Samar's face lit up with an almost childlike excitement. "I have lunch boxes packed!" he declared proudly, his tone brimming with energy.
Both Armaan and Roumit froze for a second, their eyes widening in perfect sync. "You what?!" they exclaimed together, half in disbelief and half in hunger-driven joy.
Samar grinned smugly, patting the small storage bag hanging by his side. "Told you guys, I come prepared for everything."
Armaan shook his head with a faint, amused smile, while Roumit gave a tired sigh, adjusting his specs. "Sometimes, I genuinely wonder if you're a warrior or just a walking lunch service."
The three of them laughed softly, their exhaustion fading for a moment in the warmth of familiarity. But as the breeze brushed past, Armaan's gaze drifted.
A few steps away, Zykarith sat silently on a flat rock, her violet eyes fixed on the distant black hole swirling in the golden sky. Her posture was calm, almost regal, but her expression was unreadable.
Armaan's voice dropped to a quiet murmur, just loud enough for Samar and Roumit to hear. He tilted his head slightly in her direction.
"...What about her?" he asked, his tone serious, eyes gesturing toward Zykarith.
The other two followed his gaze, and for a moment, the cheerful air around them softened into quiet contemplation.
Both Samar and Roumit's eyes widened for a brief second before mischievous grins spread across their faces. Samar leaned closer, his tone dripping with playful teasing.
"Are you… worried about her?" he asked, dragging out the words just enough to make Armaan's jaw tighten.
Armaan froze, realizing exactly where this was heading. A faint blush crept up his neck, betraying his calm exterior. "I—It's nothing like that, IDIOT!" he yelled, waving his hands defensively, his voice echoing louder than he intended.
The outburst made both Samar and Roumit burst into laughter, clutching their stomachs while Armaan glared at them, still red.
Meanwhile, a few steps away, Zykarith, who had clearly heard everything, turned her head slightly. A cartoonish expression of confusion and disbelief crossed her otherwise composed face as if to say, "What the hell is wrong with him!?"
Even the ever-serious atmosphere around them couldn't stop the small wave of laughter that followed.
Roumit tried to stifle his laughter but failed miserably, adjusting his glasses as he said between chuckles,
"Take it easy, man. He's just playing with you."
Armaan shot him a half-hearted glare, still embarrassed, while Samar was laughing so hard that he had to hold his stomach to breathe. After a few seconds, Samar finally managed to calm himself down—barely—and grinned, saying,
"Don't worry, I brought a lot of lunch boxes for worst-case scenarios. So we even have mayo pasta for her too."
Armaan exhaled, rubbing his temple in disbelief. "You…" he muttered, but before he could finish, something clicked in his head. His expression shifted—his eyes suddenly lit up, glinting with a rare, almost childlike brightness that Samar and Roumit hardly ever saw.
"Wait a second…" Armaan said, his tone turning curious as he struggled to hold back a smile. "Where the hell did you even get mayo pasta—and that too this early in the morning?"
Samar smirked, his pride swelling like a balloon. "Alya and Advika made it for us," he declared, puffing his chest slightly. "They woke up at five in the morning just to pack it all."
Armaan couldn't stop the smile tugging at his lips anymore—no matter how hard he tried. The mix of fluster and warmth on his face was impossible to hide. His usual calm composure completely betrayed him as a faint crimson crept from his neck to his cheeks.
He averted his gaze abruptly, pretending to focus on anything but the conversation. "Oh," he muttered under his breath, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
Both Samar and Roumit instantly caught on. They exchanged knowing grins—the kind that screamed "gotcha." Samar nudged Roumit lightly, and Roumit chuckled, adjusting his glasses again to hide his amusement.
But they weren't the only ones who noticed.
From a few steps away, Zykarith—who had been quietly sitting on the rock, legs crossed—caught sight of Armaan's bright crimson blush. Her violet eyes blinked once, twice, before a faint pink dusted her own cheeks.
She quickly looked down, rubbing the side of her nose in a flustered attempt to hide it. "Seriously… what's wrong with him?" she mumbled under her breath.
