Needing some fresh air, Aryan stepped out of the house and headed for the park. The quiet hum of morning life surrounded him—birds chirping, leaves rustling, the soft sounds of a distant breeze. He let his feet carry him forward as his thoughts swirled, chaotic and restless.
The events of the past night weighed on him, a mix of confusion, fear, and awe. What had happened? What was Khusi hiding? And who—what—was that giant, Royal? Aryan's mind was full of questions, each one pressing against the next.
He stopped near a bench, his eyes staring blankly at the ground as he tried to sort through his emotions. But amidst the storm of thoughts, a single memory surfaced, breaking through like sunlight piercing heavy clouds.
Violet.
Her smile appeared in his mind—gentle, pure, and radiant. It was the kind of smile that stayed with him, refusing to be forgotten. Aryan's chest tightened as the memory lingered. In that smile, there had been warmth, kindness, and something more—something that tugged at him even now.
He looked up, the quiet park stretching around him, but his mind was far away. Where is she now? Is she okay?
Aryan exhaled softly, leaning back on the bench, letting the cool morning air wash over him. The feelings inside him fluctuated—happiness at remembering her, sadness for not seeing her, and confusion about why she mattered so much.
But deep down, he knew one thing for certain—he couldn't forget her. Not now. Not ever.
Somewhere, in the winding streets of a forgotten tunnel, a group of people walked side by side, their footsteps echoing in the cool, dimly lit passage. The city around them hummed with life, but here, the air was thick with mystery, as though this place held secrets no one dared speak of.
As they walked, a sharp whistle broke the monotony of the street sounds. It came from a narrow side street, only about three feet wide, barely visible from where they stood. The voice that followed was low and casual, yet carried an unsettling undertone.
"Cakes are available here, under the street. Want to try them out?"
The group paused, exchanging curious glances. One of them, a man with dark eyes and a quiet stepped forward, his interest piqued. "Which color?" he asked, his voice cautious but intrigued.
The reply came almost too quickly. "Amaranth."
The man raised an eyebrow. "CODE X157."
"Okay, follow me," the street vendor said, his voice barely a whisper, but with an edge that sent a shiver down their spines.
The group exchanged wary looks, but curiosity won out. Slowly, they began to follow the mysterious figure deeper into the alley, where the smell of something sweet yet unfamiliar lingered in the air. The group followed the cloaked figure into the narrow alley, which opened up into a dimly lit cake shop.
The shop was quiet, save for the occasional clink of a plate or a soft murmur between the few customers. The strange man behind the counter, the owner of the shop, stood with his arms folded, watching the group with an unreadable expression.
"What can I get for you?" he asked, his voice almost mechanical.
One of the group members stepped forward, a tall man with a serious demeanor. "I'll have the cake with cherries, and extra red honey," he ordered, his tone casual but sharp, as if this was something they had done many times before.
The owner nodded, turning to prepare the cake without another word. The others in the group sat down, their eyes constantly shifting around the shop, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
The silence stretched on, and the other customers, seemingly in no hurry, eventually finished their meals and left. Once the shop was empty, the owner turned his gaze to the group, his eyes narrowing slightly as he walked toward them.
"Who is the person?" he asked, his voice suddenly hard, the air around him changing.
A man from the group stood up, his expression unreadable, but his words clear. "I am Haison," he said.
"Follow me," the owner said abruptly, his voice low but commanding. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the back of the shop, motioning for Haison to follow.
Haison stood still for a moment, exchanging a brief look with the others, before he silently followed the owner down a narrow hallway that led to the washroom.
Twenty minutes passed. The shop remained silent. The group waited, anxiety building with each passing minute, until finally, Haison returned.
Haison burst out with an excited grin. "Let's go, guys! Work's done here. Time to set sail for our plan!"
The group followed him, buzzing with anticipation. Five minutes later, Haison's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and picked it up, his pace steady.
A raspy voice spoke on the other end. It sounded like someone struggling to talk, their breath uneven, as if lying on a hospital bed. "Satisfied with my work?"
Haison smirked, his voice tinged with admiration. "A true genius… I'm glad to know about you! It's damn awesome."
The voice responded, calm but firm. "Make sure you know how to handle it. This isn't ordinary stuff you mess with every day. Be careful." Then the line went dead.
Haison stared at the phone for a moment, scoffing. "Who the hell is he to tell me what to do?" He turned to the group with a dismissive wave. "Alright, boys, let's get back to business."
Buddy frowned, crossing his arms. "Idiot. We've poured everything into this. Let's show everyone what it can do!"
Haison chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Calm down, badass. I'm going to blow your mind with this."
As they walked along the riverbank, the air around them crackled with an unspoken tension. The plan was about to unfold, and Haison was holding all the cards.