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- German-Swiss Border -
- May 12, 1939 | Night -
The moon hovered low and cold above the forest that sprawled across the hilly borderland where Germany's last fences gave way to Switzerland's secret mountain passes. The road winding through the trees looked harmless enough — just a strip of gravel and mud, snaking between pines that whispered in the night wind. But tonight, it carried shadows that didn't belong to the forest.
A convoy rumbled along the narrow track — three trucks painted in the dull grey-green Hydra preferred for its hidden work. Each truck's canvas cover flapped gently in the breeze, but what lay beneath was far from ordinary cargo. Crates reinforced with iron bands, old runes half-hidden under newer Nazi stencils. Inside, ancient stone idols stolen from Eastern Europe's forgotten monasteries, shards of relics lifted from burnt-out churches — pieces older than most of the men escorting them. Alongside them, rows of crates sealed with red wax, inside which lay weapons never listed on any Reich manifest — guns stripped from black market deals, experimental devices traded in whispers in Prague basements, and most importantly ancient artifacts seized through hidden transactions by Hydra.
Ten men guarded the convoy. Hydra agents to the bone — sharp haircuts, sharper eyes, each uniform plain but hiding enough steel and poison to wipe out a village if ordered. At the front of the line rode their leader — a man called Brandt, decorated enough to wear his swastika like an heirloom, yet deep enough in Hydra's fold that no army records could trace where he'd truly been. Brandt's eyes flicked over the treeline every few seconds, his gloved hand resting near the pistol on his thigh.
What Brandt didn't see, however, sat less than twenty paces from the convoy's edge.
Perched on a mossy ledge above the road, half-draped in pine needles and shadows, the Hidden Flame's scout watched without a sound. He was young — no older than Rudra, maybe younger — but his heartbeat was buried under the forest's hum. To any eye looking up, there was nothing but rock and root — because the boy was the rock, the root, the mud. His quirk, a strange twist in his bloodline, let him merge into whatever held him. Leaves blurred his outline, bark disguised his scent. He breathed with the wind, exhaled with the soil.
His name was Neel — a stray from Assam once picked up by Hidden Flame runners when he'd been caught melting into a stone temple wall during a riot. Karna himself had given him his first mission back then: "See without being seen. Be the forest when the fire comes."
And so Neel watched. Every nod Brandt gave his men. Every time a driver tapped the brake as the trucks bumped over hidden roots. He counted rifles, knives, the glint of something heavier under a tarpaulin. He noted the pattern — how two agents stayed close to the lead truck, how Brandt's eyes never strayed far from the rear. The convoy was headed northwest — deeper into German woods, closer to the border's teeth.
Everything was going according to plan — until the woods shifted in ways even Neel didn't expect.
It began with a rustle — soft but wrong. A branch cracked where no deer moved. Then a whistle of something faster than any wind. By the time the first Hydra agent turned his head, a shape dropped from the canopy above, a dark smear against moonlight. The man didn't even have time to gasp — the blade slid in and out so smoothly his boots barely shuffled on the gravel.
Neel held his breath, fingers merging deeper into the rough bark of the pine beside him. Below, chaos bloomed quiet and fast. Three, four more figures slipped from the trees — all black clothes, faces covered, moving like they'd trained for this one kill a thousand times over. They wielded knives, suppressed guns, something that crackled when it touched flesh — Hydra men dropped before they could fire a shot.
Brandt tried to shout — a harsh bark of German that vanished as one of the attackers stepped in, burying a blade under his ribs. The fight lasted no longer than a drawn breath. Then, silence again — except for the crackling of a flame as the attackers gathered the bodies and lit them like old logs. No evidence, no faces to trace back.
Neel's heart slammed against the bark he'd merged with. He watched as two of the masked intruders broke open the lead truck, glancing at the crates, checking marks that Neel couldn't see from his perch. One of them — the tallest, maybe the leader — gestured sharply, and the group began hauling the crates into the trees, vanishing the cargo into the night.
And then — the worst moment. The leader paused, head tilted. He turned slowly, scanning the forest. Neel felt the gaze sweep over his hiding place like a knife edge. For a heartbeat, he thought the man could see every bit of him pressed into the tree's flesh. The leader stepped closer — boots crunching softly through old pine needles — eyes narrowed under the mask.
Neel forced every muscle still. He was the tree. He was the dirt. He didn't blink. He didn't exist.
A long moment passed — then the leader turned away, muttering something Neel's half-merged ears couldn't catch. A sharp gesture — then the last of the crates vanished with the attackers into the underbrush, their footsteps swallowed by the woods.
Only when the forest fell quiet again did Neel let himself breathe. He slipped free from the bark, knees hitting soft moss as his pulse thudded in his throat. A moment later, he pressed two fingers to the enchanted mark burned into his collarbone. A spark of warmth flared under his skin as the Hidden Flame's seal opened.
His whisper cracked through the distance like a secret wind: "Target lost. Hydra convoy intercepted. Unknown third party. Cargo secured by them. Bodies burned. No trace left. Sending coordinates. Requesting backup. I'll follow."
A second later, the reply pulsed under his ribs — Rudra's voice, calm and cold even over magic.
"Stay hidden. Do not engage. Backup en route. Keep your eyes open. Good work, Neel."
