelly. And it was alive.
Dikshant was helped onto a medical cot. Naina leaned against a beam; arms folded. Aanchal (Since one is Anchal Rathod and one's Aanchal we'll call one as Rathod and other one as just Aanchal) moved to a quiet corner, alone with her thoughts. Aman sat on a storage crate, shirt off, as a rebel medic wrapped a bandage tight around his shoulder. He winced but didn't speak. Shivam sat against the wall, unsure of what to say. He had locked himself in. He hadn't spoken since they came down here. He hadn't needed to.
Inside that room, Shivam sat with his back to the wall, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His body bore no scars anymore — Noctirum had healed every gash, every fracture. Not a scratch remained on his skin. But his mind wasn't so lucky.
Over and over, he saw Adhivita's eyes as she was dragged away. The shimmer of her whip as it collapsed from her grasp. Her whispered words: Live. Come back for me. He had failed her. Failed all of them.
A soft knock. The door creaked open. Agastya entered, calm as always. He didn't ask how Shivam was — he knew. He just sat beside him.
"We got the ore," Agastya said quietly. "The mission wasn't a failure." "I left her," Shivam muttered. "You didn't leave her. You survived. And you'll need that strength again — soon." Shivam looked up; eyes rimmed red but fierce. "What do you mean?" The older man turned, holding a glowing shard of raw Noctirum between gloved fingers.
"You're not just a warrior anymore. You're a beacon. That ore we recovered — it reacts to you. Bonds with you. You may be able to help the others… unlock their own gifts. Just like Adhivita helped you." Shivam frowned. "I don't even know how I did it."
"You will. It will take focus. Meditation. Control. But it can be done." Outside the room, the group had gathered again — bruised, bandaged, but alive. Listening.
"You all came here by something beyond time, beyond design," Agastya continued, his tone low. "You're anomalies. Maybe even… gifts. You're not just part of this war anymore. You may become its fulcrum." Aman exchanged glances with Naina. Dikshant leaned forward, despite the pain. Even Aanchal and Rathod stepped closer.
"We'll train," Shivam finally said, rising to his feet. "We'll get stronger. And then we go back for her."
In the sky of Dawn, the Dominion transport craft sliced across the sky like a dagger through silk. Sleek, metallic, and deathly quiet, it bore the mark of royalty — Lavin's personal squadron. Inside, shadows were longer. The air colder. Every step echoed with precision.
Sumit and Pawan stood near the lower deck, clad once more in their Dominion uniforms. Their helmets hung by their sides, faces unreadable. No one had questioned them. Their cover held. Across from them, behind a translucent psionic barrier, Adhivita sat bound in a containment field — her arms locked in neutral position, her aura sealed by suppression cuffs. She stared at the floor, jaw set.
Lavin sat on a curved throne-like seat just above the chamber, one boot propped casually on the railing. "You're quiet, sister," he said, twirling a psionic dagger in one hand. "Usually, you have something poetic to say. About your actions. Hope. All that myth."
Adhivita looked up slowly, eyes like steel. "Your myths are crumbling." Lavin chuckled. "Perhaps. But you'll crumble faster." He stood and walked to the edge of the containment field, his eyes glowing dimly in the low light.
"Did he cry?" he asked, voice soft but vicious. "When I took you? Your golden boy?" She didn't answer. That seemed to satisfy him more.
"You know, Father will be delighted," Lavin mused, stepping back toward the command console. "You in chains. Me in triumph. I might even get your title." Sumit flinched — just slightly. Pawan caught it, elbowed him gently. "Hold it together," Pawan whispered under his breath.
The command crew continued to work, oblivious to the two rebel moles among them. On Sumit's wrist, hidden beneath the cuff, a small encoded transmitter blinked twice. Dominion Capital: enroute. He only hoped Robin had received it.
Above them, the clouds parted. The spires of Veydra — capital of the Dominion — rose like daggers from the earth. Massive towers, some floating on levitation engines, cast long shadows on the land below. Neon veins pulsed across the city's massive highways. Drone patrols buzzed like swarms of hornets.
The heart of the enemy. And the girl who meant more than a mission was being dragged into its core.
A new day simmered under Mayapuri's neon sky, but in the tunnels beneath the floating city, the rebel bunker stirred with sleepless tension.
Commander Vidhart stood with arms folded in front of a makeshift map-table. Around him, the others gathered — still bruised, still healing. Shivam leaned against the wall; arms crossed. His face was quiet — too quiet.
Robin Rayudu entered, his long coat still coated in ash and gunpowder from the escape. "We need to talk," Robin said. His tone was weightier than usual. Vidhart turned.
Robin tossed a device onto the table — a projection spark ignited. It showed an image: Shivam, in the middle of Samaypur's battlefield, his aura glowing gold, his fists smashing through Dominion armor.
"Everyone saw that," Robin said. "It's on a hundred whispers already." "They think he's a myth," Robin said, arms folded. "A god. Or a weapon." "They're not wrong," Vidhart muttered. Robin turned to the commander. "There's something else. Something we didn't tell you. These kids... they may not be from here. From this time."
The room froze. "What?" Vidhart asked, stepping forward.
"It's a theory," Agastya cut in. "But the Noctirum reacted to them in ways we've never recorded. Not even royal bloodlines sync like that. Their arrival, the anomalies in the mines, their aura patterns — everything suggests they're not part of this world's normal design."
"The people need legends now," Vidhart said. "Hope forged from flame. The Dominion has gods made of power and propaganda. We'll give them ours — messengers from beyond. Prophets of a coming dawn."
"Yes, we could use that", Robin Replied and ordering his guys to create rumors of some legends or heroes that have arrived to help the downtrodden and victims of dominion and their tortures and to end the reign of terror of the Dominion commander as well as his corrupt nobles.
Meanwhile, in the medical quarters...
Shivam stepped through the sliding door with slow steps, his body no longer aching — not like the others. The Noctirum healed him quickly. Too quickly. He didn't even have a bruise to show. But the weight inside his chest? That hadn't healed at all.
Dikshant sat upright on a cot, his thigh wrapped in fresh bandages. Aman was still shirtless, bruises blooming down his ribs. Naina leaned against the wall, arm in a sling, staring at the ground. Aanchal stood near the door — eyes sharp, but quiet.
They looked up as Shivam entered. No one spoke.
He tried first. "I—"
"Why'd you run off?" Aman snapped. "Why didn't you stick to the plan?" "I had to—"
"You had to what? Play hero?" Naina's voice cracked. "You think that was worth it? Adhivita's gone, Dikshant's your own brother's bleeding, we barely made it out—"
"I know," Shivam said, louder this time. Silence again. He looked at each of them. "You think I haven't been replaying it in my head? I saw her dragged away. I was there. I was the one who couldn't stop it."
Dikshant's voice was softer. "We know you tried. But we're not some heroes, brother." "I don't want to be a hero either," he said. "I want us to win." Aanchal finally spoke. "Then stop acting like you're alone in this." Shivam's hands tightened into fists. His aura flared, just for a moment — orange light beneath his skin.
"I just... I thought maybe if I did something — anything — we'd come out better." "We did come out," Aman said, voice cooling. "Barely."
Naina stepped closer, her glare softening. "Next time, no solo charges. You talk to us."
He nodded. "Next time, we fight together." They stood there, a circle of bruised resolve. In the corner, the light from the sealed crates of Noctirum shimmered — quiet, waiting. A new chapter was coming. And so were the legends.