The chamber shuddered.
Aarav stood in the heart of the floating platform, the Crown of the Flame now fused with his very being. But there was no object upon his head—only an ethereal ring of fire hovering above, pulsing with his heartbeat.
His clothes were singed, but untouched by the raw heat around him. His skin glowed faintly gold, and ancient inscriptions shimmered on his forearms like branded tattoos—lines in Brahmi, the script of the forgotten kings.
He didn't feel pain.
He felt… alive.
"W-what just happened?" Diya muttered, lowering her pistol as the Yakshas froze mid-attack. Their flaming eyes dimmed, then extinguished completely.
Aarav turned toward the silver-haired boy, who now looked unsure for the first time.
"You weren't supposed to be worthy," the boy hissed. "The Crown should have rejected you."
"Guess fire has good taste," Aarav said, voice deeper than before. It echoed, as though something far older spoke with him.
The boy snarled. "This isn't over. You've only awakened the first. The other Regalia won't bend so easily. The others—we—won't let you take the Empire."
Then, without warning, he threw a vial onto the stone floor. Smoke erupted, blinding everyone.
When it cleared… he was gone.
---
A few hours later.
They stood in the sunlight again, wind biting at their faces.
The hidden temple had collapsed behind them, sinking into the earth like a wound finally closing.
Diya's arms were folded, her mind still catching up. "You… you didn't just survive the Crown. It merged with you. You're carrying part of the Empire inside you."
Aarav rubbed the scorch marks on his sleeves. "What does that mean, though? That I'm some kind of ancient king?"
"No," she said softly. "It means you're something worse. A threat."
He looked at her, startled. "To who?"
"To everyone who wants to keep the Empire buried."
---
They camped by a frozen stream that night.
Aarav sat by the fire, staring at his hand. With a thought, flames coiled around his fingers—obedient, warm, but untamed. He could even direct the heat into objects. He lit a torch by touching the handle. Melted snow into steam. Heated Diya's tea without a match.
He had power now.
But not control.
Every time he lost focus, the flames surged. The fire wanted something. As if it were… conscious.
> "The Crown is only one piece," the Watcher whispered in his thoughts.
"But the Flame is eternal. It remembers. And it tests."
Aarav clenched his fist, the fire extinguishing. "How many more Regalia are there?"
Diya looked up from her notes. "Seven. One for each pillar of the Empire. The Flame was the first."
"And the others?"
She opened a map. Seven locations were circled—each marked by ruins, legends, and unexplained events.
"Next is the Wheel of Memory," she said. "It's rumored to be in the Western Ghats—guarded by monks who remember things no living human should. People say it can bend time itself."
"Sounds friendly," Aarav muttered.
---
Suddenly, a distant hum vibrated through the valley. Not natural. Mechanical.
They scrambled up the ridge.
On the far slope, a military transport helicopter descended, snow spraying in all directions. Soldiers in black armor disembarked. But these weren't Indian Army.
They wore no insignias. No flags. Only one symbol stitched onto their shoulder pads:
A severed eye inside a triangle.
Diya's expression darkened. "They found us."
"Who are they?"
"The Inquisitors of the Void," she whispered. "Private syndicate. Ultra-nationalist. Their founder believed India's ancient past should stay forgotten. They've been hunting artifact-bearers for decades."
"How do they know we're here?"
"They've been watching me since I was a teenager. But now that you've awakened the Crown…" She turned to him. "You just painted a glowing target on your back."
Aarav didn't hesitate. "Then let's give them something to chase."
---
A high-speed chase began. On snowmobiles Diya had hidden in a nearby cave, they tore through frozen forests and sharp ridges. Behind them, black-armored hunters closed in.
Aarav's instincts kicked in.
When a drone zipped overhead, he raised his hand—fire arced from his palm, detonating the machine mid-air.
Diya whooped. "Okay! We might actually survive this!"
"Don't get cocky," he muttered, steering into a forest trail.
The soldiers fired. Trees splintered. A bullet grazed Aarav's shoulder, but it seared shut within seconds—his wounds now healing through heat.
"What the hell are you becoming?" Diya whispered, awed.
He didn't answer.
Because for the first time since this started…
He wanted to know, too.
---
They finally lost the hunters by diving off a cliff edge—into a frozen river.
Bruised and soaked, they crawled ashore several miles downstream, hiding in an abandoned monastery.
Diya lit a fire. Aarav sat beside it, dripping, eyes on the dancing flames.
"Are you afraid of what's coming?" she asked.
He looked at her.
"No," he said. "I'm afraid I'll like it."
---
⚡ To be continued...