A loud, relentless pounding shattered the fragile quiet of the morning.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The sound wasn't just noise; it was an intrusion, a physical assault on the lingering echoes of the silver light and the deep, resonant voice of the Creator that still vibrated in the back of Arya's mind.
"Open the door, you idiot! Wake up!"
Arya groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated in his throat. He didn't want to move. He wanted to cling to the fragments of that "dream"—the golden warmth, the sense of absolute purpose. He buried his face deeper into the pillow, which smelled faintly of cheap laundry detergent and old dust.
The hostel room was still wrapped in the dull, grey-blue haze of early morning. Pale sunlight, filtered through years of grime on the windowpanes, slipped through the thin, tattered curtains. It painted faint, vibrating stripes across the opposite wall, highlighting the peeling paint and an old poster of a tactical fighter jet. The ceiling fan rotated lazily above him, its rhythmic, mechanical click-hum blending with the distant, muffled symphony of a hundred other students waking up—doors slamming, buckets clattering, and the low roar of the city of Arabres beginning its daily grind.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Arya! If you're still alive in there, open the door before I kick it off the hinges!"
He exhaled sharply, a long, tired breath, and forced his eyes open. For a split second—a strange, disorienting heart-stop of a second—he felt completely lost. He felt weightless, as if his body were made of light and shadow rather than flesh and bone. He looked at his hands, expecting to see silver-white radiance, but found only tanned skin and slightly calloused palms.
Then, reality settled with the weight of a lead blanket.
Hostel room. Third year. Engineering college. The Arabres Sovereignty.
He wasn't a legend; he was a student with a deadline.
He swung his legs off the bed, his feet hitting the cold, dusty linoleum floor. He shuffled toward the door, scratching the back of his head where his hair was a bird's nest of sleep-matted tangles. He turned the heavy iron bolt and unlocked the door.
Sonic barged in immediately, nearly knocking Arya over.
Except, in the history of their friendship, no one had ever called him Kabir. He hated the name; he said it sounded too slow, too heavy. Everyone called him Sonic. The nickname was earned. Sonic talked fast, moved with a frantic, jittery energy, and processed information at a speed that left most people exhausted. He was the human equivalent of an espresso shot with a short circuit.
"Were you planning to sleep through the start of the apocalypse?" Sonic demanded, already pacing the small square of floor space between the bed and the desk. "It's A-Day, man! The Parade! The promotion announcement! And we're seniors now—final year cadets! If we don't show up on that ground in five minutes, the Captain isn't just going to shout. He's going to execute us in front of the whole battalion for 'disciplinary enrichment'!"
Arya blinked slowly, his brain still trying to bridge the gap between "God" and "Captain."
"Right," Arya muttered, rubbing his eyes. "NCC A-Day. Promotion day."
"Yes! Promotion day! The day we get those sweet, sweet leadership credits so we don't have to grovel for jobs next year!" Sonic checked his watch, his foot tapping a frantic rhythm. "What time do you think it is?"
Arya squinted at the sunlight. "Six?"
"Seven-twenty, you glorious disaster!"
Arya's eyes snapped wide. The mental fog vanished, replaced by a cold spike of panic. Reporting time was exactly eight o'clock at the parade grounds. The Captain considered "on time" to be fifteen minutes early.
He spun around, eyes darting to the wooden chair in the corner where his NCC (National Cadet Corps) uniform was draped. He froze. The khaki fabric was a landscape of deep creases and chaotic folds. It looked like it had been chewed up by a beast and spat back out. It was completely unpressed.
Sonic followed his gaze, his jaw dropping. "Don't tell me—"
"I forgot to iron it," Arya said, his voice flat with realization.
Sonic stared at him in genuine disbelief. "You're joking. Arya, you're the most disciplined guy I know. You iron your socks for fun. What happened?"
"I had a bad dream," Arya muttered, turning toward the wardrobe to find his boots. "I didn't sleep properly. My head feels like it was put through a blender."
Sonic sighed dramatically, a sound like a tire losing air. He grabbed the old, heavy iron from Arya's desk and plugged it into the flickering wall socket. "Go. Shower. Fast. I'll press the shirt and trousers. If we're late, I'm telling the Captain you had a medical emergency involving your brain."
"You'll press it?" Arya asked, surprised. Sonic wasn't exactly known for his domestic skills.
"Yes! Go! Before we both get demoted back to being 'civilians' before we even get promoted!"
Arya didn't argue. He grabbed a thin towel and rushed into the communal bathroom down the hall. The cold water hit his skin like a thousand tiny needles. He inhaled sharply, his lungs burning. For a fraction of a second, as the water cascaded over his face, a flicker of something impossible flashed behind his eyelids—a blinding white light, a voice that sounded like the turning of the earth, a vastness that made the world feel like a toy box.
