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- Hidden Flame Headquarters, Ujjain -
- January 12, 1940 -
The headquarters was quieter than usual that night. The underground halls beneath Ujjain's ancient streets hummed with life, but there was also a certain stillness in the air, like the city itself was listening. Aryan sat at the long stone table in the central chamber, maps spread before him, faintly glowing runes carved into the surface to track distant movements of agents across continents.
The doors opened with a low creak, and Karna stepped inside.
It had been months since they last sat together like this. Karna looked older somehow, though he was Aryan's age—nineteen. His posture carried the weight of long journeys, negotiations, and the quiet danger of living in shadows. But when he saw Aryan, his serious face softened into a grin.
"You haven't changed huh, Aryan," Karna teased, dropping his cloak over the back of the chair and sitting down. "Still drowning yourself in maps and plans."
Aryan smiled faintly. "Forget about me, I see that you've changed, yourself, and a lot of things for us, too. You went out with fifty agents, and you've returned with the Hidden Flame stretching from the deserts of Arabia to the ports of Africa. Tell me, when will you stop making the rest of us look lazy?"
Karna chuckled but said nothing. The truth was, both knew the work had cost him. His eyes betrayed late nights and the burden of keeping so many lives alive in enemy lands.
They talked first of the practical things. Karna gave a full report—west Asia and central Asia were now within reach, the Middle East had yielded contacts through fractured tribes and merchants, and Africa was opening doors through resistance groups weary of colonial chains. Only a few places stood beyond their grasp: the locked box of Soviet Russia, the guarded shadow of Latveria, the far continent of South America, Australia, and also Japan—still half-open, half-closed, a puzzle of its own.
Shakti and Nalini had kept the home front steady, Karna said with pride. "They don't just hold the line, Aryan. They've sharpened it. Bharat's center is secure, tighter than ever."
Aryan nodded, relief flickering across his face. "Good. Because the world outside grows stranger every day."
That was when Karna leaned forward, voice dropping. "Speaking of strange—Morgan le Fey."
The name hung in the room like smoke.
Karna's tone was edged with concern. He explained what his agents in Britain had uncovered—whispers in taverns, coded messages among the discontent, subtle sabotage within the British agencies themselves. Morgan's followers were everywhere, spreading the story that the Royal Family had no rightful claim, that only Morgan could restore Britain's lost glory.
Churchill's government, already under strain, was beginning to feel the cracks.
"For us," Karna said carefully, "it isn't entirely bad. Churchill hates Bharat. If his power weakens, we may gain breathing room. But I don't trust Morgan. No one knows what she really wants."
Aryan leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. He had told Karna before about his meeting with Morgan in secret months ago, and now he repeated what he knew of her—her history with Merlin and Arthur, her hunger for what she believed was stolen from her, and her growing power from absorbing fragments of herself across parallel worlds.
"She doesn't just want Britain," Aryan said quietly. "She wants the Otherworld itself. If she succeeds there, the mortal throne will be little more than decoration."
Karna frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. His mind always moved quickly, and with his ability to amplify his thoughts through light, his processing was almost inhuman. But he was cautious, too, and sometimes his paranoia caught angles others missed.
"There's something more to it," he said at last. "You told me she once offered you cooperation. Even useful knowledge from the future. If her only aim was domination, why try to ally with the one person who could stop her? That doesn't fit."
Aryan's gaze sharpened. "I've wondered the same. Unless her plan was never about an alliance… but about choosing her battlefield. Perhaps she means to use me as part of her design."
Karna tilted his head. "So, she pits you against another."
A silence stretched between them.
"There are many who might rise to that level in the future," Aryan admitted. "But one name is certain—Doctor Doom. He hasn't been born yet, but I know enough. His genius, his ambition, his obsession with control… he could rival me one day. Perhaps more."
Karna absorbed the name, rolling it over in his mind like a stone in his palm. He had long ago accepted Aryan's strange knowledge of futures and possibilities. Still, the thought of another figure so dangerous made him uneasy.
