The broken auditorium smelled of ozone and old garlands. Cracked plastic chairs lay overturned among burst streamers, as if a celebration had exploded mid-sentence.
"Farewell, Trinatha Reddy—Our Star Beyond the Stars!" the banner still read, though half of it was torn and fluttering.
At the center of it all stood Trinatha, 17, eyes locked on the portal beginning to hum with growing energy. The only one in his universe born with a rift stone—a rare, glowing crystal embedded in his chest since birth, marking him as the singular being who could enter the Multiversal Empire from that universe.
Near the edge of the hall, Lakshman, his taller, lean, broad-shouldered best friend, stood with arms crossed, clothes slightly torn and with minor cuts on his face and forearms. His ever-present smirk had faded into something sharper. Lakshman—usually the one cracking jokes in biology class—now looked like he was ready to punch anyone who came within a meter of Trinatha. His eyes kept flicking to the "intern"
The intern from the Empire's Special Moon Unit was an imposing figure—tall and well-built, his lean frame wrapped in matte black combat fabric woven with what looked like steel but obviously way tougher, lighter and stronger than any armour piece made or thought to be made in this universe. A futuristic mask concealed his face, sleek and unreadable with a small red stone in its centre, there was no slits for eyes or mouth or even the nose on the mask, and his long silver hair hung down past his shoulders, unbothered by the battle that had broken out only minutes ago. He stood silently, holding the shackled mercenary—a B-grade hitman who'd underestimated the Empire's reaction time.
Across the room, standing with the posture of a man who hated waiting, was a rotund man in a perfectly tailored suit, rings gleaming on each finger, lips pursed in visible annoyance. His eyes flicked from the portal to the intern, as if silently blaming him for the scene.
Beside him, a boy in a wheelchair slept quietly. His limbs lay still, motionless from the neck down. A medical visor was clipped onto his head, blinking faintly. The resemblance between the boy and the suited man was unmistakable—father and son. Two bodyguards in black Kevlar armor, their helmets faceless, stood flanking them like statues. They hadn't moved once since the battle ended.
Trinatha stood between these opposing forces—between home and something far beyond.
"You sure about this, son?" his father asked, stepping in, Colonel Amarnath reddy (retired) had the kind of presence that filled a room without a word. He wasn't tall—just a little under six feet—but years of service in the Indian Army had carved his frame into a shape that seemed built for endurance, not display. His once-black hair had given way to streaks of steel, cropped close in the habit of old discipline. His skin bore the sunburnt dusk of campaigns spent in deserts and mountains alike.
What people noticed first, however, wasn't his stature but his eyes: steady, dark, and unflinching, the sort that had seen too much but never complained. They gave away nothing, yet to his son they held the quiet reassurance that had guided every choice in his life.
Even in civilian clothes, he carried himself like a man in uniform—spine straight, steps measured. But Trinata knew the softer layers his father kept hidden from most: the dry humor, the rare half-smile, the way he ironed his own shirts even after retirement as though laxity was a contagion he refused to spread.
Trinatha gave a slow nod. "Father, isnt this why i worked hard all these years?"
Lakshman scoffed, stepping closer. "They better not touch a hair on your head. I swear, I'll find a way across the rift and—"
"I'll be fine," Trinatha interrupted, smiling faintly. "You're not allowed to declare war on the multiverse for me."
"I am gonna miss you, brother" Lakshman muttered, and threw a soft punch at his shoulder.
The portal surged, casting flickering shadows on everyone in the room.
The intern's masked voice echoed in a cool, filtered tone. "Stabilization complete. We move now."
Trinatha turned back one last time—to Lakshman's worried eyes, his father's unreadable face, the annoyed man in the suit, and the silent boy in the chair.
Then, without waiting for anyone else to speak, he stepped into the light.
Light. Pain. Expansion.
Trinatha's body folded and unfolded across dimensions like paper caught in wind. Then—gravity returned. Air rushed into his lungs. His knees hit smooth glass that rippled beneath him.
