It was midnight.
The hostel room was a silent sanctuary of shadows, save for a faint, silver strip of moonlight that had managed to navigate the gaps in the curtains. It lay across the floor like a pale ribbon, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. The ceiling fan rotated in a slow, tired rhythm, each revolution accompanied by a faint, rhythmic click-whoosh that served as the heartbeat of the room.
On the narrow single bed, the scene was one of cramped, ungraceful domesticity. Two grown men were attempting to occupy a space designed for a single occupant. Arya lay on his back, his expression neutral even in sleep, his breathing deep and regulated. Sonic, true to his chaotic nature, lay diagonally across the mattress. One of Sonic's arms was thrown heavily over Arya's chest, while Arya's left leg was draped casually across Sonic's stomach to keep from falling off the edge. One pillow had long since surrendered to gravity, lying forgotten on the dusty linoleum.
It was the natural, unrefined chaos of brothers-in-arms—boys who had grown up in the cramped quarters of NCC camps and shared hostel wings, where dignity was a luxury and space was a commodity.
They were deeply, blissfully asleep. They were entirely unaware that the world they knew was already beginning to dissolve.
Inside Arya's body—something began to move.
Deep within his core, nestled in a space that was neither heart nor brain, two faint golden lights rested. They existed in a dimension just slightly adjacent to his physical anatomy, anchored to his soul. They had been dormant since the moment of divine reinforcement in the void, waiting for the physical vessel to stabilize.
Now, without warning, they began to rotate.
The movement was silent. No light leaked outward through his skin to illuminate the dark room. No hum disturbed the quiet. But within him, a silent pressure began to mount. The golden lights—his Dual Cores—spun in opposite directions. One turned clockwise, a steady, grounding force; the other counterclockwise, a volatile, driving energy.
They were not flames. They were not fire. They were not the jagged crackle of electricity. They were something far more ancient and refined: cosmic energy in its most primal state, the very "Creation" energy the Higher Being had bestowed.
Arya knew nothing of this. His breathing remained steady, his pulse a calm 60 beats per minute. But internally, the golden cores began generating a terrifying force. The energy expanded through his nervous system like liquid gold, threading through his blood vessels and touching every cell. It was a microscopic baptism, strengthening his fibers and remapping his genetic code at a level no modern science of the Arabres Sovereignty could hope to detect.
His heart rate increased by a mere five beats. His blood circulation accelerated, the warmth spreading to his fingertips. Capillaries widened to accommodate the new flow, and his muscle density began to adjust, compacting and refining.
Externally, he looked like a tired student. Internally, he was being rebuilt.
Then—his closed eyelids trembled.
Still deep in the throes of sleep, still unconscious of the divinity within, his eyes snapped open.
It was not an awakening of awareness. It was an activation of a legacy.
The dark brown of his irises shifted, the pigments swirling like ink in water. Within seconds, his eyes had transformed. One eye became entirely, brilliantly white—the color of a dying star. The other became a void of absolute black—the color of the space between galaxies. At the center of each pupil, a small opposing dot formed.
White within black. Black within white.
A perfect, terrifying balance. The Yin and Yang Eyes.
The energy radiating from his gaze did not cast light upon the walls. It did not disturb the air or wake the snoring Sonic beside him. But inside Arya's body, the flow intensified into a torrent. His muscles compressed and restructured into something more efficient than mere meat and bone. His reflex pathways recalibrated, shortening the time between thought and action to a near-instantaneous window.
Then—his body lifted.
He did not levitate in the visible sense, but his weight seemed to vanish. He hovered a mere inch above the mattress, held aloft by a faint golden shimmer that existed outside the spectrum of ordinary sight.
Beside him, Sonic shifted in his sleep, his subconscious sensing a change in the ambient temperature. As the golden energy radiated from Arya's core in subtle, rhythmic waves, Sonic's body began to act as a sponge. Without a core of his own, Sonic could not generate this energy, but his proximity to the source allowed him to absorb the excess.
Sonic's cells reacted instinctively. His own heartbeat accelerated. His breathing deepened, his lungs expanding further than they ever had before. The energy was too pure for a normal human body to handle, yet because it was "Creation" energy—the energy of life itself—it did not destroy him. It adapted to him.
It was a forced evolution. In the silence of a dusty hostel room, two young men were being pushed past the biological thresholds of their species. Their blood moved faster, their muscle fibers became more resilient, and their nervous systems sharpened into high-tensile wires.
Beyond the hostel room, beyond the sprawling campus and the sleeping city of Arabres, the universe trembled. It wasn't a violent tremor—not yet. It was a delicate shift in the cosmic balance, like a single pebble dropped into a perfectly still lake.
