Moonlight spilled across the forest, glinting off the sword symbol etched onto the blood-slicked blade. That sword, now radiating a fierce orange aura, pulsed with heat and will—almost as if it were alive.
The one holding it—Surya—stood over a pile of fallen enemies, his smirk unshaken.
"You didn't expect me... huh?" he whispered to the last remaining Hollow Pact soldier as the blade sliced through the air—clean, swift, final.
As the lifeless body collapsed, Surya wiped the blade clean, murmuring with grim satisfaction,
"Aditya uncle… just like you said—I, Surya, will act as the hidden trump card."
Suddenly, to his left, a rustling.
He turned just in time to see another Hollow Pact member attempting to tap a weapon, producing a sharp, metallic resonance—just like the one Nightmare used. Surya didn't flinch.
In an instant, he severed the man's hands, then pierced him clean through the heart. The body dropped, and a strange, dark greenish blood oozed across the forest floor.
Surya leaned in, eyes narrowing. He pulled out his phone, flipping through a private document. One profile photo froze him mid-breath.
"The missing news reporter…" he muttered, frustration flaring in his voice. "The one investigating the Numn University survivors... You were supposed to be dead."
Now reborn as a Hollow Pact pawn.
With a heavy exhale, Surya tightened his grip on the sword.
"No hesitation."
He raised the blade and ignited the entire clearing in a controlled inferno. The orange flames devoured every corpse, incinerating the twisted remnants of betrayal and silence.
Just as the flames dimmed, the quiet hum of a scooty broke the air.
"Security!" a female voice called out. "I heard sounds behind the trees. Can you check if someone's there?"
A second voice answered, "Yes, Pooja ma'am."
Surya's head snapped up.
No evidence. No trace.
With swift precision, he collected the ashes into a discreet glass bottle and slid it into his coat pocket. Then, with practiced ease, he unsheathed a clean sword from a custom guitar case, slipped the burnt one away, and positioned himself under a nearby tree.
By the time the scooty headlights turned the corner, Surya was casually strumming chords on his guitar, the gentle notes masking the carnage that had taken place.
The two girls on the scooty—chatted idly, unaware that death had been narrowly averted just meters away.
The security guard stepped past the trees, glancing around.
Surya plucked a calm melody.
"Nothing but music here, ladies and gentlemen."
----
Pooja and Sneha stepped off the scooty, their attention instantly pulled to the youth strumming a guitar under the moonlight. The breeze carried soft melodies, but what truly caught their gaze was the boy behind the strings.
The security guard narrowed his eyes and barked, "Hey! Who the hell are you? What are you doing here at this hour?"
The guitarist looked up with a lazy smirk, his eyes drifting from the guard to the two girls standing behind him. With a playful, flirtatious tone, he replied,
"A simple guitarist, enjoying his youth under the moonlight… while admiring beautiful girls."
Sneha leaned toward Pooja, whispering, "Pooja… look at this man. He's… hotter than Ayaan, Dev, and even Ajay combined."
Pooja gave a small gasp and whispered back, "I know right? Ajay's trash, Anaya already claimed Ayaan… and I'm pretty sure Riya and Dev are in denial but totally into each other."
Sneha grinned, her voice low with mock drama. "Should we… fight over him?"
"Yup. If we meet him again—it's game on: you vs me."
At that moment, the young man shivered slightly, as if he sensed the chaotic energy brewing behind those whispers.
The guard scowled, pulling out his baton. "Enough nonsense. Get out of here! You two, please head to your rooms. I'll take care of this."
As Pooja and Sneha walked away, they exchanged one last conspiratorial glance.
"We're seriously fighting over him next time."
"Oh, absolutely."
Once the girls disappeared inside the hostel, the atmosphere shifted.
The security guard dropped his act, kneeling down before the guitarist and whispering, "Master Surya… what are you doing here at this time?"
Surya, no longer wearing the playful smile, spoke coolly. "Nothing. Just scouting the situation. But… increase security around this area."
He turned his gaze upward, toward a particular window on the second floor. Anaya's room.
"If possible," he continued, "assign a room to me to escort this area. Quietly. No one should know."
The guard nodded with solemn understanding, revealing beneath his uniform the subtle glow of a bow-shaped emblem—the mark of a Project-M scout.
"Understood, Master Surya."
-----
In the dim glow of the living room, Ayaan sat on the couch, his ears getting firmly twisted by Tanvi, who wasn't holding back.
"Mom, ow—please! It's my story with a girl, not a war!" Ayaan pleaded, cheeks red with a mixture of pain and embarrassment.
Tanvi raised an eyebrow. "A kiss. A date. And you still haven't proposed?" she huffed. "Are you actually in love, or are you just wasting her time? Be honest with me—do you really love her?"
Ayaan looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mom… I don't know how to explain it." He paused, voice softening. "I met her in a strange situation. I still don't understand what she saw in me. Every time I try to ask her, she changes the topic… but even then, she shows her feelings so honestly, so clearly..."
Tanvi couldn't help but laugh. She pulled out an old photo from a nearby drawer and placed it in Ayaan's hands. It showed three young people: Tanvi, a man who was clearly Ayaan's father… and a third man—someone youthful, confident, and familiar in posture.
