"Everything is in its right place… but why does something still feel uneasy to me?" Pannival muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as if he could sense the tremors of fate before they struck.
"The Clan Meeting's main purpose has been served," Shinsho whispered to Azhura, "but… something is still left."
Azhura smirked. "Yes. The real game is yet to begin."
Far away, in a place unseen by the world, two men spoke in hushed, urgent tones.
"When do we begin, Shaka?" Raka asked, his fists trembling with anticipation.
"Soon," Shaka replied, his voice steady, trying to temper Raka's burning spirit. "As soon as we receive the signal."
"I can't wait to step into the fire again. The battlefield calls me." Raka's eyes gleamed with bloodlust.
Shaka turned sharply. "Fool. This is not a battlefield. No songs of glory will be sung for us. The God of War will not bless us. We will not be remembered as warriors—only as terrorists. The State Police will hunt us down. Our lives will be chaos, marked by shadows and blood. Are you ready to accept that curse?"
"I don't care if I'm branded a terrorist, if I must run till the end of my days," Raka growled. His voice cracked, but his resolve did not. "My life has been nothing but struggle. But if my children can live a life of bliss, far from the cruelty of this world—if they can live instead of merely survive—then I will burn gladly."
For the first time, Shaka's stern mask softened. He pitied his comrade. He too had carried a dream like that—once—for his younger brother. But his brother had died before even beginning his career, slain during a bank robbery by dacoits secretly tied to the Malwai Military. His hatred was justified… but his fear ran deeper. If his identity was ever exposed, his entire clan would face extermination.
"Raka, my comrade," Shaka said solemnly, "no matter what happens tonight, I will not abandon you. I vow before Prithvi itself—before the planet of justice—that I, Shaka of Minavari village, will protect you, even if it costs me my life. I shall never betray you."
"I don't know why you do this," Raka whispered, his voice heavy with gratitude, "but I accept it. And I vow this—if this is my last day, then I will fight with everything I have. I will carve a future of happiness for my children."
The two clasped hands.
And then—
BOOM!
The night shattered. A thunderous explosion ripped through the air. Flames rose from Parina, painting the sky in red and ash.
The sound carried miles away, shaking even the grand halls of Diwankula. Soldiers rushed into formation. Officers shouted for reports. Fear and anticipation buzzed like electricity.
Inside the Meeting Hall, the faces of the Clan Heads stiffened. Pannival rose, his voice firm and commanding:
"SAPTARA!"
The hall fell silent, every breath held.
"You have your first mission. This attack is not a coincidence. This is fate testing us. From this moment, all officers and soldiers will take positions. We march to Parina—not to suppress, but to reveal who we are. The world will now see the might of the Saptavansh. Jayantaka, Leader of the Seven Clans—you shall take command."
Angkasa Jayantaka climbed the stairs to the dais. His aura radiated authority; even the air trembled around him.
"People of the Saptavansh," his voice thundered, "this is the hour we have waited for. This is the day our enemies will learn that Prithvi is not defenseless. The world shall know that its guardians still live, that the Saptavansh shall rise again!"
He raised his hand. "Aurelia Sifon. You are the Grand Commander of Saptara. Take command—and shape this force into a weapon history will never forget."
Aurelia Sifon stepped forward, her golden eyes glinting with resolve. The hall fell into reverent silence.
"I am honored," Aurelia said, her voice steady, ringing across the chamber, "to lead this sacred order. I vow in the name of my clan, in the memory of my ancestor Sifon, and before the Holy Creator, to lead without selfishness, to extinguish corruption, and to halt the march of this world toward dystopia. But I cannot do this alone."
She spread her arms. "Soldiers, commanders—lend me your strength. For today, the Saptavansh does not just rise. It returns."
The soldiers roared in unison, the hall vibrating with their cries.
Aurelia gave her first order.
"The Flight Unit—prepare for takeoff to Parina. The Waffe Squad will march separately on foot. All powered soldiers with flight or teleportation abilities—move at once. Advocates of Interne and Externe, stand with me. Commanders, lead your companies. Parina must be reached within two hours!"
Her voice cut through the hall like a blade.
But in the shadows, discontent festered.
