The Dominion Air Force Base in Mayapuri was a creature of order and threat — a vast stretch of precision-laid concrete, metallic runways, and low-hovering drone ships that blinked silently beneath the sulfuric yellow sky. Every corridor hummed with purpose. Pilots marched in formation. Engineers shouted over the roar of magnetic turbines. The base smelled of machine oil, sweat, and control.
Sumit adjusted the collar of his newly issued cadet uniform, the crisp blue-grey fabric stiff against his skin. It didn't feel like victory. Not yet. He stole a glance at Pawan walking beside him — silent, focused, eyes straight ahead.
They had passed.
After weeks of relentless training, simulation pods, reflex tests, and lectures on Dominion flight protocol, they were now certified junior pilots. The lowest rung in a system built on silence and obedience — but inside the machine nonetheless.
They were assigned a deployment. Perimeter reconnaissance, Samaypur mine sector. It would begin in three days. Two compact fighter-class vessels had been prepared — sleek one-man crafts that looked like jet-knives folded into wings. Dominion design: beautiful, functional, and deadly.
Back in the dorm block, Sumit let himself collapse onto the stiff bed, his breath shallow.
"We're really going," he muttered. "Into that mine zone."
Pawan didn't answer. He sat at the desk, flicking through their assignment logs, reading silently.
The connection to Shivam's group had gone cold Weeks ago. No signal. No static. Nothing.
Either the Dominion's scanners had fried the channel… or something worse had happened.
Neither option brought comfort.
Far across the sky-borne city, Mayapuri still glimmered like a jewel dipped in corruption. Its casinos throbbed with neon. Masks and music. Faces that lied with practiced smiles. And somewhere among them, Anchal Rathod watched from behind a velvet curtain.
They had survived by blending in — a group of ghosts living among gods. Robin Rayudu's connections had given them false names, shallow pockets, and a rented flat just far enough from the main dome to avoid Dominion patrols. But the cracks were growing deeper every day.
Something was brewing in the air.
At first, it had been whispers. Here and there. A noble upset about increased surveillance. A merchant furious about sudden curfews on their staff. But now… now even the rich were starting to worry.
Inside the Pearl Spiral Casino, a silver-masked man clinked glasses with another noble and spoke in a low, anxious tone.
"I'm telling you — something's leaking from the command wing. The experiments are going too far. There's talk of... anomalies."
"Time tears?" the other man scoffed. "That's fairy tale garbage."
"I heard it from the mines," the first said, his voice tightening. "From the labs near the extraction core. A scientist went mad. Screamed something about people from before the Reset."
Anchal's heart skipped. Mansi and Suchitra, seated nearby at a card table, exchanged a glance but kept their heads down.
Then the nobles began moving — slipping behind a side curtain, toward a private room.
Anchal hesitated only a second before following. But she wasn't careful enough.
A thick hand grabbed her wrist. Another man appeared from the side hall, blocking her retreat. She didn't even have time to draw her concealed blade before a third figure stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Mansi's shoulder. Suchitra tried to move, but a silent nod brought a baton down on the table beside her.
They were led — silently, efficiently — down a back corridor. No alarms. No questions. Just a holding room with smooth white walls, no windows, and a lock that hissed like a serpent as it sealed.
The three girls sat side by side, breathing hard. Mansi leaned back, her fingers twitching.
She reached into her jacket, found a tissue, and coughed. A spray of red dotted the fabric. She cursed under her breath and turned away. Suchitra noticed. Always did.
"You need to tell someone," She whispered.
"I'm fine," Mansi lied, too tired to fight her own lungs.
"You're not." Silence fell. A cold, suffocating kind.
"I miss sunlight," Mansi said eventually, her voice weak. "Real sunlight. Not the fake dome-filtered garbage they have up here."
Suchitra reached over, touched her hand. "You remember that hill behind the school? With the broken slide?"
"We used to draw chalk maps on the wall. Pretend we were explorers."
"You always said we'd leave." Mansi laughed softly, then winced. "Yeah. Never figured we'd do it like this." Across the room, Anchal stared at the locked door. Her jaw was tight.
"I don't have a plan," she admitted. "I thought if we stayed low long enough, moved carefully... maybe we'd just survive."
"Sometimes that's enough," Mansi murmured. Then the door opened.
Robin Rayudu walked in, alone, eyes shadowed beneath his collar.
He closed the door quietly and stared at them. The silence stretched until it hurt.
"I gave you shelter," he said finally. "Food. Names. You repay me by sneaking into Dominion meetings?" His voice wasn't angry. Just cold. He pulled a pistol from his coat and raised it.
"I should shoot you here. Save myself the trouble." Anchal stood slowly. "Then do it."
Robin didn't blink. His finger hovered near the trigger. Mansi didn't move. Suchitra closed her eyes. Then—click. The safety went back on.
"You're terrible at lying," he said, exhaling. "But good at surviving. Which makes you interesting."
"What?" Anchal said, confused.
"I'm with the rebellion," Robin said. "Field agent. Deep cover. Been here three years. Vidhart's orders." Anchal didn't trust easily. But she didn't sense deceit.
"I work alone. Cells don't know about each other unless needed." He holstered the pistol.
"Now, I want names."
They gave him some. Not all. But when Anchal mentioned Shivam — the metro, the garbage pit, the escape — Robin's face darkened with realization.
"Shivam?" he repeated. "And four others?"
She nodded. "They're alive. We split up in the way."
Robin's expression shifted — something between recognition and memory.
"They're with Vidhart now," he said. "I heard two days ago. Planning something big. Emberfront, I think they're calling it."
"Then we need to get to them," Anchal said.
"You will," Robin promised. He tossed her a flat silver comm device. "Encrypted channel. Use it once, and I'll find you."
He stood. "When the spark goes up… run. Fast."
That night, in their rented quarters, Mansi lay on the floor, curled into herself. Her breathing was steady. Not strong.
Anchal sat at the small kitchen table, staring at the comm device in her hand. It pulsed once.
A message appeared. Operation Emberfront. Phase One: Initiated. Details followed.
Diversion attack — Samaypur Mine. 20:00 hours. Core team — en route to Raisina Hills.
Shivam. Naina. Aman. Aanchal's hands shook slightly as she passed the device to Mansi and Suchitra.
"They're moving," she said. "It's started." Mansi managed a weak smile. "About time."
Suchitra leaned back, gripping the edge of the couch. "Then so do we." They looked out at Mayapuri's skyline — glowing, arrogant, alive.
The city didn't know it yet. But the fuse had already been lit. And soon, fire would rise from both ends of the sky.