He was standing on a surface that didn't look like one. It was a reflection of a vast blue sky and with each steps ripple formed beneath the feet. Contradicting to this "ground" above them was a current of luminous galaxies flowing like a cosmic river. Massive towers, elegant and alien, rose up from the "ground," anchored to the impossible surface as if reality itself obeyed different rules here.
He tried to steady himself, heart pounding. The pulse of the rift stone under his skin answered back—warm and alive.
The intern stepped through the portal behind him, calm and silent. His silver hair caught the starlight like strands of moonlight, and his voice, when it came through the masked filter, was surprisingly gentle.
"Transfer complete. Welcome to the multiverse, Trinatha."
Another pulse of light—two more individuals stepped out of other portals. One, a red-veined girl, looked around cautiously. The other, a limping boy with metal limbs, stared upward in wonder. They didn't speak. Neither did Trinatha.
"You three are the only honoured ones accepted this cycle," the intern said. "Follow."
As they began walking, the glass beneath them lit with a ripple—guiding their path through the floating megastructure. Above them, ships moved like creatures, their hulls breathing, scanning, and lit.
Trinatha matched pace with the intern. "What happens now?"
"You'll be taken to induction," he replied. "Scanned, briefed, and logged. Then, twelve hours in a calibration chamber."
"Calibration?"
The intern nodded. "Your psychic affinity must be assessed and unlocked. You'll be unconscious for most of it—but it'll be pleasant. The Empire doesn't waste honoured ones. Especially those who show promise."
Trinatha gave a cautious glance. "how is it done?"
The intern's tone softened. "You'll see."
They reached a nexus of archways where automated gates began to recognize them, shifting open like blooming flowers.
"I've got another question," Trinatha said. "Can I ever go back?"
The intern paused at the threshold. "Yes. But you'll need merits."
"Merits?"
"You gain them through service. Missions. Research. Warfare. Healing. Achieve enough, and you can negotiate a sanctioned return. But don't hold your breath—it takes years, and many honoured ones don't choose to go back once they've seen what's out here."
Trinatha's eyes didn't waver. "maybe one day. But now my goal is set. I will be the greatest medic soldier to ever exist."
The intern turned toward him. Even with the mask, Trinatha could feel him smile beneath it. "Your father taught you well."
Trinatha's steps slowed. "How did you know—"
The intern gestured toward the chamber doors ahead. "Get some rest. In twelve hours, everything inside you changes."
The doors opened. Light, warmth, and a hum of peace welcomed Trinatha as he stepped into the chamber.
For the first time in years, he wasn't nervous. He was ready.
The door to the chamber hissed open with a quiet sigh, releasing Trinatha into the crisp, luminescent air of the hallway. His limbs felt lighter, his breath easier, and his thoughts… clearer. Like something inside him had been tuned, calibrated with the universe itself.
Waiting just beyond the threshold was the tall figure who had brought him here—the intern. Only now, his mask was off.
Trinatha froze.
The man standing before him had longer hair, sharper features, and a slightly taller, leaner frame—but there was no mistaking him.
"Lakshman?"
The older version of his best friend gave a faint smile. "Not the one you know. But yeah. Lakshman."
His voice was deeper, more grounded, but still carried the same tone of casual protectiveness.
Trinatha stared, his gaze dropping to the man's forearm—there, embedded just above the wrist, was his rift stone. It pulsed faintly, but the skin around it was… wrong. Discolored. Scarred. Like the stone did not belong there.
Trinatha's brow furrowed. "That doesn't look like—"
"It's where mine formed," Lakshman cut in, too quickly. Then, more softly, "Don't ask about it."
There was a flicker of something dark in his expression—something buried deep. Trinatha opened his mouth to press further, but stopped.
"…Okay," he said, quietly.
Lakshman's face eased, and he motioned for Trinatha to follow. "Come on. Let's go check your scan."
The Assessment Hall was less grand than Trinatha expected—sleek, minimal, with glowing panels and a single hovering ring that drifted toward him like a gentle predator.
"Step into the field," Lakshman instructed.
