🇮🇳 India – Early Morning
The television buzzed with breaking news. A Thai anchor spoke rapidly, her voice climbing in panic over footage of smoke and rubble.
Another impact. Not far from the Indian border.
Manish Sharma sat frozen on the couch, eyes locked on the screen. His wife stood behind him, clutching his shoulder.
"Ravi said he'd be back from Thailand yesterday," she whispered. "But no call. It's been nearly three days since the first meteor. And now… more are falling. It's getting worse."
"Look at this," Manish said, pointing.
Her face paled as she leaned closer.
"They said it was only small ones before," she murmured. "Now they're hitting cities."
The footage shifted—crumbling roads, emergency workers dragging bodies from wreckage. Fires. Sirens. Screams.
"Why isn't this on our news?" Manish muttered. "It's all cricket, elections, and politicians shouting. This is next door!"
She stayed silent, worry mounting. Manish squinted at the blurry Thai subtitles. His eyes failed him. Frustrated, he curled his fingers into a fist.
"News is just drama and TRPs now," he groaned. "I swear, memes have more facts."
He adjusted his glasses. The subtitles sharpened.
> These meteors are unlike any previously recorded. Their composition does not match known celestial material. Current science has no explanation.
The broadcast continued. Scientists spoke with unsettling excitement—claiming these meteors might open "new doors" for humanity.
Manish read aloud, voice low:
> "Our forefathers always warned: when humans believe they've mastered knowledge, they go blind. At such times… what we need most is humility."
He exhaled sharply.
"And right now, all I want is to hear my son's voice."
He checked his phone—still no signal.
"Still nothing. Just dead air…"
His wife turned away, blinking back tears, and quietly fetched his glasses.
"He said he was heading to the station," she whispered. "Maybe it's just a signal issue."
Even as a father reached for a signal…
the sky above was no longer quiet.
Across oceans and borders, something ancient stirred—
and in Thailand, his son already stood in the heart of the storm.
---
🇹🇠Thailand – Airport
The airport was overwhelmed. Departure boards blinked red—every flight suspended. Meteor strikes had damaged airspace corridors, and rumors spread of debris near Kolkata and Delhi.
Ravi stared at the screen, jaw clenched.
"No flights. Not even emergency ones."
Nicha scanned the terminal.
"They're not even announcing delays anymore. Just cancellations."
Arjun checked his phone.
"No buses. No flights. We're boxed in."
Ravi turned to Nicha.
"You're not staying here. Your family's back home, right?"
She hesitated.
"Ravi, I—"
"Not an option," he said firmly. "We're not splitting up—not now."
Nicha looked around the chaos, then back at him.
"Alright. I'll come. But how? If flights are grounded—"
"We'll take a train."
Arjun frowned.
"To where? There's no direct rail into India. Never was."
"I know," Ravi said. "But maybe through Laos... or even Vietnam. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere still open. If we keep moving, we'll find a way."
Nicha bit her lip.
"Then… what about a ship?"
Both Ravi and Arjun turned to her and replied in unison, deadpan:
"Three cargo ships already tried."
"All failed."
The silence that followed said more than panic ever could.
Ravi shook his head.
"We move inland. Stay off the coast. The farther we get from airspace and ports, the better our odds."
They grabbed their bags and pushed through the crowd—toward the station, toward uncertainty, toward whatever came next.
---
🚉 Train Station
The station felt like a sinking ship.
Metal groaned. Voices clashed.
People shoved and shouted, desperate to flee a place that no longer felt safe.
Ravi stood near a pillar, Nicha and Arjun close beside him.
Manish was already dialing.
The phone rang once—then cut off.
Again—nothing.
A third time—no tone. Just silence.
On the fourth try… it connected.
"Dad?"
"Ravi!" His father's voice cracked through static. "Are you safe? Are you still at the station?"
"Yeah, but it's crazy. No trains. No announcements. People are freaking out."
