In a towering office, a man in his mid-thirties worked through stacks of paperwork with meticulous focus. The low hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room — until a soft chime rang.
He turned toward a closed cabinet, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Placing his hand on the panel, he triggered a biometric scan. The cabinet slid open with a whisper, revealing a relic of another age: an old-fashioned phone resting on a velvet cushion. He picked it up.
"What is it," he asked sharply, "that you had to use this to contact me?"
A pause. Then a cold, sharp voice replied: "What?"
The man said nothing, listening only to the static hum before the line clicked dead. Slowly, he placed the phone back in its compartment, his face unreadable.
"Samarth!"
The office door opened, and a man in a black suit entered, his professionalism barely masking a flicker of concern. "Yes, sir?"
"Prepare the car. We have somewhere to go." His voice carried an urgency Samarth rarely heard.
"But, sir… the work?" Samarth gestured toward the mountain of documents still littering the desk.
"I'll finish it later."
"Yes, sir." A hint of excitement sparked in Samarth's eyes as he hurried out.
Left alone, the man gazed out at the sprawling cityscape through the tall glass window. Neon lights flickered against the horizon, cold and endless. "Now that he is awake," he murmured, "no one can predict how this will unfold. Let's hope he doesn't make things difficult for the family." He turned, and with decisive steps, followed after Samarth.
---
In the green domain, the robed figure stood frozen. His earlier arrogance had evaporated, replaced by dread. The towering being above them radiated such authority that the very air seemed to vibrate with submission.
"I THINK I HAVE BEEN TOO LAX WITH YOU, FOR YOU TO QUESTION MY DECISION," the colossal figure thundered, his voice shaking the void itself.
"No… no, Your Majesty," the robed man stammered, trembling like a leaf.
"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT."
"Yes… y-yes, Your Majesty." His body dissolved into the green haze, vanishing as though he had never been.
The chains that bound the man snapped away, evaporating like mist. He lifted his head, a dozen questions ready to spill — but the figure's booming voice cut across him, slightly gentler now.
"YOU ARE LATE. OTHERS' ENVOYS HAVE ALREADY BEEN CHOSEN. YOU ARE FORTUNATE TO HAVE A FAMILY TO RELY ON. I WISH YOU LUCK IN YOUR JOURNEY."
The figure began to fade, his form blurring into the shifting haze.
"Wait!" the man shouted. "Who are you? What do you mean by that?"
Only a whisper remained, carried on the fading wind.
"YOU WILL KNOW… EVENTUALLY."
---
And then it was gone.
The green domain dissolved, replaced by the sterile hum of machines and the white glow of the lab. The robed man, the chains, the towering Majesty — all vanished.
A silence fell. Only a handful of researchers lingered, their wide eyes locked on him. Naked, he suddenly felt exposed, his triumph twisted into a sharp stab of shame. A young researcher, her face flushed, stepped forward hesitantly and offered him a coat.
He took it and pulled it over his shoulders, the fabric scratching faintly against his skin.
The lab doors slid open. Dr. Vikram Rao entered with brisk steps, his face caught between relief and urgency.
"Back to work," he barked to the staff, his voice hard. "And keep your mouths shut."
Turning to the man, he gave a subtle nod and gestured toward a hallway. "Sir. This way."
He led him to a chamber unlike the sterile white labs — a warm, lived-in space with paintings on the walls and furniture arranged with care. A place that felt almost… human.
Dr. Vikram gestured toward a broad sofa. His voice dropped to a quiet, reverent murmur.
"Welcome back, sir."
The young man sat back on the sofa, his sharp gaze fixed on the old researcher.
"You seem to know about me."
"Of course, sir," Vikram replied, his voice a low hum of weary deference. "I have been in charge of this facility for nearly four decades. Only two other people know the truth of your existence here. I've already informed the family head—he should be on his way."
The man gave a short nod. "Okay. Get me some water."
"Yes, sir." Vikram retrieved a chilled bottle and handed it over with both hands, a quiet gesture of respect. As the man drank deeply, Vikram's tone shifted back to clinical precision.
"Your body is in optimum condition, but it wouldn't hurt to run final tests—just to be sure. We have doctors and healers on standby who will take good care of you."
"Hm. Fine."
""Please, come this way." Vikram gestured toward the corridor. As they walked, he added, "I am Dr. Vikram Rao, Grade 6 from Medical and Research division."
The man's brow furrowed briefly, the number registering silently in his mind. Grade 6… He said nothing, but his gaze flicked to the faint emblem etched on the wall—A fierce black dragon coiled in a circle, clutching a crowned crest , gleaming subtly under the soft lights.
The man gave a quiet grunt, but said nothing more.
They entered a spacious chamber, sleek and high-tech.
Two women sat at their consoles, reviewing data. When they turned and saw Vikram's companion, they froze—shock widening their eyes. For years, they had been told their patient might never open his eyes again. And yet here he stood.
"What tests are you going to conduct?" the man asked, his voice steady.
"It is the final Awakening Protocol," Vikram said. "After more than a hundred and fifty years, we must ensure every system—physical and neurological—is stable."
"One hundred and fifty…" The man repeated slowly, his grip tightening around the water bottle until the plastic groaned. His expression betrayed nothing, but his eyes hardened, shadowed by the weight of time lost. He gave a single, curt nod. "Go on."
Vikram gestured to the woman on his right. "Dr. Rhea Singhania. She will confirm that your body has fully adapted, with no cellular degradation."
Then he turned to the other. "Dr. Ishani Kapoor. She will oversee the psychological diagnostics."
Dr. Ishani stepped forward, her smile soft but professional. "One hundred and fifty years is a long time. Disassociation, memory gaps, even identity fractures—they're all part of the process. My role is to make sure you are still you."
Both women straightened, their professionalism hiding the flicker of awe in their eyes.
Vikram nodded once, his voice firm.
"Then let's begin."