Neel's hands curled into the damp earth. Ahead of him, only the whisper of the stolen path remained. He let himself melt into the roots once more — a ghost tracking ghosts, while somewhere far behind him, the Hidden Flame stirred to burn Hydra's secrets out from Europe's ancient bones.
And in the hush that followed, the old border woods waited — their secrets growing colder with every heartbeat.
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- Near the Swiss-Austrian-Italian Border -
- May 13, 1939 | Early Morning -
The cold up here had a bite different from Bharat's mountain chill — sharper, drier, it clawed at the lungs and stung the eyes. But Neel hardly felt it. He crouched low behind a patch of scrubby pine, face pressed close to the damp earth as he watched shapes move in the half-light ahead.
The strangers — the ones who had killed Hydra's men like they were flicking ash off a sleeve — were camped below him in a hollow, surrounded by snow-dusted rocks and a few crooked trees. They hadn't bothered with fires. No flicker of light, no easy target. Just shadows curled in thick coats, heads bent low as they checked the crates they'd stolen. Except it wasn't all the crates — Neel had noticed that. They'd left most behind for the flames. Only one smaller crate travelled with them now, strapped tight and never left alone, not even when they moved quick as wolves down mountain trails.
For two nights and a day Neel had tracked them — slipping through brush, sinking into cliff faces, holding his breath when they paused, always staying just far enough to be wind and stone if they turned their heads. They didn't act like mercenaries or simple thieves. They moved with purpose — clean, tight, trained for the hunt.
Now they rested. Neel didn't. His eyes flicked to the black lines inked under his left sleeve — the Hidden Flame's seal still warm against his skin. He'd whispered his location an hour ago, then slipped back to watching the hollow like the forest itself.
A soft crackle of air behind him made him tense — only for a familiar warmth to hum across his spine.
He didn't turn immediately. He didn't need to. A soft pop of displaced wind, the faint electric scent that Mira always carried with her jumps — then her breath beside his ear. "Good work, Neel."
He let out a small sigh, relief hidden in the frost curling from his mouth. Mira knelt beside him — scarf wrapped tight around her nose, sharp eyes flicking down the slope. A second later, the brush behind them shivered once more as Karna stepped out of the shadows — no sound, no weight in his boots, just a quiet force slipping through the alpine dark.
Karna's hand landed on Neel's shoulder — heavy, steady, warm enough to chase the mountain's bite away for a heartbeat. "You've done well, boy," he murmured. Neel felt the praise settle deep in his chest, quiet pride under his ribs.
Mira didn't waste time. She checked the shapes below, lips twitching. "I'll report back. He's yours now, sir."
Karna gave her a nod — a silent dismissal. Mira didn't even stand; she just vanished — air crackling, pine needles swirling as if she'd never been there.
Neel risked a glance at Karna then. The older man's eyes were half-lidded, calm but sharp as he studied the camp. He didn't speak, only raised two fingers — a signal. Stay low.
They moved closer together — slipping downslope like ghosts under the alpine moon. Whenever a stray glint of moonlight brushed them, Karna's fingers twitched — bending the light around their shapes until even the thin mist on the ground seemed to swallow them whole. Neel had merged into stone and soil before — but this? This was different. He felt like a ripple in a pond, real but hidden by every shimmer Karna shaped.
From their new perch, they could see clearer. The strangers were hunched around the crate, voices low but tense. Neel strained to catch any words but only heard snatches — unfamiliar, maybe Slavic or something older, rough on the tongue. The leader — the same one whose eyes had nearly found Neel in the forest — lifted the crate's lid just enough to peek inside. Even at a distance, Karna's subtle bend of moonlight helped Neel catch a glimpse.
A sealed package that looked like a book — black, ancient looking leather tightly wrapping it, etched with something that crawled like veins when the leader's torch flickered over it. Old, older than Hydra, maybe older than the Empire. Whatever it was, the men guarded it like it breathed fire.
Karna's breath was close to Neel's ear now, a whisper softer than the wind. "They didn't want Hydra's guns. Just that."
Neel nodded, heart thumping but steady. "Where do we follow?"
Karna's eyes narrowed, tracking the leader as he barked orders to his crew. "Into Italy, likely. Somewhere hidden enough for a handoff or a ritual. They're not common thieves."
He pressed two fingers against Neel's temple — a faint flicker of warmth that spread through Neel's limbs like fresh tea on a winter dawn. The spell settled deep, stitching Karna's Photokinesis to Neel's own gift — a new layer of camouflage, sharper than bark and mud alone.
"Stay in my slipstream," Karna murmured. "They'll look again, but they won't see us. No matter how hard they squint."
Below, the strangers sealed the crate again, packs strapped tight as they rose to their feet — vanishing into the treeline as quick and quiet as they'd come. Not a word wasted, not a fire left to smolder.
Neel exhaled slow, shoulders brushing Karna's cloak. The cold stung his cheeks, but his mind hummed warm with purpose.
Above them, the stars blinked cold and distant. Below them, the forest swallowed secrets older than any flag or throne.
Beside him, Karna's voice cracked the hush one last time — soft and certain. "Stay close, Neel. We are the shadows they can't outrun. Tonight — we learn who else hunts in Europe's dark."
And with that, two ghosts slipped after ghosts — frost on pine, breath on the wind, secrets carried on silent feet through the sleeping border hills.
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