The cheers of the crowd washed over us like a crashing tide, but none of us were cheering.
We stood frozen on the edge of the parade route, hearts hammering against our ribs as the towering figure of Commander Navek Vyer passed by on his blackened hover-chariot, a living god paraded before his worshippers. His armor shimmered with a faint pulse, as if the Noctirum embedded in it breathed with him. Behind him marched the Supreme Squad — armored soldiers wielding brutal spears that hummed with barely contained energy, each weapon potent enough to tear through steel like paper.
But it wasn't the commander or his soldiers that held our attention. It was the trucks that followed.
Massive, hulking vehicles, their engines growling low as they lumbered down the parade route. But the trucks weren't just machines. They carried something much darker. The low hum of power emanating from them was unmistakable. Inside those trucks were Noctirum cores, pulsing and throbbing with energy, glowing faintly in the shadows of the cargo holds.
As the trucks passed, something strange happened. A tremor ran through the air.
It was like a ripple, a flicker in the fabric of reality itself. A sudden, sharp pull in my head — a sensation I couldn't place. I looked around at the others. Their expressions mirrored my confusion, eyes widening as they too felt it, whatever it was.
And then, it hit us.
There was a connection, a neural link that bridged the space between us. It started as a low hum, a vibration deep in my skull, but then it began to intensify, like a floodgate had opened. My thoughts weren't my own anymore. They mingled with the others, like threads woven together, memories rising to the surface.
A flood. A rush.
I saw the nightmare.
The darkness, the cold metallic door slowly creaking open. A shadow in the doorway, reaching out, and I could see his eyes. Navek Vyer's eyes. His cold, unfeeling gaze. My breath caught in my throat. The vision was so vivid, I could feel my pulse in my neck as if I were back there, standing in that same nightmare. The cold touch of something... wrong.
Beside me, I heard Dikshant's voice.
"Dad..." he whispered, and his voice cracked with a deep pain. "He taught me about guns, about power. He said they'd make me stronger..."
Dikshant's hand gripped mine tighter, his body trembling as he reeled from the memories that surged through him. I could almost feel the weight of our father's lessons, the way those words had stayed with him, shaping him into someone who could survive in this harsh world. And now, they haunted him.
I glanced at his face, his eyes glazed, distant — a man lost in a memory of something he had tried to bury long ago.
Aman, a few steps away, was visibly shaking too. His breath came out in sharp bursts.
"Basketball…" he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "I worked so hard for that. I was so close. And then…"
His hands balled into fists, shaking violently. His frustration boiled over, and with a roar of pure rage, he kicked a nearby trash bin, sending it clattering across the street.
"I could've made it," he shouted, voice cracking. "I could've been something! But that damn leg..."
His eyes burned with anger, the memory of his injury and the years of hard work now torn away by that single moment.
Naina. I could see her in the corner of my eye, her face twisted in pain.
"Failure…" she whispered to herself, barely audible. "I failed. The test… I failed…"
Her voice trembled as if she were fighting to keep herself together. But she wasn't. I could see it.
I could see the weight of her past failure crushing her, the pressure of it sinking deep into her soul. And when I looked at her, my heart sank. She was caught in a loop of pain, reliving the moment when her world had collapsed in on itself, when her failure had defined her.
She sank to her knees, her face pale, her eyes hollow. For a moment, she was lost in that dark memory, and I couldn't reach her. The others were silent, watching her in stunned, helpless silence.
Then, there was Aanchal.
She looked so different, her expression softening as she seemed to be lost in her own memory.
"I used to be sweet," she whispered, barely audible. "I used to be... so happy. So full of hope."
Her voice cracked as she continued, the memories flowing through her like a tide. "And then... they said things. Hurtful things. The others…"
Her eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the memory, but it was already there. I could feel it too. The cruel words, the teasing, the way the world had shattered her innocent view.
Aanchal, the girl who had once been the light of every room, now haunted by those who had broken her.
It was a flood of memories, each one tied to the pulsing hum of the Ores, as if the energy itself was dragging them to the surface.
The pain. The loss. The failure.
And we were all helpless against it.
The hum of the ore intensified, and I felt something shift in the air, something darker. We were no longer just feeling the memories. Something else was coming.
My body went rigid as the first guard's voice rang out.
"Hey! Stop!" he shouted, pointing directly at us.
The moment the guards spotted us, everything shattered. The connection, the memories, the overwhelming flood of emotions — it all collapsed into chaos.
"Run!" I yelled, my voice hoarse.
Without thinking, we bolted, pushing through the crowd as the guards began to move toward us. The memories still lingered, heavy in our minds, pulling us down as we tried to escape. But it didn't matter. The chase had begun.
We broke into a sprint, shoving through the stunned spectators. Angry shouts erupted behind us. The city twisted into a blur of neon and concrete as we sprinted down alleys, vaulting over trash bins and dodging stunned civilians.
But chaos was never kind to us.
In the mess of bodies and flashing lights, we lost each other.
I turned just in time to see Aman and Naina grabbed by the guards, dragged struggling toward a side alley.
