"Hey, Armeet!" Sukheer called out, his tone brisk but faintly tense. "Are all of them here yet?"
Armeet looked up from the half-burnt map on the table. "No," he replied, brushing dust from his sleeve. "They're on their way. Any leads on the explosion?"
Sukheer shook his head. "Not a clue. The Saptara won't reach here for another hour. I spoke to the Bakshi—"
"The Bakshi?" Armeet's brows furrowed. "He's in town?"
"Yes. Both of them were summoned to the capital by the Pannival the same day we left for Diwankula," Sukheer replied. "And if even the Bakshis couldn't predict this, it means the explosion was... meticulously planned."
Armeet exhaled slowly, staring at the ash-stained horizon. "Planned? It was orchestrated. The timing, the silence—there's intention behind that precision."
"Do you think the Pannival foresaw it?" Sukheer's tone carried an unease that even his discipline couldn't hide. "He called every regiment to the capital three days before this... incident. It's almost as if he knew. But who are we fighting, Armeet? Humans? Aliens? Gods? Devils?"
Armeet's eyes hardened. "The Pannival is not just a man. He's led Malwa through the Second Holy War and the Muvah Conflict. The Kings' Table didn't crown him for mere politics. He's a visionary. The Holy Constitution says the Pannival must be the strongest being in the empire—one who defeats the mightiest human alive before ascending the throne. Such a person doesn't guess—he knows."
Sukheer paced a few steps, his voice now contemplative. "The Kings' Table... I'd forgotten how deep this goes. After the Second Holy War, the Union of Nations fractured—one half followed monarchs, the other worshipped democracy. Their pact expired a decade ago. The Kings' Table rose again, unchallenged, and the Malwai Empire stands at its heart. If this empire collapses, the world loses its balance."
"Malwai's legacy," Armeet murmured, "is the story of India's division. The Indian Union split into three giants—the Malwai Empire, the Republic of Muvah, and the Dravidian Republic. Each a titan in its own right. Together, they could've ruled the planet—a single leader, a single liberator... India."
"Armeet!" Sukheer's sharp cry cut through his words.
"What is it?" Armeet's hand instinctively reached for his sword.
"Footsteps. Approaching fast."
They both went silent. The faint rhythm of boots echoed through the ruins—steady, deliberate, heavy.
"These aren't ordinary soldiers," Sukheer whispered. "Their Naritti... it's denser than anything I've ever sensed."
"You can sense Naritti?" Armeet asked, incredulous.
"Anyone can, once awakened," Sukheer replied. "But this... this isn't human."
Then came the voice—cold, omnipresent, like it slipped between reality itself.
"D I M E N S I O N S."
The air thickened.
"The World of Dead Dreams."
A sudden tremor swept the ground. The colors of the world inverted for a heartbeat—sky turning black, dust glowing pale. Time itself seemed to stagger.
Armeet gritted his teeth. "A dimension? Without a chant? Impossible."
"I don't know," Sukheer said, his voice tight. "Friend or foe?"
"Whoever it is," Armeet replied, drawing his sword, "they're already dead."
The world bent.
The air pressed down upon them with the weight of oceans. Both warriors dropped to their knees as Naritti's raw pressure flooded the room—chaotic, divine, alive.
"Wh-what is this p-p-pressure?" Armeet struggled to speak.
"I can tell that we've been... trapped," Sukheer gasped.
Then, a slow, mocking clap echoed.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa... correct guess, champ," said a voice from the veil of distortion. It was lighthearted—too lighthearted for something that warped reality itself.
Shadows rippled like smoke, forming the faint outline of a man—or perhaps something trying to imitate one.
Sukheer whispered, "This isn't a mere ability... it's a dimension of thought. The air itself denies logic here."
Armeet's knuckles whitened around his sword. "Then we carve logic back into it."
The figure chuckled. "Welcome, soldiers of Malwai, to the World of Dead Dreams—where even gods fear to wake."
Scene: The Arrival of Ruckus Stefani
"Who the hell are you?! I demand answers, you—stupid human!" Armeet roared, fury blazing in his eyes.
A deep, mocking laugh echoed through the swirling black mist."What's with the hurry, young man?" came the calm, unhurried voice.