"So Morgan sees the board already," Karna murmured. "And she wants to move the pieces before the game even begins. Arya, if she absorbed even one future self, she knows about you. She knows about Doom. What if she intends to force the two of you into conflict, to weaken both, while she stands ready to claim the ruins?"
Aryan looked at his friend for a long time, then nodded slowly.
"That," he said, "is exactly the kind of plan Morgan would weave. She was never just a sorceress. She is a strategist of centuries, patient and cruel. And if that's true, then we must be even more patient. We need more information before we move. The last thing we should do is step into a trap she's set decades ahead of time."
Karna leaned back, exhaling. For all his sharpness, he felt a chill at the thought of such enemies—ancient witches, unborn tyrants, and a multiverse spinning with dangers.
But he also felt something steadier: trust. Sitting across from Aryan, the same boy he had grown up with, the one who carried burdens heavier than any nineteen-year-old should, Karna knew he would follow him through whatever storm was coming.
For now, their path was clear: watch, wait, and prepare.
—
The maps between them still glowed faintly when their talk slowly drifted away from grand strategies and secret enemies. For a while, they simply sat like old friends who hadn't seen each other in too long.
Karna leaned back in his chair, stretching. "You know, Aryan, half the world thinks you're some untouchable figure who doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, just keeps building new miracles day and night. But when I walked in, you looked exactly like you did in school—too serious for your own good, hunched over books."
Aryan laughed softly. "And you? You've been galloping around deserts and mountains like some wandering mercenary, yet you still complain the food here doesn't taste as good as your mother's cooking."
Karna smirked. "Well, she makes the best dal in the world. Your cooks can't compete, no matter how many spices they throw in."
They both laughed, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of nations and futures didn't hang over them. Just two boys from Bharat, teasing each other.
But the moment ended too soon.
A faint warmth pulsed in Aryan's chest, mirrored in Karna's. The magical seal embedded in both their bodies flared alive, carrying the voice of the Hidden Flame directly into their minds.
"Report. From Europe. Priority: abnormal activity."
Both straightened, their laughter fading. Aryan closed his eyes, letting the message flow through. It wasn't long, but it was enough to change the air around them.
One of their agents in Hydra's circles had noticed something strange. A previously low priority figure—an unremarkable man usually considered too small to bother tracking—was suddenly acting out of character. He was moving with purpose, planning things beyond his usual reach. Even stranger, he seemed obsessed with the Nazis' Holocaust machinery, watching it closely, almost feeding off its momentum.
When the message ended, Karna rubbed his forehead, groaning. "Just when I thought I'd get a week with my family… back to Europe, huh?"
Aryan sighed as well, sympathy in his eyes. He knew how long Karna had been away from his parents and younger siblings. How much he had looked forward to sitting at their table again, hearing their voices without the weight of war pressing in. And now, before the warmth of home could even settle, duty was calling him out again.
"It never stops, does it?" Karna muttered, his tone caught between bitterness and resignation.
"No," Aryan admitted softly. "But you won't be alone this time."
Karna raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"I'll assign Nalini to Europe too," Aryan said firmly. "Shakti can handle things here, and I can step in when needed. But you've been carrying the continent almost alone these past years. That's not fair."
For a moment, Karna just looked at him. Then he chuckled, though there was gratitude in his voice. "Sending your fiancée to babysit me? Won't she complain?"
Aryan smiled faintly. "Nalini doesn't complain. She'll probably lecture you more than me. Consider it my gift—someone who will actually stop you from working yourself into the ground."
Karna shook his head, but his shoulders eased a little. He wouldn't admit it outright, but the thought of having Nalini's sharp mind and steady presence at his side made the endless, exhausting grind in Europe feel a little lighter.
The two friends sat In silence for a while after that, both thinking of the work ahead. The warmth of their laughter had faded, replaced by the familiar burden of responsibility. Yet beneath it all was the unspoken truth—they would face whatever came, together or apart, and neither would let the flame they had built be extinguished.
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