"No!" I shouted, moving forward — but Aanchal yanked me back hard.
"Shivam, no!" she snapped. "If they take you too, it's over!"
We ducked into a narrow alley, breathless and helpless, watching from the shadows as our friends were hauled away.
The weight of failure crushed my chest.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. I should have done something. Anything.
But surviving meant knowing when to fight — and when to wait.
For now, we had to wait.
Defeated and heartsick, we staggered through the maze of alleys until we found the building — the same one we had broken into the night before. A small, modest home tucked between two abandoned structures.
I climbed up first, fingers trembling as I pried open the same loose window.
And froze. Inside, lights flickered on.
A man and woman stood facing us, eyes wide with shock — and fury. The man lunged first.
Raghu — sturdy, mid-40s, a face lined with both kindness and caution.
His wife, Janvi, moved behind him, ushering their two younger children out of sight.
Aanchal yelped as Raghu tackled me, pinning me to the ground. A wild, desperate struggle broke out — not trained fighting, just fear against fear.
"We're not thieves!" I gasped, trying to shove him off.
"Then what are you?!" Raghu barked, his hand tightening around my wrist.
Janvi pulled a battered old pistol from a kitchen drawer, leveling it with shaking hands.
"Stay down!" she warned.
Within seconds, they had overpowered us. Dikshant struggled uselessly against the rough cloth they tied around his wrists. Aanchal glared daggers at them but didn't resist — smart enough to know that one wrong move could cost us more than just freedom.
"What are you doing here?" Raghu demanded, his voice low and angry. For a moment, I said nothing, my mind racing. We could lie. We could beg. But what would that buy us? A few minutes, maybe. I took a slow, shaking breath.
"We're not from here," I said finally. "We came from the ground. From Delhi." Raghu's eyes widened slightly. Janvi's hand trembled around the gun. "You're... grounders?" she whispered. Seeing the flicker of recognition — and maybe, maybe a sliver of pity — I pressed on. "Our friends—" my voice cracked. I swallowed it down. "Our friends were taken. We just... we just need help. Please."
Raghu and Janvi exchanged a long, heavy look. Something silent passed between them. Then, slowly, Janvi lowered the pistol.
"If you're lying," she said coldly, "it won't end well for you." She and Raghu untied our wrists, their hands rough but not cruel.
And then — they did something I hadn't expected at all.
They gave us food.
Simple things — warm bread, spiced lentils, clean water — but after months of garbage scraps, it tasted like a feast.
As we ate, ragged and grateful, they sat across from us, watching.
Finally, Raghu spoke.
"You need to understand something," he said quietly. "This city — the Veydra Dominion — it's not paradise. It's a prison."
He leaned forward, voice dropping lower.
"You've seen the commander. Navek Vyer. He's not just a man — not anymore. Neither are his daughter, Samaira, or his youngest son, Veil."
"They're..." Janvi hesitated. "They're something more. Something born of Noctirum."
I blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Noctirum is alive, in a way," Raghu explained. "It fuses to flesh, to thought. But almost no one can survive full integration. It tears most people apart. Or worse — enslaves them."
"But Navek? His children?" Janvi continued, voice hollow. "They were... changed. They became living weapons."
"Samaira," Raghu muttered, "is the sword — deadly, precise, untouchable. Veil is the shield — unbreakable, remorseless. And Navek..."
He shook his head, as if even speaking the name was dangerous.
"He is the storm itself."
I felt a coldness settle in my gut.
"What about the soldiers?" Aanchal asked, her voice small.
"They're armed with Noctirum suits," Raghu said. "And weapons — spears, swords, shields. Infused with trace amounts of Noctirum. A thousand times weaker than what Navek or his bloodline can wield — but still stronger than any tank, any missile you've ever seen."
"And the common guards?" Dikshant asked.
Raghu gave a grim smile. "Guns. Batons. Old-world tech. Just enough to keep civilians scared."
I leaned back, the weight of this new reality pressing down on me.
We weren't just up against an army.
We were up against gods.
And we had just lost two of our own.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the city...
The guards shoved Aman and Naina through a rusted metal door, slamming it shut behind them. The air was damp and electric, buzzing faintly with hidden energy.
They stumbled forward into a cavernous underground facility.
Hundreds — no, thousands — of people filled the sprawling space. Men, women, even children. Some tending to machines. Some practicing combat drills. Others just sitting, hollow-eyed, waiting.
It wasn't a prison.
It was a city beneath a city.
A rebellion hidden in the bones of the Dominion.
The guards marched them toward a raised platform, where an old man with a jagged eyepatch sat waiting. He rose shakily, cane tapping against the metal floor.
Aman and Naina exchanged a wary glance.
This... is the leader?
Before they could speak, a second figure stepped forward — a young man, maybe late twenties, tall and lean, with sharp eyes that missed nothing.
He smiled, thin and dangerous. "Welcome," he said.
"My name is Vidhart." "And you," he added, looking at them like a general inspecting new recruits, "You guys have just stumbled into the heart of the rebellion against the Veydra Dominion."