But this time, her words carried a different kind of softness—a quiet, confused warmth that even she didn't fully understand.
Samar rummaged through his bag with a triumphant grin before pulling out not one, not two—but four tiffin boxes stacked neatly together, along with five small mayo packets.
Yeah, our Armaan takes two mayo packs.
—[Directly from the author.]
Samar handed one lunch box and a couple of mayo packs to Armaan, another to Roumit, and kept one for himself before setting the last box aside.
Then, just as he was about to dig in, he called out, "Hey, Zykarith! Have you eaten yet? Armaan is asking!"
Armaan—who was already halfway lost to the divine aroma of pasta, eyes practically sparkling with hunger—froze mid-drool. His expression went from bliss to pure panic in an instant.
"Wait, when did I!!?" he yelled, flinching so hard his fork nearly flew out of his hand.
But instead of paying attention to Armaan's loud protest, both Samar and Roumit turned their heads toward Zykarith, completely ignoring him.
Armaan froze mid-motion, his face blank with disbelief as a cartoonish gust of wind blew past him, ruffling his hair and soul simultaneously.
Zykarith blinked in mild surprise at the sudden attention, trying hard to keep her usual composure. "N-no, I haven't eaten something… what about it?" she asked, her voice carrying a subtle nervousness.
Samar smiled warmly, raising one of the boxes. "Then you can eat this. We call it pasta—and yeah, it's Armaan's favorite snack, by the way."
In the background, Armaan could be seen yelling something incomprehensible—his mouth moving furiously but his voice hilariously muted like in an old cartoon.
Zykarith blinked once, twice, before letting out a soft breath. "Thanks then," she said simply, accepting the lunch box from Samar. Her emerald green hair shimmered gently as it swayed with her movement, catching a soft gleam of light that made her look almost serene.
Zykarith curiously opened the lunch box, and the moment the lid lifted, a wave of sweet and cheesy aroma hit her senses. Her violet eyes widened slightly, the scent alone enough to make her stomach growl faintly—a very un-Zykarith-like sound.
She then looked at the small white packet in her hand, tilting her head in confusion. "Hey… how do we eat this?" she asked innocently, holding up the mayonnaise pack like it was some sort of mysterious alien artifact.
Armaan, who was in the middle of chewing his pasta, frowned slightly and sighed. He stood up, walking toward her with a lazy gait. "It's not to eat, dummy," he muttered, taking the mayo pack from her hand.
Their fingers brushed for the briefest second, and Zykarith's eyes flickered, a faint warmth creeping up her cheeks. Armaan didn't seem to notice—his focus entirely on tearing the pack open with a casual flick. He squeezed the creamy mayo over her pasta and said, "Mix it in like this… then eat."
He handed her the fork and—too lazy to walk back—plopped down beside her with his own box, still chewing. The two sat shoulder to shoulder now, a strange silence forming between them as the faint scent of cheese and mayo filled the air.
Zykarith thanked him softly, her voice almost melting into the faint hum of the room. She twirled the fork, took a bite, and the moment the creamy, cheesy pasta touched her tongue, her expression lit up. A bright, genuine smile spread across her face—one so rare and disarming that even Armaan, Samar, and Roumit couldn't help but smile in return.
For a few quiet minutes, only the faint sounds of chewing and the rustle of the wind filled the air. Then, between bites, Armaan glanced at her and asked, "So, what about your family? Are they here too?"
Zykarith stopped mid-bite. Her smile lingered for a second before fading into something softer, almost nostalgic. "No," she said, setting her fork down gently. "They're on Gary—the planet where the Zenkas belong. Safe."
She took a small breath, her tone shifting as she continued, "We Zenkas have a rule that's been followed for thousands of years. From each family, one person inherits the Draconic powers and travels to the Draconic Realm for their awakening. The family's social status depends on the rank of their dragon… compared to the dragon's position in the ancient army of the Draconic Dominion, which existed millions of years ago."
Her eyes gleamed faintly with pride as she added, "And since my dragon, Rogan, was the right hand of King Xarthos himself, our family stands as a high-ranking noble line."
