Mumbai, Unknown Location — Hours Later
Arjun woke on a metal table, his shirt soaked in sweat. The light above buzzed like a dying insect. His mouth was dry. His pulse too fast.
This wasn't a hospital.
He sat up quickly. No IV. No windows. Just a cold steel room with a bolted door and a wide mirror on one wall.
"Hello?" he called out.
The door hissed open. Two figures entered. One wore a black coat, crisp and spotless. The other, a woman, had short hair and copper lines tattooed across her jaw—veins of some glowing ink that pulsed gently.
The man closed the door. "Arjun Joshi. Age fifteen. Intern. Volunteer clinic. No known Shakti markers. Until tonight."
"I—" Arjun swallowed. "Who are you?"
The woman stepped forward. "Tell us what you remember. From the moment you entered that room."
Her voice was soft, but it rang strangely in the air—like it echoed inside him.
Arjun hesitated. "I saw the girl… she was already gone. I shouldn't have touched her, but something—pulled me. And when I did, something happened."
"Describe the sensation," she said.
"Pain," he said. "Like… electricity, but alive. And green."
The woman nodded slowly. The lines on her skin flared. "He's telling the truth."
The man raised an eyebrow. "You touched a corpse. She returned to life. Then screamed loud enough to shatter instruments. What crawled out of her, Arjun?"
"I don't know," he whispered. "Something black. Like smoke but solid. Its eyes—"
"Burned," the woman finished for him. "You saw a Bhuta."
"That's not possible."
The man stepped closer. "And yet it happened. The girl's fine now. Doesn't remember anything. But you—you're glowing."
The woman pointed to his hand. Arjun looked down. That faint green shimmer again, tracing his veins like vines.
"Why did you do it?" the man asked. "You knew she was dead. Why try?"
"I—I don't know," Arjun said. "I just had to."
"Lie," the woman said softly.
Arjun flinched. "I didn't mean to lie. It's just—she reminded me of my sister. She died two years ago. Same look. Same silence."
The woman's voice softened. "Truth."
The man leaned forward. "What you did was impossible. No pranic tools, no training, no mantra. Yet you awakened something. Either you're a fluke… or something else entirely."
Arjun shook his head. "I don't want any of this."
"That doesn't matter," the man said. "The power's awake. You've been marked."
The woman glanced at him. "His resonance is unstable. We don't have long."
"Then we make it simple."
The man dropped a file on the table. It had Arjun's face. Blood reports. Chakra scans. Clinic surveillance. Pages stamped with VEILGUARD: CLASSIFIED.
"Option one," he said. "You train with us. We teach you what you are. You serve, and in return, we help you control it."
"Option two?"
The woman answered. "We seal the power. Scrub your memory. You wake up thinking you passed out from exhaustion. But you'll always feel it… something missing. Something trying to break free."
Arjun stared between them. "This is blackmail."
"No," the man said. "This is protocol."
The lights flickered. Somewhere beyond the walls, something groaned.
The woman watched Arjun closely. "One more question."
"What?" he asked.
"Did it feel good? Saving her."
He hesitated. Then, quietly—"Yes."
The tattoos on her face pulsed bright. She smiled, for the first time. "Then you're ready."
The door behind them slid open. And Arjun stepped into a world he didn't ask for—but could never walk away.