The world did not pause for transformation.
By the time Aarav returned home, the city had already swallowed the explosion at the metro station into its endless stream of noise and distraction. News vans gathered. Social media speculated. Authorities called it a gas-line accident.
Life moved on.
But inside him, something had shifted permanently.
Meera had insisted they separate temporarily.
"Normalcy is camouflage," she had said. "Stay visible. Stay predictable."
It sounded simple.
It wasn't.
When Aarav entered his apartment, the familiar scent of tea and incense greeted him. His mother was in the kitchen, humming softly while stirring something in a steel pot.
The ordinary sound felt almost unreal.
"You're late," she called out. "Did you eat anything?"
He stood frozen for a moment.
This.
This was what he could lose.
"I'm fine," he replied, forcing steadiness into his voice.
She walked into the living room, wiping her hands on her dupatta, studying him carefully. "You look tired."
"I didn't sleep much."
"You work too hard," she sighed gently. "You're not a machine."
If only she knew.
He retreated to his room before she could ask more questions.
The moment the door closed, the air changed.
Not visibly.
But perceptibly.
The notebook inside his bag vibrated faintly.
He pulled it out slowly.
The symbol on the cover was darker now. More defined.
Permanent.
He placed it on the desk and stepped back.
Nothing happened.
Just silence.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand across his face.
Maybe he could manage this.
Maybe Meera was exaggerating.
Maybe the transformation would be gradual.
Manageable.
He reached toward the notebook.
The moment his fingers brushed the cover—
The world fractured.
His room blurred at the edges.
Sound distorted.
His mother's voice echoed faintly from the other side of the wall, but it stretched unnaturally, like a recording played too slowly.
His vision snapped forward—
And he was no longer in his room.
He was standing at a crowded street crossing.
Cars honking.
People walking.
Normal afternoon chaos.
He looked around, confused.
Then he saw it.
A bus speeding toward the intersection.
Brakes failing.
A small child standing in the middle of the road, frozen.
Time slowed.
Aarav tried to move.
But he wasn't there.
He was only watching.
The bus did not stop.
The impact—
The vision shattered.
He staggered backward in his bedroom, slamming into the wall.
Breath ragged.
Sweat dripping down his temple.
His heart pounded violently.
Was that a memory?
Or—
A prediction?
He checked the time.
2:12 PM.
The image replayed in his mind.
The crossing.
The red pharmacy sign.
The blue fruit cart.
He knew that place.
Three streets away.
Without thinking, he grabbed his jacket and ran.
The afternoon sun hit hard as he sprinted down the street.
His lungs burned.
His thoughts spiraled.
If it was just imagination, he would look insane.
If it wasn't—
He turned the corner.
And there it was.
The crossing.
The red pharmacy board.
The blue fruit cart.
Exactly as he saw it.
His stomach dropped.
Traffic flowed normally.
People moved casually.
Nothing unusual.
He scanned frantically.
Where was the child?
A horn blared.
He turned—
And saw it.
The bus.
Too fast.
The driver's face pale with panic.
Aarav's pulse exploded.
Then he saw her.
A little girl, maybe six years old, standing frozen in the middle of the road. A balloon string wrapped around her wrist, the balloon floating carelessly above.
Time seemed to thin.
This was the moment.
He didn't think.
He ran.
People shouted.
Cars honked aggressively.
He pushed through moving vehicles, ignoring the terror screaming in his own mind.
The bus was seconds away.
He reached the girl and grabbed her roughly, pulling her toward him with full force.
The bus roared past them—
Missing by inches.
The wind of its speed knocked them both sideways.
They hit the ground hard.
Gasps erupted around them.
The bus screeched to a halt further down the road.
Chaos followed.
Aarav's ears rang.
The little girl began crying.
Alive.
Alive.
Relief surged through him—
And then something inside snapped again.
The air around him distorted.
Cracks of light flickered across his vision.
Not physical cracks.
Energetic ones.
He felt something pulling outward from his chest.
Unstable.
Uncontrolled.
The notebook's symbol burned faintly in his mind.
The crowd around him blurred.
A sharp pulse erupted from his body—
Invisible but forceful.
A shockwave.
Windows shattered along the street.
People were thrown backward violently.
Cars skidded.
Screams filled the air.
The girl slipped from his grasp as he lost balance.
The energy burst outward in a circular ripple, knocking everyone within ten meters off their feet.
Then—
Silence.
Dust hung in the air.
A car alarm wailed somewhere.
Aarav knelt in the center of the street.
Horrified.
He hadn't meant—
He hadn't—
A man nearby groaned, clutching his arm.
A woman lay bleeding from shattered glass.
The fruit cart was overturned.
The balloon floated away into the sky.
The little girl stared at him in fear.
Not gratitude.
Fear.
Because she had seen it.
The energy.
He stood slowly.
People were staring.
Some filming.
Some whispering.
"What was that?"
"Did you see that?"
"Explosion?"
"No fire—"
His pulse raced again.
This was bad.
Very bad.
He backed away slowly.
Then turned and ran.
By the time he reached an empty alley, his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
He pressed them against the brick wall.
"What did I do?" he whispered.
Footsteps approached from behind.
He turned sharply.
Meera stood at the alley entrance.
Watching him.
"You felt it," she said quietly.
He stared at her.
"I saved her."
"Yes."
"And then I hurt everyone else."
Silence.
Her expression was not judgmental.
But it wasn't surprised either.
"This is what I warned you about," she said.
"I didn't mean to."
"You don't have control yet."
"I don't want this."
Her gaze softened slightly.
"No one does."
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration boiling over. "I saw it before it happened. The bus. The girl. I saw it."
"That's the first phase," she said. "Precognition tied to turning points."
"And the second phase?"
She hesitated.
"Instability."
He laughed bitterly. "That's one word for it."
Sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
News of the shockwave was already spreading.
"They'll review footage," she continued. "They'll analyze it."
"Your organization?"
"Yes."
"And the other faction?"
"They already know."
Aarav closed his eyes.
"This is exactly what that Original wanted."
"Yes."
Realization dawned slowly.
"It tested me to trigger this."
Meera nodded once.
"They push new Guardians toward emotional overload. It accelerates power."
Anger flared.
"So I'm just part of an experiment?"
"Not an experiment."
She met his gaze directly.
"A catalyst."
The word chilled him more than anything else that day.
A phone buzzed in her pocket.
She checked it.
Her expression changed subtly.
"What?" he demanded.
"There's internal movement."
"In your organization?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
She hesitated.
"Not everyone agrees with protecting you."
His chest tightened.
"You said you were the controlled side."
"We are."
"Then why does that sound like a problem?"
She slipped the phone back into her pocket.
"Because someone just leaked your location."
Aarav's blood ran cold.
"You're saying—"
"Yes."
"There's a traitor."
Sirens grew louder.
Closer.
Meera stepped toward him.
"We need to move now."
He didn't resist.
Not this time.
As they slipped deeper into the alley network, one thought echoed louder than all others.
He had saved one life.
And endangered dozens more.
Power was not heroic.
It was volatile.
And somewhere—
Watching through cameras, through shadows, through broken loyalties—
The Original was smiling.
Because the Guardian had taken his first step.
And the world had already begun to crack.