Four Days Later...
"Am I dreaming… or is this real?" Dev's voice trembled, his body bruised and fading, his eyes flickering with the last remnants of consciousness.
"Dev, no! Don't close your eyes!" Leena's voice cracked, her hands trembling as she tried to keep him alert.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant voice echoed from above, calm yet commanding, like thunder whispered through the wind.
"Do you require help?"
Leena's breath hitched. She spun around, scanning the empty desert with wide eyes. The air stood still, eerily silent except for the whistle of the wind across the dunes. Dev weakly raised a trembling finger—upward.
Leena slowly followed his gaze.
And what she saw nearly stole the breath from her lungs.
Suspended nearly two hundred feet above the ground was a man—no ropes, no gliders, no mechanical aid. He floated with effortless stillness against the vast golden sky, as if gravity itself had bent to his will.
Sunlight shimmered around him, not blinding but regal, reflecting off what appeared to be a dark emerald-toned overcoat layered with intricate silver embroidery—almost ceremonial in design. Beneath, his arms and legs were clad in burnished metal segments that interlocked like scaled armor, forged not for decoration, but for survival in war. The metal bore ancient etchings—symbols of forgotten kingdoms, guardians, and oaths long buried in time.
At his side rested a sword—sleek, yet commanding. Its hilt was wrapped in blackened leather with brass inlays, and the blade itself shimmered faintly with a subtle blue hue, as though it remembered the skies it once touched in battle. It was no ordinary weapon. Its very presence exuded legacy, power, and perhaps... judgment.
His face remained shadowed beneath a polished visor adorned with winged designs, obscuring his identity, yet somehow, Leena could feel his eyes piercing through her—sharp, intelligent, ancient.
The man hovered in silence for a moment, as if measuring their worth.
"Who are you?" Leena whispered, both awed and afraid.
His reply was quiet, yet it thundered through the valley like prophecy.
"A witness to the chaos yet to come."
Before she could speak again, he began descending—not falling, but gliding with purpose, like a storm cloud drawn by fate itself. Dust swirled around him as he neared the earth.
Dev, barely conscious, managed a faint smile.
"He came… just like in the old stories…"
And with that, the desert winds shifted—carrying whispers of ancient powers rising once more.
Back to the Present: Four Days Earlier...
As the hallway clock struck one, Iravati turned to Aarav, her arms loosely crossed and her expression unreadable. "It's already 1 PM," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You still need more time to recover. How about you rest here for a while? Freshen up, take a break. You can head back by evening."
Aarav, sitting on the edge of the couch, gazed out the open window. The scent of turmeric and mustard seeds drifted in, a familiar aroma from Kusum Joshi's latest culinary attempt. He sighed, unable to shake the weariness clinging to him.
"I was getting bored resting at home," he admitted, offering a sheepish shrug. "I talked to Kavya aunty. She suggested I take a walk around Karimnagar—said it might lift my spirits. But somehow, I ended up here instead. And now, I'm probably overdue to go back. They're likely worried about me."
Ashwini Joshi, ever the calm and rational voice of the house, smiled and interjected, "Worried? Not at all. I can just call Raghu Singh Rajput and let him know you're here."
Aarav immediately waved his hands, panic flashing across his face. "No, no, Uncle-ji. Please don't bother. I'll go back. It's no trouble. I just need to rest there."
Kusum Joshi chimed in, gently placing her hand on her husband's shoulder, her tone warm and inviting. "Arey beta, don't be so formal. You're our guest. A little hospitality between friends never hurt anyone."
Aarav chuckled awkwardly, feeling the kindness radiating from them but unsure how to accept it. Still, he couldn't refuse their genuine warmth.
"Alright, okay... if you insist," he said, scratching the back of his neck, his discomfort giving way to acceptance. Whether this was true hospitality or a gentle trap, resistance was futile.
Iravati's expression softened, and she gave him a quiet nod of approval. Without another word, she gestured for him to follow. Their footsteps echoed on the stairs as they made their way to the second floor.
At the top, a short hallway led to two rooms and a small sitting area. A beanbag lay in the corner, and a shelf of novels teetered precariously, adding an eclectic charm to the space. Iravati led him to the room on the right. It was unexpectedly cozy.
Everything had its place—clean, spotless furniture, a neatly folded blanket over a wooden chair, and a row of teddy bears arranged like soldiers on the bed. The room exuded a comforting, almost nostalgic warmth.
Aarav smiled. "Wow... this room's really nice."
Iravati, standing at the doorway, arms folded once again, gave a simple "Hmm."
An awkward silence stretched between them before Iravati spoke again, almost reluctantly. "I... I owe you an apology. I mistook you for someone else. That's why I panicked and hit you with the steel bucket. I know the wound reopened today, and... it's my fault."
Her voice softened, the weight of guilt clear in her expression.
Aarav tilted his head and gave a kind smile, his eyes sincere. "Hey, don't worry about it. I mean, if someone barged into my bathroom, I'd probably react the same way. It's just self-defense, right?"
Iravati's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Still, you deserve a proper apology."
Aarav grinned, leaning back against the bedframe. "Okay, okay. Since you feel so guilty, I have a proposal. You can be my personal tour guide around Karimnagar—show me all the best spots. And—this is crucial—you have to treat me to something delicious."
Iravati laughed, her earlier tension melting away. "Deal. There's actually this amazing place by the lake with the best street food in town."
Aarav's grin widened. "Perfect. A food tour is exactly what I need until my wounds heal."