"We just saw the news. Another meteor hit near the India border. Ravi, you need to get out of there. Now."
"We're trying. The whole place is jammed. We can't even get to the airport—"
The signal cut out. Static. Silence.
Ravi lowered the phone slowly.
Nicha touched his shoulder.
"Did he hear you?"
"I think so."
Ravi's mother now stood beside his father, tears finally falling. His father wrapped an arm around her.
"Why are you crying?" he asked gently. "Our child isn't dead. We don't know what's going on. It's not time to panic. We'll figure it out."
Then another phone buzzed—Arjun's. He froze.
Ravi turned. Nicha looked at him.
"Pick it up."
Arjun sighed, then answered.
"Dad?"
"I told you not to go there, Arjun!" his father shouted. "Meteors hitting buildings, kids running through train stations like it's the apocalypse! What did I say before you left?"
"Dad, listen—"
"I am listening! You think I don't remember what it's like to be young? We chased girls across cities too—but we used common sense!"
Nicha blinked. Ravi coughed into his fist, trying not to laugh.
"You think just because you're taller than me, you know better?"
"Dad, seriously—"
"You wanted to impress someone? Great. You've impressed me—with how far your common sense fell out of your luggage."
"Okay. Wow."
"The beach called to your soul? Mango smoothies too good to resist?"
"I'm not doing this right now."
"Fine. Don't explain. Just come home. You're my son. That's all that matters."
"I hear you."
The call ended.
Arjun let out a slow breath and slid the phone into his pocket.
Nicha nudged him.
"He really said 'ride a dolphin?'"
Ravi grinned.
"I think he's panicking the same way mine is. Just with more insults."
"He does that," Arjun muttered. "Short guy rage."
They all laughed. Just for a moment—it felt normal again.
But then the crowd fell still.
People looked up. Someone pointed. One person screamed.
"What now?" Arjun muttered.
"Ravi… look," Nicha said.
---
🛸 The Sky
High above, something tore through the clouds—a glowing figure, trailing violet and gold like fire.
It wasn't falling. It was moving. Like it had a target.
Then—
A massive, glowing palm—so large it looked like a god's hand—ripped through the sky and struck the figure mid-air.
A radiant palm strike. Golden light.
The figure tumbled, spinning, smoke trailing behind him.
"Was that… a hand?"
"I swear I saw fingers—what the hell was that?"
"A… divine slap?" Arjun muttered.
The figure crashed into the station.
Impact.
Stone shattered. Dust and heat swept through the crowd.
Silence.
The figure lay ahead—robes scorched, skin glowing with faint golden runes, blood on his lips.
Ravi stepped forward, as if pulled by something ancient.
"Ravi!" Arjun grabbed his arm. "Are you out of your mind?!"
But Ravi didn't stop.
The fallen man looked up—pain in his eyes, but no fear. Only purpose.
From his sleeve, he drew a fractured jade cube—softly glowing—and placed it in Ravi's hands.
The moment Ravi touched it, a golden symbol flared across his forehead—ancient, circular, pulsing like a forgotten star.
"Wait—your head—there's—"
The cultivator raised two fingers.
A pulse of wind silenced Arjun. The world held its breath.
"Say nothing," the man said, voice low and absolute. "Not here. Not yet."
---
"What was that hand? Who hit you?" Ravi asked.
The cultivator's eyes sharpened. But instead of answering, he coughed—blood trailing down his chin.
Then he pressed his palm against Ravi's chest.
The cube dissolved—unraveling into glowing strands of jade light.
Each thread wound into Ravi's body like silk sewing itself into his soul.
He gasped.
A deep warmth surged through him—not painful, but ancient. Heavy. Alive.
For a heartbeat, he heard it.
A low, distant humming. Like memory trapped in stone.
The cultivator's breathing weakened.
"It's done," he murmured. "The artifact's core… it's sealed within you now."
Nicha stepped forward, eyes wide.
