> "Some lives are lived once. Others... are lived again because they were never meant to end.
Mumbai, 12:34 AM.
The rain wouldn't stop. It hadn't all evening. The city swam in puddles and honks, and the air reeked of wet concrete and burning cables. Under the storm and streetlight glow, a tired figure pushed through the rain, shoulders hunched, shoes soaked, and thoughts numb.
Arjun Malhotra, 24, was on his way back from a late-night coding shift—overtime again. The startup was dying, the pay was crap, and his boss treated him like a coffee machine with fingers.
But that wasn't what bothered him tonight.
He just… felt empty.
Like Mumbai itself was swallowing him one ignored second at a time.
He turned into the shortcut alley near the metro line—narrow, dark, a place he normally avoided.
That's when he heard it.
A cry.
Quick. Desperate.
He froze.
Around the corner, under the flickering tube light, he saw them: three men surrounding a young boy, barely 14, kicking him, yelling something about "stealing from the wrong guy."
The boy bled from his lip. He was shielding a tiffin box.
Arjun's heart thumped.
He could've walked away. He almost did.
But then the boy locked eyes with him. Just for a second.
And that was enough.
---
"Hey!" Arjun shouted, stepping in.
The men turned. One laughed. "Office boy's feeling brave, eh?"
He didn't reply.
He didn't plan.
He just moved.
He pushed one of them off the kid and took a punch square to the face in return. Then a knee to the gut. Two more fists. Blood filled his mouth. He went down hard — ribs aching, vision blurred.
But something inside him refused to shut down.
A hum. Deep. Distant. Ancient.
As one of the men raised a metal pipe to finish him, time seemed to slow.
Arjun's eyes flickered — not with fear, but light.
The pipe came down.
And stopped mid-air.
Floating.
Blue sparks danced through the air. The attacker stumbled back, screaming — as if burned.
Arjun stood, swaying, unaware that the ground beneath him had cracked in a perfect spiral.
His right arm was glowing, symbols crawling across his skin like fire.
The air buzzed.
The rain slowed.
The three men fled in blind terror, shouting about "ghosts" and "demons."
Arjun collapsed next to the boy, unconscious.
Arjun's eyes snapped open.
His room was dark except for the faint glow pulsing beneath his skin — a soft blue light tracing ancient symbols no one should know.
He touched his arm. The light flared.
Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed his chest, like something was waking inside him, demanding attention.
He gasped for breath.
Then—his phone buzzed on the table.
A message.
No sender.
No words.
Just a single line:
"You're not alone. They're coming."
Outside, the rain battered the window like a warning.
---
End of Chapter 1