Trinatha did. The ring closed around him, hovering inches from his body. A faint hum followed. Then numbers. Symbols. Glyphs from languages Trinatha didn't know.
Lakshman stepped forward to read the floating data. His brow lifted.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
"What is it?" Trinatha asked, looking between the runes and Lakshman's face.
"Your base affinity is Vector," Lakshman said, then tilted his head. "C-class. But… it's glowing."
"Is that bad?"
"No," Lakshman said. "Just different. No one's class ever glows. It means something's off the standard scale." He pointed at a small glyph. "There's a prediction sublayer here—it's speculative, but... this suggests potential alignment with temporal distortion."
Trinatha blinked. "which means...?"
"many things" Lakshman nodded. "Vectors control force and matter. Anything has vector if you really think about it. This is just a very complicated one. No one's ever reached it, though. Not from a base vector affinity."
Trinatha tried to swallow the thought. "So… what now?"
Lakshman crossed his arms. "Now? Now we schedule you a visit."
"To who?"
"To the Emperor."
Trinatha paled. "Wait, what?! I just got here!"
Lakshman smirked. "Relax. He's not going to eat you. He might ask questions. Maybe poke your brain a little. But I think he's chill."
Trinatha looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "The Emperor. That sounds like the opposite of chill."
Lakshman laughed. "Trust me. You'll be fine. I'll be there. He doesn't usually meet new honoured ones unless there's something… rare."
"And I'm rare?"
Lakshman gave him a sideways glance. "Let's just say your assessment here is unexpected. Meeting's tomorrow morning. Get some rest."
Lakshman turned to leave the assessment hall, but then paused mid-step. His expression shifted—more thoughtful, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"You know," he said, looking back over his shoulder, "we've got about 2 to 3 hours until the city cycles into night-mode. How about I take you somewhere?"
Trinatha blinked. "Somewhere?"
Lakshman's grin widened. "The best place in this region. Trust me. We can relax, eat, and blow off all that dimensional rebirth trauma. And—" he leaned closer with a gleam in his eye, "—they have all the arcade games. Ever made. Ever will be made."
Trinatha's eyes widened. "What?"
"I'm serious," Lakshman said. "Games from Earth—past, present, and even ones that were only thought about but never released. Plus games from other universes too. Some of them will blow your mind—literally, so don't pick those unless you can reboot your brain somehow."
He started walking faster, clearly excited now. "They also serve snacks that'd make black holes drool—pan-dimensional hot pockets, tachyon fries, and something called 'quantum masala fritters.'" He paused, wiping his mouth quickly. "I mean—not that I drool over snacks or anything."
Trinatha raised an eyebrow, amused. "Sure you don't. And also aren't these names just have extra prefixes to them?"
They arrived at a floating tram that whisked them across a glowing starbridge. The buildings below looked like they were breathing in rhythm with the multiverse. Eventually, the skyline opened into a bustling urban zone, pulsing with neon from across timelines.
The Nexus Arcade District.
It was like every childhood dream layered into one place. Stalls offered gadgets and plushies from forgotten worlds. Holoscreens showed dancing pixelated mascots. There were kids, aliens, teens, mech-suited warriors—even a disembodied brain floating in a jar, all crowded around game hubs.
Lakshman and Trinatha raced through arenas and co-op games from thousands of years apart—one where they fought cyber-zombies as medieval knights, and another where Trinatha found himself dancing flawlessly to a rhythm game sung in six different timelines at once.
Between matches, they snacked on spicy floating dumplings, and Lakshman definitely snuck an extra helping of the "cosmic syrup-drizzled fritter pops" when he thought Trinatha wasn't looking.
Finally, as the artificial dusk began to fall, Lakshman guided Trinatha to a corner street where a deliberately run-down restaurant waited.
The sign flickered in seven languages. Inside, the place was chaos.
People shouted over each other, laughing, clinking glasses, throwing food playfully, singing songs from universes that should never have crossed paths.
It was loud. It was imperfect. It was alive.
Trinatha's eyes lit up.
