The next morning, a soft glimmer of light dances across the surface of a dew-kissed green leaf swaying gently as it falls from a mango tree. Beneath it, Ash stands still, his brows furrowed in confusion, eyes scanning the unfamiliar building hidden deep within the forest.
"Why would they ask me to report here? This place is in the middle of nowhere… it's not even near the city," he mutters, suspicion lacing his voice.
As if answering him, the sky above begins to distort—like a broken screen glitching. Purple energy starts to swirl, twisting the clouds into a spiral. Then, tearing through the atmosphere, a massive ship begins to materialize, its edges flickering with glitch-like static. It's unlike anything Ash has ever seen—an enormous, futuristic vessel, its white hull emblazoned with a bold black word: ANOS.
The ship descends, slow and thunderous.
Wind surges. Trees are uprooted, leaves spiral into the air, and the ground trembles as small vortexes form, sucking in dirt and debris. Ash shields his eyes, overwhelmed. Instinct takes over—he turns to run.
But before he gets far, a hand catches his arm.
Standing before him is the boy in white from the night before. Calm. Unshaken. His presence feels almost... celestial.
"Why are you running away, my partner?" the boy says with a faint smile. "You should start by familiarizing yourself with your job." He pauses, then adds, "I'm Vyomesh—'Lord of the Skies'. Or just Vyom. We'll be working together from now on."
With a flick of his fingers, Vyom forms a strange hand sign, and one of the nearby vortexes responds—rising and wrapping around Ash like invisible tendrils. Ash floats, suspended in air, eyes wide in disbelief.
What the hell is this? Is the government using me as a test subject? he thinks, panic settling in.
He struggles, but it's useless. Vyom, utterly unfazed, casually pulls out a chilled Mazaa bottle, takes a sip, and extends another toward Ash with a smirk.
Just then, a sudden gust of wind bursts from the ground, lifting them both higher. The air twists around them as Vyom rises effortlessly, the currents bending to his will.
Together, they ascend—Ash still dazed, Vyom composed—as the skyship ANOS looms ever closer.
***
Inside the ship, the interior hums with quiet energy. Screens flicker. Holographic displays float mid-air. A bustling command center is filled with Indian technicians and analysts, all deeply engrossed in their work. Some monitor global security feeds, others scroll endlessly through social media data—filtering, sorting, observing.
One particular boy, thin-framed and sharp-eyed behind large glasses, sits at a console, typing furiously. His screen shows a paused video: a girl dramatically declaring, "K-pop is the best!"—right after a boy finishes confessing his love to her.
The boy mutters under his breath, adjusting his glasses.
"Analysis complete. This Descended... immature, but functional. Mental deviation: emotional inconsistency, pop culture delusion. Usable, but needs reprogramming."
He sighs and opens her browser history: a long list of K-pop boy band searches.
Just as he's about to log his final report, a gust of wind rushes through the ship—papers flutter, coffee spills, systems flicker. The room collectively pauses.
Vyom lands gracefully in the center of the control deck, a calm storm wrapped in white. Ash, wide-eyed and still floating slightly, lands behind him with a thud.
Vyom claps his hands once. "See? Everyone's normal here. No psychos."
Ash looks around. One guy's laughing at a cat video, another's crying while watching an anime ending, and someone in the back is doing calculations with his hands in the air.
Ash raises an eyebrow. "…Define normal?"
Vyom sighs, then casually sips from a bright orange Mazaa bottle.
"They're analyzing social media," he says, motioning toward the screens and people buzzing around.
"Comments, trends, memes, pop culture obsessions… even shipping wars. They're not just data. They're… narratives. Collective thoughts. Hidden patterns. And sometimes... warning signs."
Ash frowns, confused. "But why? Why would any of that matter?"
Vyom leans back, letting the juice bottle dangle from his fingers.
"That's why."
A nearby screen dims.
Then it begins.
A series of disturbing scenes flash across the ship's main display.
A mango tree, twisted and ancient, stands alone in the middle of a clearing—its roots dark, almost like veins. Around it… dead bodies. Dried. Drained. Like something had sucked the life out of them.
The screen glitches—
Next, a temple, its walls cracked with age. Dozens of bodies lie strewn around, eyes wide open in terror. The narrator's voice echoes:
"The one who wished to be perfect… left behind only imperfection."
Another flicker.
A hotel room, lavish and broken. Symbols of inappropriate rituals etched into the walls. The bodies here… smiling, disturbingly. Lifeless.
More scenes flash. Stranger. Darker. Unnatural.
Patterns in chaos. A whisper beneath the noise.
Ash stares, trembling.
"This… This is a prank, right? Some twisted simulation?"
He tries to laugh, but his voice cracks.
He remembers the vortex. The tree. The strange energy.
Vyom's expression turns solemn.
"It would've been… if it was a prank."
Ash's knees give out. He sinks to the cold floor, his expression dulling, gaze lost.
Vyom kneels beside him, still holding the juice, and lightly nudges the bottle toward Ash's hand.
With a half-smile, he says softly:
"Just chill, bro."
Vyom looked out the ship's glass pane, eyes tracing the storm of code running across the distant monitors.