"I never guessed my daughter-in-law would be so much like me," Tanvi said with a warm smile. "Do you know, I was the one who chased after your father?"
Ayaan blinked. "Wait—seriously?"
"Oh yes. Back then, I didn't even have the courage to express my feelings openly. My family and your father's had… issues. Real issues. But when my elder brother saw my face—just one look—he understood everything. He believed in me, in my love. Despite the family clashes, he tried to bridge that gap, just so I could be happy."
She ran her fingers gently across the photograph, her voice trembling with both pride and memory.
"Later, I found out your father had always felt the same… he just waited for the right moment."
She turned to Ayaan, her tone suddenly firm again. "That's why I'm telling you: don't wait. If you love her—truly—then tell her. Immediately."
And with a mischievous grin, she reached out and grinded his ears again. "So! When do I get to meet my future daughter-in-law?"
Ayaan flailed slightly, laughing nervously. "Mom! Calm down! I'll introduce her when the time's right!"
Then, more quietly, he glanced back at the photo. "You've told me about Dad... but never really about my uncle. That third guy—was that him? Can you tell me more about him?"
Suddenly, Tanvi went quiet.
She placed the photo back into the drawer gently, her expression softening.
"Ayaan… please don't ask about your uncle."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Just... go to sleep."
Ayaan didn't press.
"Alright… good night, Mom."
As he walked to his room, Tanvi sat alone, staring at the drawer that now held not just an old photo—but the weight of history, memory, and something long buried.
----
The early morning haze still lingered when Ayaan's phone buzzed, vibrating across the nightstand. He groaned slightly and glanced at the screen.
5:02 AM.
CALLER: CAPTAIN RATHORE
He picked up.
"Good morning, Captain Rathore."
On the other end, the voice was brisk and firm. "Very good morning, Ayaan Ranade. I heard Padma delivered a file to you yesterday."
"Yes, sir."
"Is Dev aware of Project-M?"
Ayaan shook his head instinctively. "No. I've never spoken to him about it. I'm certain he has no idea."
"Good," Rathore replied. "Bring that file—and Dev. Meet me at the location specified inside."
"Understood."
---
By 6:00 AM, Ayaan was freshened up and ready. As he stepped outside, he noticed open parcels by the door and the sound of tailoring from the side room.
Inside, Tanvi sat hunched over her sewing machine, stitching fabric with quiet concentration.
"Morning, Mom. What are you doing so early?"
Without looking up, she teased, "Guess."
Ayaan blinked, puzzled. "Fixing... new curtains?"
"Stupid child," Tanvi smirked. "I'm stitching a dress. For my future daughter-in-law."
Ayaan choked slightly. "Wait—how do you even know her size?"
She gave a soft chuckle. "Tailoring isn't about perfect measurements. If you're skilled enough, you adjust—just like in life." Then she gave him a pointed look. "And why are you up so early?"
"Just heading out with Dev. I noticed some open packages at the door..."
Tanvi glanced toward the hallway with a sigh. "Your dumb brother ordered new gaming consoles. That otaku's going to rot his brain."
Ayaan groaned. "I'll knock some sense into him. Cya later, Mom."
"Take care."
---
Ayaan soon rolled up in front of Dev's place, honking once.
Dev hopped on the bike, stretching. "Hey man… about yesterday—sorry for what my mom said."
Ayaan smiled. "It's okay. I've known Padma Aunt forever. Even if she's harsh, she always supported my schooling. I get her."
Dev laughed,
"Yeah... and how was your first date yesterday? And those lipstick marks on the back of your shirt?"
Ayaan suddenly hit the brakes.
"How—how do you know about that?!"
Dev groaned,
"Bro… last night your mom called my mom and told her your whole love story. Then my mom cursed me for messing up the blind date with Riya. And I still can't believe her friend's daughter is Riya!"
Ayaan blinked,
"I'm also shocked..."
Then he restarted the bike and drove ahead.
---
Eventually, the bike slowed in front of a private airplane maintenance zone tucked near the city's edge.
Dev frowned. "This is the place?"
"Yep. Rathore wants us here."
They were greeted by a stern guard who handed them ID cards. "Wear these and head inside."
Inside was a surreal sight—a secret military exhibit filled with specialized melee weapons, custom firearms, and prototype gear. At the center was a large white tent.
From inside it came a sharp, commanding voice.
"Ayaan Ranade. Dev Kollari. Come in."
"Yes, Captain Rathore!" they replied in unison.
Inside the tent, Rathore stood waiting—focused, arms folded.
He handed Dev a set of black gauntlets laced with lightweight armor plates. "Dev, you're a close-combat specialist. These are made to amplify your strengths. Use them wisely."
Then, he turned to a sleek silver box at his side. Opening it, the faint glow of the shield symbol illuminated the room.
Inside was a sniper rifle—sleek, engraved, perfectly balanced.
Rathore looked at Ayaan.
"You know," he said, voice calm, "my mentor once told me: 'We don't choose weapons. Weapons choose us.'"
He lifted the sniper and placed it into Ayaan's hands.
"This sniper — this symbol—has chosen you."
"Wield it carefully, Ayaan. This… is now your legacy."