"This place is awesome."
Lakshman smirked, matching his energy. "Right? Empire gets too shiny sometimes. Places like this remind you we're all still people."
They squeezed into a booth with graffiti carved into the table from at least eight different civilizations. Trinatha looked around, eyes wide with childlike wonder.
"I haven't had this much fun in a long time," he said, grinning. "Not since... I don't even know."
Lakshman leaned back, satisfied. "Good. You'll need this memory. Trust me—things only get weirder from here."
Next day: Morning:
The artificial sun rose over the Empire's capital—soft golden light gleaming off floating crystal towers and mirrored domes. Amid the glimmering skyline, a building that looked like it belonged to a forgotten age stood proud and untouched by time.
Trinatha and Lakshman stepped out of their inn. Despite its shabby, rust-covered exterior, the place had given them the most restful night either had experienced in years. The room had reshaped itself to Trinatha's comfort in ways no one on Earth could've imagined.
They walked side by side, shoulders brushing.
"Morning, idiot," Trinatha muttered with a tired smile.
"Morning, dumbass," Lakshman replied through his mask, the voice slightly muffled and hoarse but unmistakably amused.
They moved through the gleaming streets of the city-core. Multiversal beings passed them—tall, floating, glowing, humming, some looking like creatures from fantasy books and others like cyborgs out of sci-fi comics.
As they turned a corner, the structure ahead caught Trinatha's eye—and stole his breath.
The Emperor's Castle stood like a defiant relic in the future: soaring towers, stained glass windows, fortified turrets—and all of it glowing in the radiant light. White stone met bronze trim, and a long flag snapped in the gravity-stabilized wind.
"Whatever the future holds," Trinatha murmured, awe in his voice, "the old buildings… they really feel like something else."
Lakshman, now fully masked again, nodded. "Agreed. Style has gravity." Hoarser than before.
He placed a hand on his throat. "Also—can't talk much. Voice hurts."
Trinatha raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh really? Now it hurts? You didn't seem to have any trouble shouting like a maniac last night over the fritter pops. Or singing with those lizardmen so loudly"
Lakshman grumbled under his breath, clearly defeated. "Moment of weakness."
As they approached the cobblestone-lined road to the castle gate, the air shifted. It was calm—too calm. Until—
Clatter. Shouting. A short, sharp crack.
Both their heads turned instantly toward the source—a narrow alleyway, faintly visible in the distance, far off from the main path. It was lit bright but further away was the sound too.
Roughly two kilometers away Lakshman estimated.
Lakshman's posture stiffened. In a swift motion, he placed his hand on Trinatha's shoulder.
He pointed in the direction of the sound. "Duty."
Then at Trinatha. "Stay."
He tapped his temple, eyes narrowing behind the mask. "Quickly. Finish."
Trinatha nodded without protest. He understood enough.
In the blink of an eye, Lakshman was gone—cloak fluttering like a shadow slipping between realities as he sprinted down the main road, disappearing into the urban glow.
Trinatha stepped aside, positioning himself in the shadow of a marble archway by the gate, and waited.
Trinatha leaned against the cold marble archway near the outer gates, arms crossed, eyes scanning the street where Lakshman had vanished. The city around him hummed in soft rhythms, distant chatter floating on the artificial breeze. Somewhere in the sky, a massive orb shimmered, its light bending as it moved—a localized sun, maybe, Trinatha thought absently.
Then—
Footsteps. Purposeful. Quiet.
Lakshman emerged from the hazy path, dusting his gloved hands off as he walked up and stopped squarely in front of Trinatha. The shadows from his mask flickered in the morning light.
Trinatha straightened. "What was that? Everything taken care of?"
Lakshman didn't say a word.
Instead, he raised a hand and gave a solid thumbs-up.
Trinatha squinted, then gave an exaggerated sigh. "Sigh~ Your voice is gone now? That's great. Just great."
Lakshman shrugged, unapologetic.
"Well, no turning back now," Trinatha said, adjusting the front of his neatly ironed shirt. "Take me to the Emperor, silent knight."