Iravati smiled back, the guilt that had plagued her dissolving into warmth. "Alright then, take a little rest. I'll check on you later."
She flicked off the light, and with one last glance at him, closed the door behind her.
Aarav lay back on the bed, hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling fan. The room smelled of lavender and old books—comforting, familiar. Despite the whirlwind of confusion from the morning and the knot of thoughts swirling in his mind, there was a strange sense of peace settling over him.
"This wasn't the plan," he thought, his mind drifting as he gazed at the ceiling. "I came to Karimnagar to hide, to find answers. But instead, I'm staying in a house where they insist on feeding me, and the girl who hit me with a bucket is now taking me on a food tour."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
Maybe this will make a good story someday.
As his eyelids grew heavier and he drifted into a light doze, one last thought crossed his mind.
I hope the pickles don't come back to haunt me.
Meanwhile on other hand's,
The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the narrow, dusty streets of Karimnagar. Fifteen-year-old Dev moved swiftly through the bustling bazaar, his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings with intent. He wasn't out for a casual stroll—today, he had a purpose. One that could be his only escape.
"I need the money today," Dev muttered, jaw clenched. "Or Sethi's going to make my life hell."
Beside him trudged his loyal camel, Jagira. More companion than cargo-carrier, she'd been with him through thick and thin. If only she could talk—maybe then she'd understand the weight of his troubles. Dev often spoke to her anyway, half-mocking, half-earnest.
"Jagira, remember the address?" he asked, glancing at her. Jagira snorted and turned her head lazily, as if to say, Why would I?
Dev snorted a laugh. "Yeah, figured. If I knew how to read, I'd be sipping sherbet in some royal palace by now, not wandering dusty roads with a snarky camel."
Jagira's ears twitched as if she caught the sarcasm. Dev shook his head, amused. "No worries. I'll figure it out. Who needs memory when there are walls to read?"
He tugged her reins and turned into the crowded market square, where the air was thick with spice, sweat, and sizzling street food. His eyes flitted across every shop wall and bulletin board until—there it was.
A crumpled poster clung stubbornly to the side of a local pan shop. Bold, hurried handwriting scrawled across it read:
**URGENT: A respected merchant seeks a discreet and fast traveler to deliver a sealed package to Mithalpur. Guaranteed payment on delivery. Must be brave, trustworthy, and silent. Inquire at Madan's General Store.**
Dev grinned. "Bingo," he whispered. He turned to Jagira with an exaggerated thumbs-up. "Told you I'd find it. Let's go get rich."
Jagira groaned in response.
Dev led her down a snaking alley until they reached the old wooden door of Madan's General Store. The place smelled of musty parchment and pungent herbs. Inside, it was packed tight—jars of pickles, piles of wool, rolls of leather, dried fruits, and bottles of oil. The kind of place where goods were sold and secrets traded.
A crowd had already formed near the counter—ten, maybe fifteen people, each with the weathered look of seasoned wanderers. Some were older, some younger, but all wore the wary eyes of people used to danger.
A lanky man with a crooked nose eyed Dev. "You here for the job, kid?" he rasped.
Dev offered a confident smirk. "Let's see if I get it."
At the counter stood Madan—a middle-aged man in plain but spotless clothes. His hands were rough with work, but his eyes told a deeper story—one of experience, caution, and perhaps buried secrets.
"You want in?" Madan asked. His voice was low and steady, like someone who knew when to speak and when to listen. "This job's not for the faint of heart. You'll be traveling at night, using backroads. Only the brave take this route."
Dev's gaze swept over the group, then back to Madan. "What's the catch?"
Madan cracked a dry smile, pulling a sealed parchment from beneath the counter. The wax seal was deep black.
"You'll deliver this to Mithalpur. No questions, no stops. Keep it sealed, keep it safe, and you'll be paid—well." He let the words hang before continuing, "But understand—this job is dangerous. Bandits, spies, worse. The merchant wants silence. That's why this isn't posted in broad daylight."
He looked over his shoulder before adding, "And the package… it's valuable. In more ways than you know."
The room fell still.
"If you're chosen," Madan said, "you leave tonight. Once you're on the road, there's no turning back. Break the seal, and the deal's off."
Dev felt a chill run down his spine.
From the back, a tall woman with hawk-like eyes stepped forward. Leena, thirty, sharp-tongued and smarter than most. She'd been lurking in town for days, watching.
"So, we're just guinea pigs for some shady mission, is that it?" she asked with a bitter laugh.
Madan met her sarcasm with a calm smile. "No. Just people who want gold and are willing to earn it."
Leena's smirk faded.
Next, Raj stepped forward. A 24-year-old ex-soldier, broad-shouldered and calm, with a scar that told stories of war. "I'm in," he said. "Nothing left for me anywhere else."
Beside him stood Manju, a fiery 19-year-old with red hair and quicker reflexes. She grinned. "Sounds fun. I'm in."
Then came Vishal. Bookish, bespectacled, and oddly serene. A former scholar-turned-mercenary at 35. "Danger makes for the best stories," he said. "I'll do it."
Madan looked over them all again. "So you're all in. Good. Just know—it's not the road that's the danger. It's what follows you on it."
He waved them closer. "Come back after dark. The chosen ones will get the package and their route."
As the group slowly dispersed, Dev's mind buzzed. Something about this mission didn't sit right. It felt like more than a delivery. The reward was real, yes—but the risk?
His eyes drifted toward the sealed parchment again. What's in there? And why does it feel like we're carrying something that could change everything?
The answers would come. But only if he stepped into the dark—and survived.