The fog split apart—torn open by a gust so sharp it hummed like a blade—and out stepped a tall, dark-skinned man with a presence that silenced the world around him. His body was sculpted with brute power, wrapped in a sleeveless white cloak that fluttered in the unnatural wind. The dull sunlight glinted off the metallic copper hue of his sword, polished to a divine shine.
He was Ruckus Stefani, the Union of Nations' top field agent—an enforcer said to have ended wars before they began. But what was he doing here, in the heart of Malwai territory? And more importantly—could two newly awakened warriors even hope to survive him?
Ruckus stood upon a jagged slab of stone, his silhouette framed against the ashen sky. Then, without warning, he jumped.The ground quaked under his landing, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the terrain. Dust spiraled into the air, trees bowed as if in reverence. Sukheer staggered backward, his breath catching. The man's Naritti—dense and suffocating—felt alive, as though the air itself had turned hostile.
"His aura… it's crushing me," Sukheer whispered through clenched teeth.
Ruckus vanished in a blur—no sound, no trace—until a glint of copper flashed before Sukheer's eyes.In one motion, the agent hooked Sukheer's shoulder with the curve of his blade and yanked him close, the other hand gripping his throat. The copper sword brushed his neck, carving a shallow, clean slit that bled in a single, elegant line.
Ruckus smiled faintly. "You bleed like one unworthy of awakening."
But Armeet had already moved.He pressed his palms together, lowered his stance, and murmured beneath his breath—"Spirit of Wind."
The atmosphere changed instantly. The air thickened, swirling around him as if obeying a command. Ruckus glanced at him with mild amusement. "Any resistance is fruitless, soldier," he said lazily, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—that the two before him had touched the raw edge of Naritti's awakening.
Armeet's eyes snapped open—now burning a fierce, molten orange.The wind surged violently around him, tugging at his cloak, cracking the earth beneath his feet. For the first time since awakening, he felt the Naritti—wild, unstable, but his. The power of motion, of breath, of life itself.
"Behold," Armeet warned quietly.
He leapt—higher than his mortal body should have allowed—cutting through the air like a kingfisher striking prey. Dust exploded beneath his feet, a shockwave flattening the grass and toppling nearby debris. Ruckus looked up, intrigued but unimpressed.
Armeet drove his blade downward, all his Naritti condensed at its tip, aiming straight for Ruckus's neck—a clean, killing strike.
The sword met flesh.But it didn't cut.
Ruckus had caught the blade between his fingers. Effortless.The orange glow dimmed.
Armeet's pupils dilated in disbelief. "Impossible—"
With a flick of his wrist, Ruckus snapped the blade's tip clean off. The sound echoed like thunder. The shockwave from the sheer force sent shards of steel scattering through the air. Armeet stumbled back, staring at the broken weapon in horror.
"So fragile," Ruckus murmured. "Both the steel and the wielder."
Blood trickled down Sukheer's neck, but his mind raced. He saw a narrow gap in Ruckus's stance—a single flaw. Instinct took over.He twisted his body upward, his legs arching above his head in an acrobatic surge. Locked in Ruckus's grip, he performed an inverted somersault, his lower body wrapping around the man's neck like a tightening vice.
"Now!" Sukheer shouted, channelling what little Naritti he could into his legs. His muscles screamed under the pressure as he tried to crush the enemy's throat.
Armeet understood. He slammed his broken blade into the ground, summoning the last of his wind. The air roared in protest, circling Ruckus like a cyclone, pinning him momentarily in place. Rocks and dirt levitated, swirling violently; the ground trembled, small fissures opening beneath them. The air screamed in fury, forming a howling storm.
For a moment, it looked like they had him.
But Ruckus merely closed his eyes and exhaled.
The world bent around his will.
With a subtle pulse of Naritti, invisible but immense, the air shattered—like glass breaking under divine pressure. The cyclone collapsed. The tremors stopped. Sukheer was hurled through the air, slamming into a boulder with bone-cracking force. Armeet's knees buckled, blood trickling from his nose as the shockwave consumed the last of his strength.
Ruckus stood untouched, his cloak still fluttering. The copper blade gleamed faintly, humming with residual Naritti. His eyes—cold and calculating—met Armeet's.
"You're not warriors yet," he said calmly. "You're fledglings—dabbling in a storm you don't understand."
He turned his blade skyward."Let me show you the difference between awakening… and mastery."
The air stilled once more, then boomed—as if the heavens themselves recognised his intent.
[To be Continued in Chapter 45]