The city of Aryon never slept.
From the rooftop of his cramped apartment, Aarav could see the endless glow of neon—signboards flickering in a dozen languages, the high-rise towers clawing at the sky, and the crowded streets where everyone rushed as if time itself was chasing them. He loved this view. It made him feel both small and limitless.
Still, something gnawed at him.
Basketball tournaments, VR gaming leagues, fights at college… is this all my life will ever be?
He leaned against the railing, pulling the hood of his jacket tighter as the first drops of rain began to fall.
Across town, in a quieter corner of the city, Mira was doing the opposite. She was tucked away in the Grand Library, her world filled with silence, old pages, and pencil sketches. She wasn't chasing neon lights or competition. Instead, she was chasing forgotten stories—ancient wars, queens erased from history, kingdoms lost to shadows.
Unlike Aarav, Mira didn't want the world to be louder. She wanted it to tell her its secrets.
But that night, both of them got what they had never asked for.
---
It started as a hum. Low. Metallic. The kind of sound that doesn't belong in the human world.
Then, near the abandoned clock tower, the hum became a roar.
Aarav was walking past the VR café when the ground shook beneath his sneakers. He pulled out his earbuds, staring as a crack of lightning without thunder split the sky.
Mira was on her way home, sketchbook pressed to her chest, when the library windows rattled. She dropped her pencil as a strange glow painted the sky outside.
Both of them—two strangers—ran toward the same place.
---
The clock tower was shrouded in green fire, its broken gears grinding to life after decades of silence. From the torn sky above it, shapes poured through—shadows wearing armor, blades forged from something darker than steel.
Their leader was tall, wrapped in crimson and black, eyes burning like coals. His voice echoed, not in sound, but in every mind within reach:
"The gate is open. The world is ours."
Aarav froze, fists clenching. His instincts screamed to run, but something hotter boiled in his chest. Finally… something real.
Mira's heart pounded. She wanted to sketch it all, to capture this impossible scene—but her fear overpowered her curiosity. Then, unexpectedly, her sketchbook lit up. The drawings she had made of ancient battles—soldiers, weapons, forgotten empires—glowed on the page.
The leader's eyes snapped to her, as if he recognized her book.
And in that moment, Mira knew her quiet life was over.
The shadows charged.
The city of Aryon screamed awake.
And two ordinary souls—Aarav, the restless fighter, and Mira, the quiet historian—were about to be chosen as the world's last defense.