"But… why him? Why seal it in Ravi?" Nicha asked.
The cultivator's gaze rested on her for a moment before shifting back to Ravi.
"Because if they catch me, they'll take it," he said. "If they catch you..." — his eyes hardened — "...they'll be too late."
Ravi clenched his fists.
"But I don't even know what this is."
"You don't need to. Not yet."
The cultivator raised his hand again—not to strike, but to reach for them. One by one, he touched Ravi, Nicha, and Arjun. His fingers glowed faintly.
Their bodies buzzed—cold at first, then light, like fog being lifted from their skin.
"I've masked your spiritual signatures," he said. "Your qi. Your aura. Hidden now. No sect detection art can find you… for a while."
Arjun blinked.
"Then why not mask yourself too?"
The cultivator gave a tired smile—equal parts regret and resolve.
"I can't. He knows me too well. My breath. My sword rhythm. I was once… one of them."
He turned back to Ravi, voice growing faint.
"You carry burden, not power. Not yet. But the cube will call… to its scattered pieces. And when it does, others will come. Some to help. Many to hunt."
He exhaled slowly.
Then, raising his hand, he traced six glowing symbols in the air. They hovered—glyphs of ancient gold—before dropping like coins into the cracked stone beneath them.
The ground pulsed.
A teleportation array bloomed beneath their feet—concentric rings, spinning in opposite directions, rising like domes of light.
"What is this?" Nicha whispered, stepping back.
"A way out," the cultivator said.
"But not forever.
The seal I placed… it will fade when the moons turn red.
Only then will the cube begin to awaken."
The array pulsed—light rising, runes lifting from the stone. Wind whipped around them. The hum grew louder.
Ravi squinted through the glow, his voice nearly lost in the storm.
"...At least tell me your name."
The cultivator looked at him one last time.
A faint smile. A quiet breath.
"Samarjeet."
His voice hung in the air—
and then, faint but clear, the sound echoed around them:
"Samarjeet... Samarjeet..."
The echoes faded, but something about them lingered—strange, heavy, remembered.
He lifted his hand one last time.
"Go."
A flash.
A hum.
The array exploded in golden light—
And they were gone.
The station trembled. Dust fell like rain.
The cultivator staggered forward—alone now.
From the sky, the second man descended.
No longer watching.
No longer patient.
"You betrayed your sect," the man said.
His voice echoed like thunder across a canyon.
"Give it back."
The cultivator stood tall. Blood at his lips.
But his hand was steady on his sword hilt.
"I didn't betray it," he said quietly.
"I protected what it forgot."
With one final breath, he drew his blade—
—and launched skyward into the storm.
Below, the cracked stone still glowed with the remnants of the teleportation array.
Above, steel clashed with lightning.
Samarjeet's blade met the other's—
gold light against crimson fire.
Each strike sent ripples through the sky, shaking the very air.
"You're still running?" the other cultivator growled, stepping through smoke.
"You think hiding the artifact will stop what's coming?"
Samarjeet didn't answer at first.
Blood stained his robes, but his stance remained steady.
His fingers moved—quick, precise—and a glowing talisman appeared in his palm.
The runes pulsed.
> "I'm not trying to change anything," he said.
"Just buying them a few breaths more."
The other cultivator's eyes narrowed.
"A broken spatial array? You'll destroy us both."
> "So be it."
The second teleportation array surged—jagged, chaotic.
> "Even if it costs me everything."
With a final flash of light, both vanished—
sent spiraling into a distant desert, far from pursuit…
for now.
---
Elsewhere—
The light faded.
Ravi hit the ground, coughing.
The air was thin—strange. Every breath burned like cold fire.
Around him, Arjun and Nicha staggered to their feet, disoriented.
Above them, a violet sky.
Around them, towering trees pulsed with faint energy.
The world was quiet—too quiet.
No cities. No signals. No answers.
Only a heavy, humming stillness in the air…
and something else.
---