Rain fell like molten steel, slicing through smoke that clung to Bhūtala's broken skyline.
Abhi ran.
Every step tore at his lungs. The sewer tunnels twisted before him, rusted ladders swaying, dim lights flickering like warning eyes. His boots splashed water and blood into a streak that seemed to follow him like a shadow. Behind him, voices—hard, metallic, unrelenting. Outfit X.
"Sector C clear."
"Visual on the boy—terminate if necessary."
The echoes slithered along concrete walls, each one a reminder of what he had already lost.
His hand brushed the pendant at his neck. Cracked teardrop gem. Warm. A pulse in his palm, like a heartbeat that refused to stop. His mother's words whispered: a promise older than words.
Abhi turned sharply, narrowly avoiding a puddle that smelled of rust and decay. Pain lanced his ribs. Breath jagged. Every sense screamed for him to stop. But he couldn't. Not yet.
Earlier That Night
The lights flickered once. A fragile calm. Then the house erupted.
Paper lanterns burned orange against walls heavy with the scent of cardamom and wet earth. Mira laughed, eleven years old, chasing the glow. Their mother's cake sat steaming on the table, flour and hope in equal measure.
"Make a wish," she said.
"You too," Mira teased. "You always want the world to stop fighting."
The clicks began—metallic, measured, too many.
The red sigil of Outfit X glowed faintly outside the door.
The front door exploded inward. Smoke, light, chaos. Shouts cut into screams.
Abhi's father tried to shield them. One gunshot. A scream. His mother lunged. Another shot. Heat, fire, and the scent of burned hair filled everything.
"Abhi!"
Mira shrieked from the corner, clutching her ragged doll.
He saw her go. And then his mother. And then the floor soaked with the dark, hot stain of blood.
He didn't think. Knife in hand, he tried to fight. They laughed as they struck him down. His skull hit the floor. He crawled, barely conscious, clutching the pendant. Boot on his hand. The last thing he saw before darkness: fire climbing the curtains, devouring all he loved.
Back in the tunnels, Abhi pressed himself against a wall, trembling, chest tight, lungs on fire. Sweat, rain, blood—the smell of everything lost clinging to him.
Memories clawed in between ragged breaths.
Mother's laughter.
Mira's small hand in his.
Father's warm smile.
And then flashes—brief, impossible.
A woman holding a child wrapped in fire.
A boy with ash in his hair.
A pale-eyed stranger.
A man standing calm before flames.
The pendant pulsed. One beat. Two. Three.
"Not the end, child of the wheel. The first turn."
Then—boots. Scraping metal. Outfit X.
"Area D sweep complete. No movement."
He pressed closer to the wall. The tunnel felt alive around him. Whisper:
"Run south… under the iron bridge. Follow the current."
He obeyed, sharp turns, slippery walls. Foot caught on debris—brushed aside to reveal the pendant again. Sun etched into it. How had it returned to him?
Air shimmered. A glimpse—golden light, a tower of fire, a child crying. Gone.
He reached a drainage chamber. Water roared into a pit. Broken ladder clung to the wall. He climbed halfway, stopped, breath ragged.
"You are not supposed to die here."
A whisper, almost kind.
"Who are you?"
Silence.
"There! I see him!"
Bullets sparked against metal. Ladder snapped. He fell.
In the Dark
Not stone. Not water. Light swallowed him. Holding, not drowning.
Flashes again: Aryan, pale-eyed Ahan, man with burning blades. Collapsing waves of destiny into his skull.
Pendant pulsed faintly.
"It begins again."
He gasped, eyes fluttering. Dry cavern now. Pendant in hand, faint glow. Silence.
Above, Sector 9 lay in ruins. Outfit X sifted through ash and debris.
One kicked a photograph from the rubble—boy smiling between mother and sister.
"Target eliminated. No survivors."
Deep beneath, Abhi lay unconscious, battered, pendant glowing faintly. Whispers drifted in the quiet:
"This is only the beginning."
Then—brief glimpse, flicker of present timeline: Aryan's pale eyes. Abhi's lips moved, trying to call the name. And finally, he closed his eyes.