"Bullshit!" Awaja Azhura spat, unable to contain his rage. "Why should I take orders from this woman?"
"Silence!" Angkasa's command struck like thunder. "You forfeited your right to challenge authority the day you committed the Great Sin. Hold your tongue, Awaja—or lose it."
Awaja lowered his head, trembling with fury. His blood boiled. In his heart, a venomous thought coiled: If I cannot lead… then I will make sure Aurelia Sifon does not live to lead either.
Meanwhile, whispers spread among the soldiers gathering in formation:
"Did you hear? They say the murders in Parina were just a distraction… this explosion is the real attack.""Who could dare challenge the Saptavansh on their very first day?""I heard rumors… some say it's rebels, others whisper of foreign hands. But…""But what?""…what if it's the Rulers themselves, testing us?"
The rumors grew like wildfire. Fear mingled with excitement.
One thing was certain: the march to Parina had begun.
And with it, the dawn of a new war.
"People," Mazhiro's voice rang across the group, carrying its usual bluntness yet commanding silence.
"Apparently, I am your captain," he announced with little enthusiasm, his tone laced with disdain. "I never wished to be a part of this endless drama, but fate has forced me into it. And so—I shall endure a little longer. Our next trial waits in Parina, and no matter what, we will reach there within two hours."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. The thought of Parina—a city now drenched in the whispers of murders and explosions—hung like a shadow over them.
Breaking the silence, Sainen stepped forward, his rifle slung across his back, his gaze sharp and unflinching. "I will take us there," he declared.
Mazhiro raised an eyebrow. "And how do you intend to do that?"
"I can carry you all with my powers," Sainen replied firmly.
"You can?" Sukheer blurted out, almost stumbling over his words in surprise.
Sainen's lips curled into the faintest smirk. "I can alter the very laws of motion. The direction of an object, its speed, its trajectory—anything that cuts through the air, I command it. Even a bullet that defies its mark must obey me."
The others stood frozen. The wind seemed to hush, as though the world itself leaned closer to listen.
"When did you gain this?" Armeet asked, his usually calm voice heavy with astonishment.
Sainen's eyes drifted skyward for a moment, as if replaying the memory. "When we journeyed here, I drifted into a dream… In that dream, a figure revealed himself—the spirit of my weapon. He told me I had awakened. That I had crossed into the realm of those chosen to bear true power. He said my dominion lies in projectiles… in every object that breathes in the air. And so—" he touched his rifle reverently, his voice swelling with pride, "—I am the King of Rifles."
A ripple of awe passed through Squad B. For the first time, the weight of awakening settled in their hearts.
Sukheer clenched his fists, a spark of envy flickering in his eyes. "That's… incredible. I wonder… will I ever awaken too?"
Sainen's gaze softened, though his words remained sharp. "You will. All of you will. Power chooses its time. And when it does—you'll understand. The battlefield reveals more than blood and death… it reveals the truth hidden in us."
He stepped forward, his hands coming together in a deliberate clap that cracked like thunder. The air trembled.
"Awaken: Spirit of Rifles!" he roared.
A surge of energy burst outward, bending the currents of air around him. Leaves whipped violently, dust spiraled upward. Sainen extended his arm, his eyes glowing faintly.
"Air Trajectory!"
The force seized Sukheer before he could even gasp. In an instant, Sainen hurled him skyward with terrifying speed. Sukheer's body tore through the air, his scream trailing behind him like a comet.
Without hesitation, Sainen leaped after him, his feet slicing through the wind as if the sky itself were his domain. He raised his rifle, chanting once more:
"Flash Fire!"
A blazing force erupted from his weapon, propelling Sukheer like a blazing projectile toward Parina. The heat shimmered against the horizon, the velocity near unbearable. The very air groaned in protest.
Yet, even in that brilliance lay a flaw—embers clung to Sukheer's clothes, singeing faintly. Flash Fire was destructive, yes, but unstable; projectiles risked burning to ash before their target.
The squad watched in silence, their hearts pounding. For the first time, they had witnessed an awakening. For the first time, they realized what true power meant.
And though Sukheer's figure dwindled into the distance, one truth lingered heavy in the air—The era of awakening had begun.
[To be Continued in Chapter 42]