Morning came with a kind of fragile stillness that felt almost borrowed. The storm had passed, the mansion breathed again, and yet… something inside those walls still trembled.
The sky outside still wore the pale hue of early dawn; clouds drifted slowly, heavy and gray, while the faint golden light from the rising sun touched the edges of the tall windows of the Sunayna mansion.
Inside, everything breathed silence.
The air smelled faintly of wet earth and jasmine — the garden had been drenched by the rain, and the wind still carried its damp fragrance through half-open windows. From the kitchen, the faint clatter of plates and spoons mixed with the hiss of boiling tea.
The light crept through the lace curtains of Maya's room, pale and tentative. Dust motes floated in the golden air like forgotten ghosts. Maya sat by the window, her diary resting on her knees. She had not opened it since the night before. Her gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the gardens, past the tall gates, past the morning mist. Her face was unreadable — too calm, too still.
There was a faint bruise beneath her eye, a remnant of yesterday's collapse, though she carried it like a secret rather than a wound. The faint scent of jasmine drifted through the open window, but she didn't notice. She sat motionless, her long hair falling like ink down her shoulders, her gloves neatly folded beside her.
It was then that the sound came — soft footsteps in the courtyard below. The kind that did not belong to the house staff.
Then, the low murmur of voices.
Then silence.
Something within her stilled. Her head lifted.
Mahi was in the dining area, arranging breakfast — slices of toast, soft-boiled eggs, and a bowl of fruits.Downstairs, the front doors opened. The echo of boots on marble carried up the grand staircase. A stranger had entered the Sunayna mansion.
At first, no one knew who he was.
The man who stood in the foyer was tall, his frame lean but strong, movements deliberate, measured — like a blade that had forgotten rust. His eyes were dark, almost too dark, and in their depths lingered a calm that felt dangerous. His clothes were simple: black training garb, sleeves rolled to the forearm, a silver cord tied loosely around his wrist. There was a scar near his jaw — thin, pale, like a line drawn by fire long ago.
Nahi appeared at the top of the stairs, startled. Fahim moved protectively closer to her. "Who are you?" he demanded, voice edged with suspicion.
The stranger said nothing at first. He looked around slowly — at the chandelier, at the family portraits, at the staircase curling like a serpent above him. Then his gaze settled on Rahi.
And Rahi froze.The cup in his hand slipped and shattered against the floor.
He stared — eyes widening, breath catching. His body went rigid, like he had just seen a ghost step out of the past.For the first time in years, something like fear flickered across his face.
"Nahir," he breathed.
The others turned to him in confusion.
"You… you know him?" Fahad asked.
Rahi nodded slowly, his throat tight. "He...."
Rahi didn't reply. He simply nodded, his throat tightening.
The others exchanged puzzled glances. Fahan leaned closer, whispering, "Who is he?"
But Rahi's mind wasn't here anymore — it had already gone back to the Lab. The metallic corridors, the stench of disinfectant, the screams echoing through steel walls.
Cell 16.
Right across from Maya's.
" subjevt 14A ", rahi said.
The room fell silent.
Nahir's lips curved — not into a smile, but something sharper. "You remember me," he said softly. His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but it carried a coldness that made even the air hesitate. "It's been a long time, Rahi."
Rahi took a step forward. "You escaped. They said you died."
Nahir shrugged. "Maybe I did. Maybe the one who died wasn't me." He looked around again, his gaze moving from one face to another, until it stopped "Where is she?"
"Who?" Mahi asked, uneasy.
" Maya. Where is she..... ". and then his gaze move's on the staircase.
Because she was there.
Maya.
She stood halfway down, barefoot, wearing a loose white shirt and black trousers, her hair unbound. Her eyes, shadowed by the morning light, locked on him with a calm that was neither recognition nor surprise — only certainty..
She had felt his presence before he even entered the gate.
Their eyes met, and in that instant, the quiet between them deepened into something else. Not nostalgia. Not hatred. Something ancient and unfinished — forged in metal and blood.
Nahir tilted his head slightly. "You felt me coming, didn't you?"
Maya's answer was a whisper, but it carried across the hall like the edge of a blade. "Yes."
No one moved.
The others looked between them, puzzled, wary.
Then Nahir's lips parted into a faint, humorless smile. "Then let's not pretend," he said softly. "Let's finish what was never finished."
He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming. "Let's have a round, shall we?"
Mahi frowned, bewildered. "A round? What—what are you talking about?"
But Maya understood. Her expression didn't change. Her voice was flat, almost detached. "Here," she said simply.
A slow grin crossed Nahir's face. "Afraid?"
The word cut through the room like lightning.
For a moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath. Then, without warning, Maya stepped forward — the faintest sound of her bare feet brushing the marble.
"No," she said, her voice steady. "Never."
The clash began before anyone could intervene.
Nahir moved first — fast, almost invisible, a blur of motion. His foot struck the floor and the marble cracked beneath him as he lunged forward. Maya twisted sideways, dodging the strike with inhuman grace. Her body flowed like water, bending and turning with impossible precision.
The guests screamed.
Maya rose from the crouch, her eyes calm, her body loose as silk. She didn't counter immediately — she was studying him, reading his rhythm. He moved again, a flurry of blows — fists, knees, elbows — each strike aimed to kill.
They moved too quickly for the eye to follow — a dance of speed, a flurry of air and impact. Nahir's fist struck; Maya caught it midair. His leg swept low; she leaped, spinning, her hair cutting through the air like a dark ribbon. The sound of their movements echoed like thunder in the great hall.
Rahi shouted, "Stop! Both of you—" but his voice was lost in the storm of motion.
Furniture splintered. Curtains ripped. The chandelier trembled above them.
Then Maya struck back.
Fahim whispered, "They're going to kill each other."
Rahi's voice trembled. "No. This isn't about death. It's about memory."
She pivoted sharply, her palm connecting with Nahir's chest — the impact sent a shockwave that rippled across the floor.The nearest glass shattered.
The air itself seemed to bend.
He staggered back, grinning through the pain. "Still the same," he said, breathless. "Precise. Cold. Controlled."
Her eyes narrowed. "You talk too much."
He laughed — an echo that sounded almost joyous. "Ah, but you listen too well."
He leapt again, this time feinting left and sweeping right. She countered instantly, her body folding and unfolding like silk in the wind. Every movement was a story — disciplined, deadly, divine.
Nahir stumbled back, breath catching, but his grin only widened. "Good," he said, voice shaking with exhilaration. "You've grown."
Maya didn't answer. Her eyes had darkened — a faint glow pulsing beneath her pupils, that quiet hum growing stronger.
Outside, the servants and onlookers gathered, drawn by the sound. They appeared by the seen whispering in disbelief. A girl and a young man — fighting like phantoms, their speed beyond comprehension.
The air rippled with various energy.