Rumble, a shake, perhaps an earthquake-everything was shaking violently. A dark void seemed to blanket the world, heavy and oppressive. An unseen pressure crushed inward, threatening bones and muscles alike. The earth seemed to rise in every direction, heaving like a wave-fluid, rippling, yet unnatural.
Earthquakes were old hat for him, too frequent to instill fear. Every shaking felt so near and at the same time so far away, as though he was disengaged from his body. An out-of-body experience? Had his soul somehow dislodged, attached only tenuously to his body? The fierce, hard shudder of the earth threw him about again.
Tossed? No, that's not the word.
The shaking continued, but it wasn't the earth-it was two smaller figures bouncing on his bed. "Alright you two, I'm awake," he muttered groggily.
The bouncing stopped almost immediately, but he could feel them draw closer. Just as they seemed ready to start again he launched himself up with a playful roar, sharp and exaggerated as he executed a well-rehearsed scare.
"Good morning!" yelled Aarav, the excitement almost breaking through the sleepiness in his voice; indefatigable, like only a ten-year-old could be.
Aryan said nothing but clapped his hands twice to return the greeting; his blank expression showed more curiosity than enthusiasm, though the vibrant spark within his eyes hinted toward a similar energy, only it was more restrained. Aryan was one of those kids who felt like an explosion contained in a shield that was held close-in full of potential, yet it was always carefully controlled.
"Already used to it, huh?" He wiped his brow a little embarrassed by the almost perfect synchronization. "I think I can hear Momo calling. Could you tell her I'm up?
"Okay! Let's go tell sis we did a good job!" Aarav took Aryan's hand and got him off the bed. They picked one foot off the ground and sprang out of the room like rival athletes into a race through the messes of comic books and novels lying on the floor, careful not to tip them over.
"Wait—" he called out, but it was already too late. Aarav and Aryan managed to brush past the door as a pile of books teetered and crashed to the floor with dramatic flair, almost blocking their way out. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in chaos.
Chapter 1
Stained Sand
After breakfast and all the usual morning routines, he headed to a small memorial shrine in the corner of their yard. Inside the simple wood frame were two photographs, one of a man and the other of a woman, both smiling softly and serenely. He closed his eyes for a brief instant, pressing his hands together in silent respect.
For a split second, the usual warm smile faltered and the corners of his lips tightened into something darker: grief, perhaps, or the weight of memories not spoken.
With a final breadth, he stood up and walked out of the house. It was a modest two-storey in a residential area of suburban Mumbai-on the corner of a narrow lane. The sun cast long shadows as its early light filtered through the few trees still standing, resilient against the encroaching concrete of the city.
He jogged through small flower pots and jasmine plants dotting the narrow front yard to school. The air carried the fresh breeze, and lifting his gaze to the sky, the faint clouds told of the arrival of the monsoon. This wasn't maybe the idyllic view of cherry blossoms in bloom, but this was his world-imperfect and familiar.
From behind him, he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
"Rohan! Wait up!"
He turned, spotting his childhood friends Meera and Shalini catching up with him, their faces flushed from the brisk walk.
"Meera! You're keeping up with Shalini today?" He grinned.
Meera turned a wry smile upward; her breathing was a little labored. Her long, dark hair was in a neat braid, a few loose strands cascading into her face as she straightened up. Even beneath the fitted school uniform, her athletic build was evident.
"Sorry we're late!"
"It's fine," Rohan replied nonchalantly. "I must have been lost in thought."
While walking alongside Meera, the mischievous grin of Shalini pointed at something in his hair. "Looks like you have picked some dust."
He reached to feel a small speck of sand, almost grain-of-sand-like, stuck in his hair. "But there are no beaches around here," he mumbled, perplexed.
"Maybe you walked through a desert in your sleep," quipped Meera.
Rohan laughed, but inside, something didn't feel right. The sand had just appeared out of nowhere, and that feeling of being watched stayed with him, his chest tightening.
When they approached the school, Rohan veered off towards the rear of the grounds down a quiet path by the sports field. The library loomed tall against the horizon ahead. But as he walked, something felt. wrong.
The ground beneath him seemed to shudder. Sand-how was there sand here? It carpeted the ground in a thick blanket, rising into low dunes around him. The world around him was surreal, some painting come to life. He stepped backward, his mind reeling. He knew that feeling, the cold, creeping sense that something-or someone-was watching him.
This is not normal.
His pulse quickened as he backed away from the sand, the contrast between the golden grains and the lush grass stark. It was as though an invisible force had drawn a line around him, trapping him in a strange circle.
"What is going on here?" he muttered under his breath, confusion flooding his mind.
From above, a low voice answered him. "You're not the only one confused."
Rohan's head snapped up. There, emerging from the shifting sands, was a man-no, not just a man. He appeared to have stepped out of some other world; his clothes were flowing white robes, and there was something inimitably royal about him. Rohan couldn't place his accent, but fluently he spoke Hindi as if it were his mother tongue.
"Who are you?" Rohan finally managed to ask, his voice betraying the unease bubbling inside him.
The man's gaze was cold, calculating. "I could have killed you a dozen times by now."
Killed? Why?
"You think you're special, don't you? Hiding your abilities here in Mumbai. It's disappointing, really."
The sand was swallowing him from underneath, and Rohan's legs were slowly sinking into the ground, as if the very earth had opened its mouth to gobble him up. He tried to get free, tugging his leg with all his might. The harder he pulled, the stronger the grip of the sand became.
"What's going on? Why are you doing this?" Rohan's voice shook in anger and fear.
The stranger didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached down, and with a smooth, practiced motion, drew something from the sand. A sword—crafted entirely from shifting grains—formed in his hands, sharp and glittering under the sun.
"Enough talk. You'll either fight or die, simple as that," the man declared.
Rohan staggered back, his heart racing. "You're insane. What. What kind of magic is this?"
Before he could even react, the stranger leapt, his movements too quick to make any sense, as the sword whirred through the air. Rohan barely managed to dodge, but a thin cut opened across his arm. He gasped in pain, blood dripping onto the sand.
"Do you really think you can survive this?
Rohan struggled to his feet, his mind reeling. He had no powers, no abilities with which to fight back against something like this. But as the sword descended, he knew one thing for sure: he wasn't going to die here, not today.