**Codename: Obsidian Nexus – Global Shadow Conference**
**Time:** 03:00 IST / Global Secure Sync Active
The screen flickered.
Forty-two encrypted windows blinked to life, suspended in black silence.
No flags. No names.
Only titles, pulsing like heartbeat monitors in a dying world.
> "United States – President online."
> "India – Defense Minister present."
> "Russia – Chair of Supernatural Security."
> "Japan – Imperial Advisor connected."
> "France, Brazil, Egypt, China… Online."
No smiles.
No diplomacy.
Only dread held back by discipline.
The man who convened them bore no insignia.
No name. No allegiance.
Only a black suit and a voice distorted by layers of digital fog — as though speaking through a battlefield of ash.
> "Welcome to the first convening of the Obsidian Nexus.
> This is not about power.
> This is about survival."
Immediately, the feeds broke into overlapping voices.
> "Cities are warzones.
> Nothing we throw at them works.
> We don't even know what we're fighting."
> "Our satellites went blind over Brazil — then came back online with a new orbit pattern. Something altered gravity."
> "My city is praying. But my generals are deserting. What do you call that?"
A sharp voice cut through — thick with fanaticism:
> "This is divine cleansing. The gods are separating the faithful from the fallen."
A snort followed from the Western window.
> "You expect us to believe in… arrows that shattered dimensions? This is a mutation crisis — not mythology."
Someone banged a desk. Another's screen briefly cut to static.
> "Enough," the Moderator said, voice slicing through the chaos like a scythe.
> "Breathe. Listen. Watch."
He tapped a key.
The feed splintered.
Footage flooded the council:
—A horned beast dragging a tanker through Seoul, howling in a language that made microphones crackle.
—A child in Mexico, wrapped in cobalt fire, standing in a crater of liquified stone.
—A spectral woman in Nigeria halting bullets midair, her eyes burning green as emerald suns.
—A winged terror circling over D.C., vaporizing missiles with thunder-laced shrieks.
The NATO AI delivered the statistics in a voice like frozen steel.
> "Eighty-one confirmed spatial fractures.
> Casualties estimated: 2.4 million.
> Phenomena: bio-exoentities, quantum flux, dimensional bleed.
> Human mutations categorized: Codename — Resonants."
The Indian Defense Minister's voice broke the silence, low but cutting.
> "And these Resonants… what are they becoming?"
The American General answered flatly.
> "Unpredictable. Some manipulate gravity. Some heal like gods. Others… speak forgotten tongues. Their biology is changing. Their minds…"
> "This isn't evolution," the Japanese Imperial Advisor interrupted.
> "It's remembrance.
> Our scrolls spoke of these beings.
> The sky spirits. The thunder beasts.
> Warnings — not fairy tales."
A silence fell.
Then, the Indian Defense Minister leaned forward.
> "We've seen this before.
> Not in labs or data.
> In scripture."
He opened a virtual scroll.
Ancient Sanskrit flared across the screen, glowing like fire in the void.
> "'When Dharma is wounded, shadows will rise.
> Flame will find flesh.
> And forgotten names shall return, cloaked in mortal form.'"
The German Chancellor blinked.
> "That's not intel. What are you quoting?"
> "The Mahabharata. The Ramayana. The Puranas.
> They weren't myths. They were memory encoded as metaphor.
> Arjuna's arrows broke dimensions.
> Karna bore celestial armor.
> Bhishma chose when to die.
> Hanuman leapt oceans with faith and force.
> These were not legends.
> They were records — written in the only language our ancestors had left."
The room remained frozen.
Not in disbelief.
In recognition.
The Russian Chair — known for cynicism — spoke quietly.
> "Then… we sealed something. Long ago."
The Moderator tapped again.
New imagery appeared:
—Cave paintings in Siberia, echoing Vedic yantras.
—Peruvian monoliths carved with chakra diagrams.
—A cyclone above the Ganga swirling into a mandala shape.
> "You didn't evolve," he said.
> "You remembered."
> "And what now?" Egypt's Minister whispered.
> "How do you regulate gods?"
> "With W\.A.R. — World Awakened Regulation," the Moderator replied.
> "Track them. Classify them. Control them.
> Neutralize them… if necessary."
The Indian Minister's voice sharpened like a blade.
> "Neutralize Arjunas?
> You can't shoot down a Sutra.
> You can't cage destiny."
The Moderator remained still.
> "Then we do what must be done.
> Because the next Mahabharata will not be sung.
> It will be survived."
Silence.
The kind that tastes like dust and memory.
Then —
**\[Final Scene]**
The Indian Defense Minister's voice lingered like smoke in the air.
> "You cannot regulate Dharma.
> You can only choose where you stand when it returns."
A murmur rose among the council — not of dissent, but of ancient fear.
A fear not of death... but of being forgotten by history when it wakes.
Then the Moderator stood, silhouette framed in black static.
His voice dropped to something deeper — not electronic, but almost primal.
> "The gods are not coming back.
> They never left.
> They became us.
> And now the mirror has cracked."
He looked directly into the camera.
> "From this moment, the world is no longer ruled by borders or treaties.
> It is ruled by resonance.
> And you will either awaken…
> or be swept away."
One by one, the feeds began to vanish.
Some leaders logged off with clenched fists.
Others sat frozen — watching timelines unravel like threads of silk in fire.
Only the Indian Defense Minister remained.
His final whisper was not to the council — but to the ancestors watching.
> "Arjuna never missed his mark.
> Kaal will not miss his either."
And far across the Earth, as if called by the name of time itself, the wind shifted.
A murmur passed through stone temples.
A crack opened across a sacred forest floor.
And a boy — ordinary, sleeping — dreamed of a bow made of shadows,
and a voice that called him:
> "Child of war."
The Age of Myth was no longer memory.
It was prophecy.
And it had begun again.