Lakshman gestured for him to follow and started walking down the path once again. Trinatha followed, the castle growing larger and more imposing with each step. The gates ahead stood open—not mechanical, but carved out of silvery wood and plated with symbols that shimmered like stars when looked at directly.
As they walked, Trinatha started rambling, like he always did when his nerves caught up to him.
"So I was thinking—what if the arcade had a game that could predict your future, right? But the catch is you can't play it unless you're willing to forget what it told you afterward. Imagine the kind of person who'd still want to try it…"
Lakshman nodded silently, occasionally turning his head just enough to show he was listening, even if he couldn't speak. It was oddly comforting, in a Lakshman-kind-of-way.
"…I mean, I bet you'd play it just to prove it wrong," Trinatha added with a grin.
Still no answer. Just a nod.
Trinatha groaned playfully. "Ugh. Okay. You know what? After we meet the Emperor, I'm stopping by the medical quarters. This silence isn't amusing anymore. I need you talking again so I can mock you properly."
Lakshman gave a very slow, very deliberate thumbs-up again.
They passed through the first archway of the castle—its inner halls filled with light that didn't come from lamps. The stones themselves shimmered faintly with contained starlight, and the tapestries on the walls didn't hang so much as float, telling stories in slow-moving holograms of myth and conquest.
Up ahead, beyond the tall crystal doors, was the audience chamber.
The Emperor awaited.
The massive crystal doors slid open without a sound, revealing a hall so vast it seemed to breathe.
Trinatha stepped in and froze.
The air inside was heavy—not stifling, but dense with meaning, with presence. Before him rose a wide set of twenty shimmering steps, and at their summit, seated with serene finality, was the Emperor.
He wore a simple, elegant set of futuristic armor that gleamed faintly under the starlight ceiling—smooth, silver-like material segmented with flawless edges. A deep red robe draped over his shoulders and down his sides, pooling just above his throne's base.
His face was hidden behind a perfectly symmetrical mask, its surface dark as a starless void, with thin, angular lines like a forgotten language etched into it.
Behind him, a towering glass wall shimmered in slow hues of blue and gold—carvings danced across its surface, telling some kind of ancient story. But Trinatha couldn't focus on that.
Not with all of them staring at him.
On each side of the Emperor, four pristine royal seats formed two arcs up the stairs—eight in total, though two sat empty. The six that were filled? Each one seemed like they could rule their own galaxies.
To the Emperor's right:
A male elf, posture flawless, every breath measured, as if even the air needed permission to touch him.
An 8-foot-tall golden-plated robot, its glowing eyes dim, wrapped in elegant black robes lined in gold. It radiated restraint—a mechanical soul perhaps, but unreadable.
A dwarven woman, blueprint clutched tightly in one hand, tools at her belt. She had been muttering to herself, but her voice died the moment the doors opened.
A muscular man, easily 6'6", skin tight white padding etched with a symbol resembling the letter A across his chest. His silver hair was cropped close, his eyes calculating.
To the Emperor's left:
An eagle-woman, feathers sleek, her beak subtly curved. She wore a robe reminiscent of ancient Greece, yet woven with materials that shimmered through time itself.
An older woman, somewhere in her fifties, dressed modestly but with fingers pressed into her forehead. Her brow was furrowed in concentration—or maybe concern—as she looked directly at the newcomers.
Two seats remained empty.
And beside the Emperor, unmoving yet utterly consuming in presence, stood a hooded figure cloaked in black smoke. The smoke moved like it had a mind, curling and whispering even though no words were spoken.
They all turned, together, eyes locked onto Trinatha and Lakshman.
Trinatha felt his chest tighten. His pulse kicked. He wasn't sure if it was the throne, the masked Emperor, or the fact that every single person in that room could probably kill him without blinking—but his throat ran dry.
He managed a step forward. Then another.
Still silent.
Still staring.
Still overwhelmed.
As the crystal doors sealed behind them, the silence of the throne chamber swallowed every sound. Trinatha barely dared to breathe.
