Dim light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the walls of the infirmary in soft golden streaks. Outside, the snow had stopped, but the chill lingered in the air like a silent warning.
Inside, Om lay motionless.
His body was wrapped in bandages. His breath was shallow, uneven. Tubes fed nutrients into his veins. His right arm hung suspended in a sling. Ribs shattered. Organs barely stabilized. His entire frame looked like it had lost a war.
But he was alive.
Barely.
The faint hum of machines monitoring his vitals was the only sound. Every few seconds, a monitor beeped, steady and low—like a heartbeat holding on.
In the corner of the room, Sara sat curled in a chair, arms wrapped around her knees.
She hadn't moved in over six hours.
Her fingers trembled slightly, but her eyes remained dry—too drained to cry.
She knew about the battle now. About the assassins. About the frozen forest that had turned into a flaming waste land.
But seeing him here—broken—made it real.
"He fought all of them... alone," she whispered to no one. "Why?"
She reached out, gently touching the edge of the bed. His skin felt cold beneath her fingers.
"You reckless, stubborn idiot..." Her voice cracked.
"Why didn't you run?"
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Outside the room, Narad stood with Bhanu, Raj, Vasu, and Ronnie. No one spoke.
A healer stepped forward, voice hushed. "His vitals are stable... for now. But the damage—" she paused, grim— "his body wasn't built for that level of strain. It's a miracle he didn't die instantly."
Raj's jaw clenched.
Narad placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your time will come. For now, we protect what we still have."
He opened the infirmary door quietly.
Inside, Sara looked up as Narad entered.
"You should rest," he said softly.
She shook her head. "He might wake up."
Narad offered a faint smile. "He's strong. And stubborn. He'll wake up."
He stepped closer to Om's bed, eyes scanning the bruises, the cuts, the mess that was once a boy with quiet fire in his eyes.
Bruised. Bloodied.
But not broken.
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Inside Om's consciousness…
There was no darkness. No light.
Just space—endless, shifting.
He floated weightless in a shimmering void, wrapped in golden Sanskrit scripts weaving like veins through the sky. Symbols pulsed around him—some dim, some blinding. They moved in and out of sight, whispering. Not in words, but in memory.
Then—one stopped.
A symbol glowed. A sound echoed.
"You should be dead."
Om drifted toward it.
"Why aren't you?" it asked.
Pain pulsed in his chest. But beneath it—defiance.
A voice spoke.
Not Zero.
Not anyone he knew.
Something older. Ancient. Like a prayer chanted at the dawn of creation.
"Awaken. You're not finished yet."
Suddenly, Om's entire body burned—not with pain, but with awareness.
He felt every broken rib. Every torn muscle. Every drop of blood lost.
And deep beneath it all... something stirred.
A white flame.
Tiny. Fragile.
But alive.
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.
Back in the real world…
The steady beeping of the monitor changed—just slightly.
Sara sat up, alert. "Boss…!"
Om's fingers twitched.
A faint groan escaped his lips.
Narad rushed to his side. "Om…?"
Om's eyelids fluttered. The ceiling lights above blurred in his vision. His throat felt like sand.
"Where…" he whispered, voice dry and hoarse.
Sara leaned in, gripping his hand tightly. "You're safe. You're in the facility."
Narad and Bhanu exchanged a glance—surprised by the intensity in her voice.
Om blinked slowly. Memories clawed their way back. Flames. assassins. Zero's voice screaming in his mind.
He exhaled, slow. Pain followed.
His eyes shifted to Narad.
Then he closed them again.
"They'll return." His voice was low but resolute. "They weren't trying to kill me. They were testing me."
Everyone in the room froze.
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Outside the infirmary, Bhanu turned to Vasu.
"Did you hear that?"
Vasu nodded grimly. "He's right. That man… he didn't even try to finish me. He wanted something else."
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Back inside, Sara spoke again—quietly.
"Om... why didn't you run?"
Om stared at the ceiling, the weight of everything behind his eyes.
"Because I'm not weak anymore."
Sara's grip tightened.
"You were outnumbered… and still, you fought."
"I grew right," Om whispered.
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Later that evening, when the room had emptied out, Zero finally spoke—its voice returning for the first time since the battle.
[You were supposed to die.]
[Every biological model confirmed it.]
[But something changed.]
[Those Sanskrit patterns... They moved. And it wasn't me.]
Om didn't answer right away.
Then, a faint smirk crossed his lips.
"So even you're confused now."
[No data. Anomaly.]
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.
As the moon rose, Om drifted back into sleep.
But this time, there was no fire. No blood. No screams.
Only a dream.
He saw a bull statue—towering and still. Its eyes closed, as if in mourning.
Behind it stood a throne—broken, ancient, forgotten.
Cracks ran through it like veins.
And slowly—one by one—those cracks began to glow.