He blinked, shaking his head violently. The image vanished. Just water. Grey tiles. The smell of cheap soap. Reality.
"Just a dream," he whispered to himself, though the golden warmth in his chest felt far too heavy to be a hallucination.
He finished in record time and sprinted back into the room, steam rising from his skin. Sonic was hunched over the desk, aggressively sliding the iron over the sleeve of the khaki shirt, steam hissing as he fought the wrinkles.
"Done?" Arya asked, reaching for his undershirt.
Sonic froze. The iron made a strange, high-pitched pop sound. A thin wisp of acrid blue smoke curled up from the base. Then, the little red power light went out. It died completely.
Both of them stared at the hunk of metal.
"It stopped working," Sonic said flatly.
"Now?" Arya asked, looking at the half-pressed shirt. One sleeve was crisp and sharp; the rest of the shirt looked like a discarded rag.
"Yes. Now. The universe hates us, Arya. It clearly wants us to be failures."
Arya closed his eyes for a second, feeling a headache blossoming behind his temples. "You couldn't have checked the cord earlier?"
"I forgot! I was too busy worrying about the Captain's saber!"
"You forget everything that actually matters," Arya sighed, grabbing the half-wrinkled shirt.
Sonic tossed the dead iron onto the bed with a clatter. "Look, we'll just go like this. If anyone asks, we'll say… we'll say we were informed of a late-night security drill and didn't have time to reset. Or that we were mugged by a guy who hates starch."
"In wrinkled uniforms? At a promotion ceremony?"
"Confidence, my friend! Confidence solves half of life's problems. If you walk like a King, no one notices the holes in your socks."
Arya shook his head, but he dressed anyway. The uniform wasn't perfect, but with the belt cinched tight and the boots polished, he hoped his posture would distract from the creases.
They stepped out of the room and immediately broke into a lung-burning run. They were on the eighth floor of the hostel; the elevator was a temperamental beast that hadn't worked since the second year. They hit the stairs, their boots thudding against the concrete in a frantic cadence.
Even while sprinting down four flights of stairs at once, Sonic didn't stop talking.
"So, college break is coming in a month or two," Sonic panted, his face turning a light shade of red. "What's the plan, Oh Great Leader? Internships? Research? Or are you finally going to relax?"
"Going home," Arya said shortly, focusing on his breathing.
"Obviously. Your house is literally right next to mine. I can see your kitchen from my balcony."
"Then why are you asking?"
"Just confirming! Making sure you aren't planning to run off to the Aetherion Federation to become a corporate slave."
They reached the fifth-floor landing when Sonic suddenly slowed his pace, his eyes darting around. "Hey, wait. What's your student portal account password again? I need to check the elective list, and mine is locked."
Arya didn't think twice. His mind was on the parade ground. "One-three-five."
"Right! One-three-five. Solid. Simple. Predictable," Sonic muttered, a strange grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Arya frowned, slowing down slightly. "Why do you need it now? We're about to be executed by a man with a whistle."
"No reason! Just making sure I have it for later. Very important academic business."
"'No reason' sounds incredibly suspicious coming from you," Arya noted, but they reached the ground floor and burst out into the humid morning air, ending the conversation.
The parade ground was a sea of khaki. Fifty cadets were already standing in a perfect, rectangular formation. Boots were aligned to the millimeter. Backs were as straight as iron rods. The morning sun was beginning to climb, its heat sharp but still bearable against the skin.
The moment Arya stepped onto the dirt of the grounds, his entire demeanor shifted. The tired student vanished. The confused dreamer disappeared. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and his gaze turned into cold flint.
"Company—ATTENTION!"
The command rang across the open ground, steady and firm, cutting through the murmurs of the junior batches.
Within minutes, their Senior Officer arrived—a man whose face looked like it had been carved out of the very mountains of Arabres. He paced slowly before the formation, the rhythmic tap of his cane the only sound in the silence.
"From today," the Officer began, his voice a low growl, "the transition of the new batch begins. The cycle continues. First years become second years. Second years become third years. You are the backbone of this institution's discipline."
He stopped directly in front of Arya and Sonic. His eyes flickered down to Arya's wrinkled shirt, then back up to his eyes. Arya didn't blink. He stared straight ahead, radiating a level of intensity that seemed to push the Officer back.
"You two."
"YES, SIR!" they barked in unison.
"You are promoted. From today, you will head the NCC credits and disciplinary leadership for this college. Do not make me regret this."
Sonic's eyes widened slightly. "Sir, really? Both of us?"
"Yes. Don't make me repeat myself, Cadet."
A ceremonial cap was brought forward by a junior. Arya removed his old, weathered cap and felt the new one settle onto his head. It was just fabric and a badge, but as the weight rested on his brow, something steady and heavy formed inside his chest.
