The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Under the wide canopy of an ancient tree, two players sat quietly at a worn-out wooden table. A chessboard lay between them—black and white pieces locked in a standoff. The game had ended… in a draw.
One of the players, As he turned to walk away, a young man observing from nearby stepped forward.
"Grandpa, you still had a chance to win," the young man said.
The old man turned his head slightly, offering a soft chuckle.
"Surya, I am aware… but right now, what I want… is a small change."
---
The screen lit up. Surya stood alone under the street alley , a quiet buzz from his device filling the silence as a call connected.
"Uncle Aditya. I witnessed the guts and strength of Nightmare," Surya said firmly.
There was a slight pause on the line before Aditya Rajan, the president, responded with a calm but concerned voice.
"Surya, are you safe? You're not hurt, are you?"
Surya's eyes narrowed, his grip on the device tightening.
"Uncle Aditya—no, President Aditya—I'm disappointed. I expected you to ask me if I killed that bastard… but instead, you're worried about me."
A beat of silence followed. Aditya didn't respond to the accusation.
Surya continued, voice steady but laced with frustration.
"Anyway, I'm safe. Not hurt. And I know the contract won't be broken… but I felt it. This mission—the final days of the Final Singing Competition—isn't simple. We need more assistance. So, Uncle Aditya… please, change."
Aditya's voice remained level.
"You're only 25, Surya. You still have a lot to learn. As long as that contract exists, there's no need to worry about that person."
"But…" Surya tried to push back.
"Surya," Aditya interrupted, "don't overthink. And don't underestimate Rathore's leadership."
Surya gave a dry chuckle into the call.
"Then why did Rathore's mission lead to the fall of the Shield?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
"And why did you let Rudra go? The one whose strength matched Nightmare?"
For the first time, Aditya's composed voice raised slightly—not with anger, but with strain.
"Surya, this isn't the right time to discuss that. And once again… don't worry about that Nightmare."
The line clicked softly as the call ended, leaving Surya under the street alley—alone, but burning with questions that had no answers.
------
The call ended with a soft click, leaving the evening air heavy and silent.
Inside the quiet room, Aditya sat still, alone with his thoughts. He slowly reached forward and pulled open the drawer of his desk. From within, he drew out a worn photo album, its cover marked with the passage of time.
"Change… change… change…" he murmured to himself, over and over—each repetition sounding more hollow than the last.
As he opened it, a teardrop fell silently onto one of the photographs—smudging the ink near a pair of familiar eyes. He quickly wiped it away, exhaled sharply, then hugged the album close to his chest.
The silence was broken—not by the present, but by the echoes of long-lost voices.
A cold, heavy male voice with a calm tone resonated in his memory:
"From now on, you are her foster father, Aditya. Please take her."
Then another voice, light and friendly—familiar and filled with guilt:
"Sorry for making a burden of you. Please… don't let them be the next founders of the Shield. It's my final wish."
A calm female voice followed—tired, yet filled with grace, spoken from her final moments:
"I'm glad I saw you as president… Please make this world proud."
Then, sharp and emotional, a young female voice—hurt and defiant:
"I'm very disappointed in your decision. I'm leaving the house."
Lastly, a quiet, simple male voice—spoken with peace and conviction:
"Please take care of my spectacles. Don't regret, Aditya."
Aditya's hands trembled slightly as he brushed his fingers across one of the photos. A figure with warm eyes and thick spectacles stared back at him through time.
He whispered softly.
"What do I need to do… Rishi?"
His voice cracked, but he pressed on, fingers lingering over the image.
"If you were here… everything would've resolved. Everyone would've regrouped. The purpose of Project M… it would've already achieved its goal."
-----
Aditya stared into the distance, fingers still resting on the photo album. The weight in his eyes was no longer just grief—it was exhaustion… buried deep.
"I'm tired… I'm really tired of that Slatemate…" he muttered quietly.
His voice cracked slightly.
"And I'm exhausted. I'm really exhausted with my safe games. But I still don't want to break that promise. That's why I…"
He trailed off, reaching toward another drawer and pulling out an old model phone—its surface scratched, its screen dim and faintly flickering.
On the screen, a message blinked softly:
PROJECT M...
Aditya exhaled slowly and murmured:
"Project M… no, CODE MO… It's the unanswered place of hope. For my answers… and yours… I will call you."
---
In the midst of vast farm fields, a man stood among rows of green. Weathered and sharp-eyed, his right hand had only three fingers—but his grip on purpose had never loosened.
The old phone in his pocket rang.
He picked it up with a grin.
"Hi, my dear friend. It's been a long time. How are you? And more importantly… did you find any trace of him?"
Aditya's voice came through the line, steady and focused.
"Not yet, Vijay. But for the change… it's time for you to act."
Vijay's tone shifted immediately, serious and unwavering.
"You would never say that without reason. So tell me, Aditya… what happened?"
---
When the call ended, Vijay stood in the center of the farmland. The air around him grew still.
He took a breath, then raised his voice to everyone within earshot.
"It's been 25 years since the injustice."
The workers and villagers paused, their hands dropping from tools and baskets. All eyes turned to him.
"Half of you will remain and protect this place. The other half… prepare yourselves—whether it's with a bow, a spear, a sword, or a shield."
His voice rang with conviction.
"It's time for our purpose to move forward. It's time to find the answers we were denied."
Vijay's eyes burned with fire as he raised a clenched fist.
"As the Village Head of MRN Village, I, RanVijay Ra… agree to regroup. Our next target is—"
---
Elsewhere, deep within a shadowy forest, a lone figure rested atop a flat rock. He took a swig of water from a battered bottle, breathing in the damp air of the wild.
Suddenly, a metallic twang cut through the silence—an arrow struck the rock inches away from his arm. From every direction, metal echoed and footsteps closed in.
The man sighed, unbothered.
He didn't even flinch as more sounds drew nearer.
"I, Rudra… will never get tired," he said with a smirk, raising his middle finger toward the trees.
He reached for his dagger, sharp and shining even in the dim light.
"Let's go then. Come and try, you fools from the Hollow Pact… or Council of Six… whoever dares."