The city slept under its web of neon veins, but not all things at rest were at peace.
On a rooftop overlooking the glowing slums near Sector Delta-9, two shadows crouched like panthers beneath the artificial starlight.
The prince's knights.
One of them, tall and slender with a serrated blade sheathed in black metal, clicked his tongue as he adjusted the scope on his ocular visor.
"There," he muttered, pointing across the street to the dim structure below. "Target One."
His partner, bulkier and silent, didn't answer. He only nodded.
From the house below, Shivam stepped out into the cold glow of the streetlamps, his face sunken in guilt. He didn't bother to zip up the worn jacket Raghu had given him. The cold didn't sting as much as the memory of betrayal.
His feet moved without thought, and five minutes later, Aanchal and Dikshant quietly followed, whispering his name as they caught up. They didn't want him out alone — not now, not with the city turning stranger every night.
From above, one of the knights laughed softly.
"They make it so easy."
The two hunters descended from the rooftops, melting into the shadowed alleyways, matching the trio's steps like phantoms.
Oblivious to their stalkers, Shivam, Aanchal, and Dikshant walked the unfamiliar streets in silence. Their feet eventually led them to an alley lit by a flickering purple sign — the same place where they had first encountered Adhivita.
They sat quietly beneath the pulsing lights, the weight of their recent choices heavy in the air.
But something shifted.
A figure emerged at the far end of the alley, face obscured by a dark mask, a blade glinting at his side.
His eyes locked onto Shivam like a predator spotting prey.
Shivam stood, his instincts roaring.
"Get up," he whispered. "We're not alone."
As he tilted his head slightly, he saw the second knight crouched atop the alley's rooftop, watching.
Suddenly, their satellite phone buzzed with a sharp beep.
Shivam answered instinctively.
"Hello? This is Group 3—" a voice crackled, but was quickly drowned out by the growing tension.
The knights twitched at the sound. Shivam made a split-second decision.
"Run!" he hissed.
Aanchal and Dikshant bolted down the alley's left side, while Shivam dashed in the opposite direction, hoping to draw at least one away.
It worked.
The rooftop knight leapt after Shivam without hesitation.
Boots slammed against metal as Shivam ducked into an open building and tore up the stairwell, heart thudding like a war drum. He burst through the rooftop door and sprinted across to the next building. Then another. And another. The city blurred beneath him.
Behind him, the knight was relentless — never slipping, never faltering, always just one rooftop away.
Adhivita's voice echoed in his mind.
"Use momentum. Stay off-center. Make your angle unpredictable."
He turned suddenly, ducking under a rusted pipeline, and leapt across a gap to a flat two-story building.
The knight followed — and landed directly in front of him.
"The chase ends here," he said coolly, drawing a Noctirum-bladed dagger that shimmered with psionic energy.
Shivam's chest heaved, sweat burning his eyes. He reached for the small blade Adhivita had once slipped into his jacket.
It was time to use what little he remembered.
The knight lunged. Shivam sidestepped, slashing low. Sparks flew. The next blow grazed his shoulder, tearing fabric and skin. Shivam ducked, rolled, kicked — instinct more than skill.
But the knight was a machine of precision.
Below, in the alley where Aanchal and Dikshant had fled, the second knight had cornered them near a wrecked tram. Dikshant tried to shield Aanchal, holding a broken rod like a weapon. It wasn't enough.
The knight raised his blade—
—and suddenly Shivam fell from above, having jumped off the rooftop in a final desperate move.
He crashed into the knight like a comet, driving both of them down onto the hood of a rusted car. The impact sent a thunderclap through the alley. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. The world tilted. The knight's head cracked against the car roof. Shivam screamed as a Noctirum dagger — still in the knight's grip — impaled into his chest. A scream tore from Aanchal's throat.
The silence that followed was shattered by approaching boots and gunfire. From the side street, rebels poured in — red scarves fluttering, weapons drawn.
Among them: Naina, Aman, and Vidhart. "Get them out!" Vidhart barked. "Move!"
Aman slammed into the second knight with a pipe, knocking him off balance. Naina pulled Dikshant and Aanchal back, dragging them toward safety. The first knight — the one who had fought Shivam — was motionless, blood pooling beneath his crushed head. Shivam lay beside him, pale, his breaths shallow.
The other knight snarled, realizing the odds had shifted. He grabbed the fallen satellite phone, activated a smoke pod, and vanished into the chaos.
Two rebels gave chase.
Naina dropped beside Shivam, hands trembling. Aanchal knelt across from her, trying to stifle the bleeding.
The blade had missed his heart — barely. But the wound was deep. "We need to move," Aman said grimly. "Now."
The rebels formed a shielded circle, hauling Shivam's unconscious body out of the alley and into the fog of night. Ash drifted through the air.
Blood smeared the cracked roads. And far above, the floating city blinked with a thousand lights, uncaring. Darkness.
It was endless, all-consuming, and quiet. Shivam floated in the void, weightless and blind. He couldn't move, couldn't feel the ground or any tether to reality. His thoughts felt distant, muffled, like echoes from a faraway place. The emptiness around him seemed to stretch on forever, but there was something else in that silence. Something waiting.
A whisper, barely a breath. "Boy, we meet again."
The voice was low, resonant, wrapping around him like a wave. It wasn't just a sound. It was a presence, a pulse in the darkness, pulling at something deep within him. His mind screamed in response, but his body remained still. Unyielding. His heart hammered against his ribs, but still, he couldn't move.
"Finally, now you and I are one." The words were final, like a decree. His chest tightened. The voice, no longer just an echo but a force, sank into him, tangled with his thoughts. It was as if it had always been a part of him, waiting to emerge.
Shivam tried to open his eyes, but they remained shut. A phantom pain seared through his body, yet he couldn't feel it. His mind was awake, his senses sharp, but his body lay unconscious, trapped between two worlds. He knew he was dreaming, but the dream was no longer just a dream. It was real.
The darkness closed in on him, suffocating, pressing against his very being. Then the voice echoed again, but this time, it was not alone. There was a crackling, a hum of energy, as though something ancient was awakening — something that had been buried, hidden away.
The dark space shifted, and for the briefest moment, Shivam saw a figure — a shadow, faceless but familiar. It stood at the edge of his perception, barely visible, but there.
The voice, now colder, sharper: "You are not alone anymore. You never were."
Shivam's mind recoiled, but his body remained frozen. He couldn't escape. The figure was getting closer, a presence that was becoming him, as much as he was becoming it. And then everything blurred. The space warped. Time slowed.
In that moment, it wasn't just the void that surrounded him. It was him— all of him, intertwined with the darkness. He felt his own essence begin to merge with something ancient, something powerful. It wasn't his mind anymore. It wasn't just his body. The thing inside him knew. The voice, now almost a whisper in his ear, echoed one last time: "We are one now." And with that final phrase, the darkness engulfed him completely.