It wasn't pride—he had no use for vanity. It was a sense of Responsibility. It felt terrifyingly natural, as if his soul had been designed to carry weight. Junior cadets saluted. Seniors applauded. The world felt solid and right.
After the dismissal, as the formation broke and cadets began to chatter, Sonic nudged Arya's ribs. "Party tonight. No excuses."
"Why? We have a lab assignment due tomorrow."
"Promotion, Arya! We are the kings of the campus now! We have to celebrate before the power goes to our heads."
"It's your promotion too," Arya pointed out.
"Exactly! Which is why I'll give my party later. A party you'll remember for the rest of your life, I promise."
Arya smirked, the first real smile of the day. "You're being dramatic again."
"Life is a drama, brother. We're taking the juniors on that hill-trekking trip next week. I'll throw the big one there. Under the stars. Very cinematic."
"We'll see," Arya said.
"Anyway, let's go congratulate the female leaders. Professional courtesy, you know?"
Arya glanced toward the academic building. "Why?"
"Because they got promoted too! And because they are currently walking this way looking very official."
Arya rolled his eyes. "Are you introducing me or representing yourself, Sonic?"
"Brother, how long will you stay single? College ends next year. We go into the real world. You need experience!"
"I have plenty of experience. It's called studying."
"Pass. You are a lost cause."
As they approached the building, one of the female NCC leaders detached herself from her group. She was confident, her uniform perfectly pressed (unlike Arya's), and her pace was calm. She stopped in front of them and extended a hand.
"Congratulations, Arya," she said. Her voice was steady, professional. "Senior leader at last."
Arya took her hand and shook it firmly. "You too. I heard you're heading the logistics wing."
"Looks like it." She tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching his face. "Are you free this evening? A few of us are planning a small get-together at the canteen. Nothing loud. Just tea and snacks."
Before Arya could even open his mouth to formulate a polite refusal, Sonic cut in smoothly. "He has all the time in the world! He was just saying how he wanted to celebrate."
Arya shot Sonic a look that would have withered a plant.
"I'm actually focusing on academics right now," Arya said calmly, turning back to her. "I have a lot of backlog to clear. Maybe another time."
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she shrugged, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "Alright. The offer stands."
She withdrew her hand and walked away—only to be greeted warmly by another cadet a few meters away. They started laughing immediately.
Sonic leaned in, whispering loudly. "And just like that, your 'almost' moved on in exactly two seconds. You're a cold man, Arya."
"'Almost' what?" Arya scoffed, starting to walk toward his first lecture. "She proposed a study group once. I declined because I work better alone. That's it. There was no 'almost' anything."
"Cold. Stone cold."
"Practical. There's a difference."
The rest of the day was a blur of ordinary college life. Lectures on data structures, discussions on memory management, and the smell of chalk and old paper. The professors droned on about algorithms, and Arya took meticulous notes, his mind occasionally drifting back to the golden sphere. He felt... sharper. He could solve problems before the professor even finished writing them on the board.
Sonic whispered nonsense and jokes half the time, drawing doodles on the back of his notebook. Arya stayed focused, but he felt a strange sense of detachment, as if he were watching a movie of his own life.
Evening turned into night. The hostel corridors buzzed with the usual chaos—music thumping from the end of the hall, the smell of instant noodles, and the sound of someone crying over a breakup three doors down.
Arya returned to his room, exhausted in a way that sleep wouldn't fix. He dropped his bag, locked the door, and lay down on the bed without turning on the lights. Silence. Peace.
Knock. Knock-knock-knock.
"Open up, Arya! I know you're in there!"
He groaned and dragged himself up. He unlocked the door to find Sonic standing there, looking uncharacteristically sheepish, holding a folded, mismatched bedsheet.
"What now, Sonic?"
"My roommate is… well, he's having a 'romantic crisis' and I've been kicked out for the night. I'm bored, and I don't want to sleep in the common room."
"Go sleep in the library. You love the library."
"I'm sleeping here," Sonic said, pushing past him.
"There's exactly one single bed in this room, in case you haven't noticed."
"So? We're best friends. We've shared a tent in NCC camp with five other guys. This is luxury."
Arya stared at him, then at the bed. He was too tired to argue. "Fine. Get in. But if you talk about the promotion one more time, I'm throwing you out the window."
They awkwardly adjusted themselves on the narrow single bed, shoulder to shoulder. Sonic kept talking for several minutes—about the trek, about the girls, about the dead iron. Then, his voice grew slower. Then, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing.
The lights were off. The ceiling fan hummed steadily above them, its mechanical click a comforting metronome. The long, strange day finally settled into the quiet of the night.
Within minutes, both were deep in sleep. Arya's last thought wasn't about the promotion or his wrinkled uniform. It was about the golden light, and the feeling that something very big was about to happen.