A new technique had been birthed into the world. The Yin and Yang Eyes—the balance of opposing forces within a single mortal vessel—had activated. That balance, though contained within a small room, affected the greater scale of the multiverse. For a brief moment, the cosmic equilibrium tilted.
Far above mortal perception, in a void where time had no meaning, an unseen presence observed.
The Higher Being watched the tiny spark of gold in the dark world below. It remained detached, its interest purely that of an architect watching a foundation settle.
"Ah," the Being murmured, the thought echoing through the dimensions. "So you begin."
There was no intervention. No divine protection was offered, and no celestial announcement was made. There was only observation.
As the spreading energy from Arya's room threatened to cause a ripple that might alert other, less benevolent entities in the universe, the Being made a subtle exertion of will. It was a mere flick of a finger in the grand scheme of things. The outward cosmic waves were compressed back inward, drawn back to the source.
The universe stabilized. The night continued.
Arya's eyes slowly began to fade. The brilliant white receded; the deep black returned to a natural brown. The opposing dots vanished as if they had never been there. His body lowered gently, almost imperceptibly, back onto the mattress. The golden cores dimmed, retreating back into their dormant state, tucked away behind the veil of his soul.
As if nothing had happened, Sonic turned in his sleep, finally pulling his arm back. He had no way of knowing that his biological threshold had been permanently altered. He was still Sonic, the fast-talking student, but his potential had just been shattered and rebuilt.
They were no longer entirely ordinary humans. But they were still blissful in their ignorance.
Morning arrived at six a.m. sharp.
Sunlight, now bright and aggressive, pierced through the thin curtains, hitting Arya directly in the eyes. He stirred, his brow furrowing in a frown. He felt... strange.
He sat up slowly, expecting the usual morning grogginess, the stiffness in his back from the cramped bed, and the slight headache from the ceiling fan's dry air. Instead, he felt light. Too light.
He looked down and realized Sonic's foot was resting directly on top of his head.
Arya blinked, his vision incredibly sharp—he could see the individual threads in the bedsheet, the microscopic dust floating in the sunbeams. He pushed the foot away with a disgruntled sigh.
"What are you doing, idiot…"
Sonic groaned, burying his face in the one remaining pillow. "Five minutes… just five more minutes before the apocalypse…"
Arya sat on the edge of the bed, rotating his shoulder. There was no stiffness. No soreness. His muscles responded to his thoughts with a precision that was almost frightening. It felt as if his body had been oiled and tuned like a high-performance engine.
Sonic finally opened one bleary eye. "Why are you staring at me like that? It's creepy. Stop it."
"You were sleeping on my head, Sonic."
"And you were kicking me. I think I have a bruise on my ribs. You kick like a mule."
They both sat up, the narrow bed creaking under their combined weight. For a brief, pregnant second, a heavy silence hung between them. Both stayed perfectly still, their expressions mirroring a sudden, internal realization.
"You feel it?" Sonic asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Arya frowned, flexed his bicep, and then gripped the edge of the wooden desk. "Feel what?"
"I don't know. I feel… lighter. Like I've been hit with a shot of pure adrenaline, but without the heart palpitations. My body feels like it wants to run a marathon."
Arya flexed his fingers. His grip felt immensely powerful, yet delicate. "Mine too. I feel like I didn't even sleep, but I'm not tired."
They looked at each other, the moment stretching. Then, being twenty-year-old men in a world that hadn't ended yet, they both shrugged.
"Probably the NCC training," Arya said, reaching for his water bottle. "The Captain's drills finally broke our limits."
"Yeah," Sonic nodded confidently, the jittery energy returning to his eyes. "We're just built different. Superior genetics and hostel food. A winning combination."
They both laughed, the tension breaking. Sonic suddenly sprang out of bed with a speed that surprised them both.
"I'm using the bathroom first! I have a date with a shower!"
"No, you're not. It's my room, my bathroom," Arya countered, moving to intercept him.
Sonic lunged toward the door, laughing. Arya reached out, catching the edge of Sonic's cotton t-shirt to pull him back. He didn't think he pulled hard—it was the same strength he always used for their morning scuffles.
Rrip.
The fabric of the shirt gave way like wet tissue paper. A huge jagged tear opened down the back of Sonic's shirt. Both froze. They stared at the ruined cloth in Arya's hand.
"You tore my favorite shirt, you monster!"
"I barely touched it!" Arya protested, looking at his hand in confusion. "You must have bought a cheap one from the street market."
"Cheap? This was branded! You pulled too hard! You've been lifting too many weights, haven't you?"
"No, you were moving too fast!"
In a flash of retaliation, Sonic lunged and grabbed the collar of Arya's undershirt. He gave it a sharp tug.
Rrip.
Now both of them stood there in the middle of the small room, their shirts hanging in rags.