At the top of a gleaming twenty-step staircase sat the Emperor—his form regal and unmoving, cloaked in a simple yet pristine futuristic armor, a deep red robe cascading down his sides. His face was hidden behind a smooth black mask, etched with delicate glowing lines like the veins of stars. He was flanked by towering glass panels behind him, carved with sprawling, animated stories Trinatha didn't have the mind to process.
Every eye in the room was on them.
The six seated mantris remained stoic, but there was no mistaking the tension thickening the air. The masked hooded figure, cloaked in swirling black smoke, stood silently beside the Emperor's throne.
Then, the Emperor finally spoke—his voice deep, commanding, yet strangely soft.
"Any further step is a violation in this court."
Lakshman—still masked—stepped forward just enough to present Trinatha, then bowed his head.
The Emperor tilted his masked face toward him.
"What happened to your voice—"
A pause. Then, dismissively:
"Never mind. It doesn't matter."
He turned his gaze to Trinatha.
"So you're the new… interesting lad. The assessing office sent me a curious message about you."
Trinatha's mouth went dry. He nodded, unsure if he even blinked. His knees felt like liquid.
The Emperor turned slightly, leaned toward the hooded figure beside him, and whispered something too low to hear.
The figure moved.
It didn't walk. It floated—gliding soundlessly down the steps, its limbs obscured beneath the smoke. It hovered just inches from Trinatha's face, as if drinking in his presence.
Trinatha stood frozen. He couldn't tell whether the figure had eyes—but he felt its gaze.
A flick of dark smoke—and the figure vanished, reappearing instantly at the Emperor's side.
Again, it leaned in. Whispered.
This time, the reaction was different.
The Emperor—so still, so in control—flinched. Just slightly. Just enough to notice if you were watching for it.
Trinatha was.
His stomach dropped. What did it see? What did it tell him?
Why does it feel like this was a terrible idea…?
And then—
The air changed.
It crushed.
A sudden weight filled the chamber like the room itself wanted to collapse inwards. Trinatha clutched his chest—he couldn't breathe.
Every royal seated figure widened their eyes—some subtly, some in genuine shock.
Then—
A blink.
Before: the Emperor on his throne.
After: the Emperor, inches from Trinatha's face, mid-lunge, one hand outstretched, fingers glowing golden, clawed, divine.
Too late.
In one fluid, silent motion, the Emperor's claws passed through Trinatha's torso, cleaving flesh so fine, it took no visible form. No blood. No pain. But Trinatha knew.
He had been cut clean through—all the way to his spine.
And then—
Darkness. Stillness. Silence.
All light faded.
The chamber vanished.
Frozen in mid-air, the Emperor's figure hung like a statue, unmoving.
Lakshman—who had been standing behind Trinatha—now stepped forward.
But it wasn't Lakshman.
The man peeled off the mask slowly, revealing a completely different face. Well-built, late 30s, skin faintly scarred, eyes sharp like razors and lit with a strange, chaotic calm.
A thin grin curved across his face.
He looked up at the frozen Emperor.
"Oh, how I wish I could beat you into stardust right now," he said, voice low and thick with venom.
"But no… You deserve far, far worse."
He looked at Trinatha—still alive, still standing, though clearly, something was very wrong. The boy's eyes were trembling, his body oddly whole despite being completely sliced.
"You really tried to kill a new recruit," the man snarled at the Emperor.
"All because he has the same potential… as the previous Emperor?"
He turned to Trinatha.
"Oi. Kid."
He paused.
Something flickered in his gaze.
"...Well aren't you something."
He walked around Trinatha, noting the absence of collapse, the way the body stayed functional.
"You're… controlling it. Every part. Even cut up like this… you're forcing yourself to stand."
The grin returned—wider this time, almost proud.
"I like you."
He crouched slightly, placing a hand near Trinatha's shoulder.
"Don't worry. We'll be out of here soon."
Trinatha's vision began to blur, the effort catching up to him. His legs buckled as the darkness within the stillness crept inward.
Black.