The first thing Aarav felt was warmth.
Not the heat of battle or the crackling of energy through his chest. But real warmth—the kind that wrapped you in soft blankets and familiar smells. He blinked slowly, his breath catching.
No lightning. No Harbinger. No fractured sky.
Instead… birds chirping. A ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. Faint clinking of utensils from the kitchen. His room.
He sat up fast.
His chest wasn't burning. His jacket wasn't torn. No glowing cube pulsed at his side. He looked down at his hands—small, soft, and unscarred. His fingertips weren't crackling with energy. They were just… fingers.
He turned to look around. Posters of cartoon superheroes still lined his wall. His action figures stood on the shelf exactly as he remembered them. And on his study desk, his old notebook lay open. Pages filled with messy drawings of heroes in capes and scribbled names for imaginary powers.
It was all just as it had been before.
No way.
Then the sound came, distant but real.
"Aarav! Wake up, birthday boy! You're going to be late!"
His mother's voice.
He scrambled to his feet and ran to the window. Outside, everything looked the same. Kids with backpacks walked to school. A dog barked in the alley. The sky was blue. Whole. Unbroken.
His heart pounded. Not from fear, but from confusion.
Wasn't I seventeen? Wasn't I… dying?
But here he was—eight years old again. Just a boy. No elemental powers. No Meera guiding missions. No Rishi flinging wind-blades through the sky.
That day passed in a blur. Every second, every moment felt too familiar. The return gift in his bag. His teacher calling attendance. The soft laugh from Meera when he dropped his pencil. Even Rishi racing ahead during lunch break—it all played out exactly like that first birthday, the one where his story began.
But this time, Aarav was different.
He knew more. Felt more. Saw more.
He watched everyone closely. Looked for signs in the sky. Waited for the cube to pulse back to life in his backpack.
But nothing happened.
Night came. He sat in bed, staring at the ceiling.
No Axis Guardians.
No portal.
No Harbinger.
No battle.
No powers.
Just him.
And slowly, as the stars blinked above the sleeping city, the memories started to slip through his fingers like sand.