"Now it's equal," Sonic panted, looking a bit surprised by how easily the fabric had shredded.
Arya stared at him, his brow furrowed. "Are you serious? We have a lecture in an hour."
"You started it."
They both paused again, the silliness of the moment fading into a strange, lingering question.
"Did that feel… easier than usual?" Sonic asked quietly, rubbing his hand. "The tearing? It felt like pulling apart a cobweb."
Arya looked at his own hand. He remembered the feeling of the fibers snapping—it hadn't offered any resistance at all. But he refused to overthink it. His mind, trained for logic and practicality, pushed the anomaly aside.
"We're NCC seniors," he said with a confident smirk. "The training is clearly working. We're getting stronger. Now get out so I can change."
Sonic grinned, his worries vanishing. "Exactly. We're basically superheroes in training."
They brushed it off. They showered, dressed in fresh (and intact) clothes, and headed out. They ignored the fact that they were accidentally walking faster than everyone else in the hallway. They ignored the way their footsteps felt lighter against the concrete, as if they were barely touching the ground. They ignored the strange, pinpoint precision in how they navigated the crowded canteen.
Later that morning, during a break between classes, Arya's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
"Mom?"
"No, it's Sonic's mother," came the sharp, familiar voice of their neighbor from back home. "Arya, dear, where is that idiot son of mine? He isn't picking up his phone. I've called him six times."
Arya smirked, looking toward the bathroom where Sonic was currently trying to fix his hair in the mirror. "He's in the bathroom, Aunty. Probably struggling with his ego."
"You two have separate rooms, why is he always in yours?"
"He says his roommate is annoying, but I think he just likes my pillows better."
"Tell him to call home immediately. His father wants to talk about the train tickets for the break."
"I will, Aunty."
He shouted toward the bathroom, loud enough for half the hall to hear. "Sonic! Your parents called! If you don't answer in the next two minutes, your father says he's coming here with his old leather belt!"
"Tell them I'm bathing! I'm a busy man!" Sonic yelled back over the sound of running water.
Arya laughed and hung up. They ate a hurried breakfast, met a few friends from the engineering department, and headed to their final lectures of the semester.
Everything seemed normal. Except, Arya noticed he could hear conversations from three tables away in the canteen. He noticed he could see the tiny ink smudge on the professor's glasses from the back row. His awareness was expanding, his senses sharpening into fine instruments.
In class, the professor called on Arya, pointing to a complex differential equation on the board. "Arya, since you seem so relaxed, why don't you provide the solution for the third step?"
Arya stood up. Usually, he would have to think for a few seconds, run the numbers in his head. But today, the moment his eyes hit the board, the answer was just... there. It was as if the math was a language he had spoken his entire life.
He provided the answer calmly, his voice steady.
"Good," the professor nodded, slightly taken aback by the speed. "Now try to pay as much attention to the lecture as you do to whatever Sonic is whispering in your ear."
The class chuckled. The atmosphere was light. Exams were officially over, and only one final week of administrative work remained before the two-month summer break.
The professor addressed the room as the bell rang. "Listen up. Third year is critical for all of you in the Arabres Sovereignty. This is when the placement season begins. If you secure a corporate job before you start your fourth year, your path becomes much easier. Don't waste your break."
From the back, Sonic raised his hand, leaning back in his chair. "Sir, I don't need a placement. My father has enough money to buy the company I'd be working for."
The class burst into a roar of laughter. It was a classic Sonic comment.
The professor sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yes, Sonic. We are all aware your father has money. Unfortunately, the rest of these students do not. Try to have some perspective."
More laughter followed as the students began packing their bags, the excitement for the upcoming holidays palpable in the air. People were already discussing travel plans, bus bookings, and home-cooked meals.
Arya returned to his hostel room, a strange sense of anticipation buzzing in his veins. He began packing his suitcase casually—folding his NCC khakis, stacking his textbooks, and clearing out his desk.
He pulled out his phone to call his father to finalize his arrival time.
"Hello? Dad?"
"Arya? Yes, I was just about to call. What's the plan? Are you taking the Friday bus or the Saturday train?"
Before Arya could respond, the door to his room burst open with such force the handle dented the wall.
Sonic walked in, looking like he had just discovered a secret map to a hidden treasure. He didn't say a word; he simply reached out, grabbed the phone from Arya's hand, and pressed the "End Call" button.
Arya stared at him, stunned. "Why did you just cut the call with my dad? He's going to think I died."
Sonic grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes that usually meant trouble was coming—but this time, it felt different. It felt like destiny.
"Because I have a better plan, Arya. A much better plan."
Arya narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "What plan, Sonic? And does it involve us getting arrested?"
Sonic's grin widened. "No. It involves us becoming legends."