"Our mission…" he began, voice calm but edged with something deeper, "…is to find the Asura Cores."
Ash raised an eyebrow, still seated on the cold floor, his juice untouched.
"These cores," Vyom continued, pacing slowly, "are the very heart of those unnatural events. Each one radiates chaos, fear, obsession… sometimes even desires that were never human to begin with. Their presence twists reality—feeds off people's minds, emotions, even stories."
Ash muttered, "You're saying these are the cause behind all that death?"
Vyom nodded.
"Exactly. They're like… infected legends, fragments of myth gone rogue. And to stop them, the Government of India created this hidden organization—Astra."
A faint hum ran through the ship as Vyom continued.
"Astra operates in silence. Its purpose: preserve social order, stop the spread of the Core Influence, and retrieve or cleanse the Asura Cores before they anchor into the world permanently."
Ash tried to stand.
"So… all this is real. I'm part of Astra now?"
Vyom gave a sly grin.
"Yes. But Astra isn't just some lab project. We're divided into three branches."
He raised a finger.
"One: Data Gathering Unit – scholars, linguists, social media analysts, geographers, even meme decoders."
Another finger.
"Two: Analysis Unit – geniuses. People who've mastered logic, quantum fields, metaphysics. That's your group, Ash."
A third.
"Three: Combat Wing – fighters with awakened bloodlines. Most of us are descended from ancient Indian lineages—Suryavanshi, Chandravanshi, Naga, Garuda…"
He leaned forward.
"I'm a Chandravanshi. Since the arrival of the Asura events, some of us have awakened… ancestral powers."
Ash's face turned grim.
"But then… I can't awaken anything, right? I'm not some ancient warrior."
Vyom chuckled, shaking his head.
"No, not yet." He stepped close and whispered,
"But you can… if you're connected to a Legend."
Ash's heart skipped a beat.
---
Elsewhere...
Lightning cracked across a glass tower in Mumbai.
Inside a high-rise boardroom at Man Industries, a storm raged both outside and within.
A middle-aged woman(from night before) in a sleek business suit slammed a manuscript on the table. Her face was tense—eyes tired from sleepless nights.
"We spent crores decoding this worthless fairytale!" she hissed.
"All we have is some trash called the Fool's Tale. A fool marries a woman, then they kill each other?!" She kicked back her chair in frustration.
The executives remained silent.
She slammed her hand on the desk.
"Where the hell is the cleansing method for the Asura Core? That script is all we've got from the core's psychic wave!"
She turned toward a shadowy figure in the room.
"These Cores are the future—power, wealth, control. And we're stuck with ghost stories?!"
On the glowing wall screen, the tale repeated:
"And when the fool kissed the bride, her blade met his throat. He laughed. She cried. But neither stopped. For love is a war, and they were born to die."
The woman's voice dropped, cold.
"Decode this, or we'll all end up like that fool."
***
[Back in the ship — Astra's Core Lab]
The air turned heavy.
Ash followed Vyom into a dimly lit chamber where a strange glass capsule stood. Inside it, a pulsing dark sphere floated—its aura distorting the space around it. The walls seemed to ripple faintly, as if reality was resisting its presence.
Vyom stopped just short of the barrier.
"That... is an Asura Core," he said, voice low.
Ash's throat tightened. The closer he looked, the more wrong it felt—like it was watching him back.
Vyom reached into his coat and pulled out something that looked like an old bronze pocket-watch—but far more intricate. It had Sanskrit engravings, moving concentric rings, and a glowing white crystal in the center.
He flicked it open.
From the center, a soft white mist emerged—shaping itself into a smoke-like arrow. It drifted mid-air, slowly turning... until it pointed directly at the Core.
"This is the Tala Chakra," Vyom explained.
"It points towards places where time bends—fractures caused by powerful cores or cursed events."
Ash was still staring at it, mesmerized.
"It's one of the Mystic Tools discovered during earlier missions. Since then, many such tools have been found, and now… they're standard issue for every Astra member."
He gestured toward a nearby bench where various gadgets lay.
"That's a Tricktergram," he said, picking up a small orb. It flickered and projected a 3D message of Vyom himself giving a peace sign.
"Enchanted holographic messengers—great for covert ops or just annoying someone in style."
He moved to another object, shaped like a stamp with glowing ink.
"These are Dream Stamps—tattoos that record and trace the memories of a person. We use them to read trauma left behind by the Core's influence."
Then he turned, handed Ash a coat.
"And this…" Vyom grinned, "is your official Analysis Wing Coat."
Ash looked at it—deep navy blue with elegant golden trim, its design resembling something straight out of the European Revolution era, but stylized with Mandala patterns on the inner lining.
Ash raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we wear something more... Indian?"
Vyom smirked.
"We tried that. But let's be honest—for the sake of looking cool and mildly terrifying—we keep this style."
He threw the coat over Ash's shoulders.
The boy staggered a bit under its weight, but something clicked. A sense of belonging. A storm of uncertainty... slowly giving way to purpose.
Vyom extended a hand, his tone now serious.
"Welcome to Astra... where logic meets legend, and modern meets myth."
Ash hesitated, then gripped it firmly.