The morning was thinner than usual.
The wind didn't carry sound; it swallowed it.
Vyomika stood at the edge of the valley, her eyes fixed on the western cliffs. Somewhere beyond them lay the coordinates burned into her spiral stone. Her mind whispered of answers, of the original, of herself.
She didn't notice the old man until his voice cut through the quiet like a beam of hard light.
> "You plan to leave," he said.
Not a question.
A truth.
Vyomika turned slowly. The old man wasn't like the others. His skin was marked with circuit-etched tattoos, half-faded. Once a scientist. Or worse.
> "I have to," she said.
> "No one returns from the Signal Path."
> "Then maybe I won't return."
The old man sighed—deep, like something ancient folding.
He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, dark device. It looked primitive: obsidian surface, runes faintly pulsing along its edge.
> "They call this the Prahari. Guardian," he said. "It doesn't protect your body. It hides your presence—from drones, sensors, even the satellite webs."
> "Why are you giving it to me?"
> "Because if you truly are who we fear you are, then you are the last key. And you must not be found before the lock reveals itself."
Vyomika took the device.
It vibrated faintly. As if it was alive.
> "You must walk without leaving footprints," the old man added. "And think without forming thoughts. The moment the machine senses intent, it will find you."
> "And if it does?"
The old man looked at the sun—then back at her.
> "Then not just you. But the entire timeline collapses."
Vyomika stared at him.
> "You speak like this has happened before."
The old man smiled faintly.
> "It has. A dozen times. And in each one… you were always the fulcrum."
---
As Vyomika stepped past the valley's last stone arch, her body blurred—Prahari activated.
She became a gap in the world.
Unseen. Unheard.
But still hunted.
Somewhere, buried under Delhi's ruins, Nexatech's long-range satellites began to flicker.
Something… was missing.
And the void itself had begun to move.
---