Armaan nodded slowly, taking it in with quiet understanding. After a pause, he asked, "And what if someone isn't able to awaken their powers… or doesn't get inherited?"
Zykarith froze. Her expression darkened, and a chill ran through her tone as she said, "That's… rare. But if a family fails to provide an inheritor, the entire family is…" She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Executed."
Samar and Roumit's eyes went wide. Their jaws dropped open at the sheer ruthlessness of what they'd just heard. Only one word echoed in their minds—ruthless.
Armaan, however, didn't flinch. He simply nodded, his eyes calm, yet unreadable. "I had guessed that much," he said quietly.
The others looked at him, surprised by his composure. Zykarith stared at him for a moment longer, her mind briefly silent before a single thought slipped through—
Maybe there really is something special about this boy.
Armaan leaned forward slightly, brushing the crumbs off his hands. "One more question," he said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with curiosity. "What's your goal, Zykarith? I mean, when we met for the first time, you said Rogan helps you follow your goal. I'm just… curious about what that goal actually is."
Zykarith blinked, then smiled softly. "My goal?" she repeated, her emerald-green hair swaying as she looked down for a moment. "I just want to protect my family from any kind of problem… and make sure they live happily."
Her words carried a warmth that made all three boys smile unconsciously—Armaan, Samar, and Roumit exchanging small glances of understanding.
Then Zykarith looked back up, her expression curious. "What about you three? What are your goals?"
Roumit was the first to speak, scratching his cheek with a sheepish grin. "Maybe… become a novel writer and live with my family happily?" he said with a wry smile.
Zykarith tilted her head, genuinely confused. "What's a novel?"
Roumit blinked, dumbfounded. "You don't have books on your planet?" he asked, clearly thrown off.
Zykarith frowned slightly. "Now what is this 'books' you speak of?" she said, utterly serious.
Both Samar and Armaan couldn't hold it in—they chuckled, trying to suppress their laughter, while Roumit sighed in defeat and said, "Just take it as a hobby, alright? Forget the first one. I just want to live happily with my family and friends."
Armaan and Samar burst into another light chuckle at his surrender, and Zykarith smiled faintly, still a bit puzzled but enjoying their company.
Then Samar's expression turned serious. "I want to find my elder brother," he said quietly.
Zykarith's face shifted into one of concern. "What?" she asked softly.
Armaan stepped in, explaining calmly, "Before Samar was born, his parents had another son—about seven years older than him. But before Samar came into the world, that boy got lost during a large carnival… and was never found."
Zykarith's smile faded, replaced by a trace of sadness. "I see…" she said gently. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Samar gave her a small nod, but before the mood could sink further, Zykarith turned to Armaan. "And what about you?"
The air shifted. Armaan's easy composure hardened, and his eyes dimmed slightly as he said in a low voice, "I want to kill the person who killed my father."
Zykarith froze, eyes wide. She turned instinctively toward Samar and Roumit for confirmation, and both nodded silently with grim expressions.
Her voice softened, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry… I didn't know that."
But Armaan just gave a small, reassuring smile—the kind of smile that could calm a storm. "Don't be sorry. I'm totally fine," he said.
That smile—his killer smile—was the same one that had once stolen Advika's and Alya's hearts. And now, Zykarith felt her chest tighten, her pulse quicken without warning.
Why… why is my heart beating so fast? she thought, staring at him as he looked away casually. It's just a normal smile… so why does it feel like this?
She couldn't understand the strange warmth blooming in her chest—the quiet storm of feelings forming under her calm, warrior-like heart.
Their laughter faded into the calm hum of the forest breeze. The sunlight was soft, filtering through the canopy above as the group began to settle down.
The wind was calm, carrying only the faint rustle of leaves as the four of them drifted into a short, peaceful nap.
Samar rested his head against his bag, Roumit did the same beside him, Armaan used his Rakshak coat as a pillow, and Zykarith quietly leaned back on her emerald cape, eyes slowly closing.
For a while, there was only silence—soft breaths and the gentle rhythm of nature.
But peace never lasted long for them.
When they opened their eyes again… everything had changed.