The meditation hall was quiet, save for the low hum of energy pulsing through the Noctirum runes etched into the stone floor. Once dormant, the chamber now breathed with a life of its own a steady rhythm of power syncing with Shivam's own heartbeat. He sat cross legged at its center, bathed in the cool glow of silver blue light. His eyes were closed, shoulders relaxed, his breathing slow and controlled. No more sparks. No accidental flares. Just calm, contained resonance pulsing through his limbs like a current he no longer feared.
Within the silence, his mind wandered not aimlessly, but with purpose. Memories rose like mist, woven not from visions or illusions, but real threads of the life he'd left behind. The smell of morning dew on the schoolyard basketball court. Aman's voice yelling across the hallway about forgotten homework. Aanchal balancing between detention threats and mock sword fights. Naina scribbling furiously in her notebook, muttering about protocols no one else followed. Dikshant tossing pens at them all during assembly, a crooked grin on his face. The train ride. The disappearance. The unraveling of everything familiar.
It was all there not as a burden, but a foundation. The reminder of who they were before the war. Before the power. And perhaps, even now, who they still were beneath it all.
"You held longer this time," came Agastya's voice, calm and approving as he stepped through the chamber doors. "The resonance didn't destabilize. You're aligning instinct and memory anchoring it."
Shivam opened his eyes slowly, the glow fading to a soft pulse beneath his skin. "I'm not just reacting anymore," he said. "I'm choosing."
Agastya nodded, circling him like a mentor inspecting a sword finally forged. "Power without clarity is a weapon. Power with memory… is legacy." He paused, watching Shivam rise. "Just remember the brighter you burn, the faster you fade."
"I won't burn alone," Shivam replied. "Not this time."
Across the upper levels of the bunker, another kind of fire burned.
Inside the reconfigured training hall, Shivam's team moved like clockwork not perfect, but sharp. Wounds had scabbed. Limbs had remembered. Hearts had hardened where needed, softened where it mattered. The last few days had forged them into more than fighters. They were now, unmistakably, a unit.
Dikshant darted between moving targets, his clones rippling beside him like echoes in motion. He tossed one knife after another, each one glowing with compact, pulsing energy. The first blade embedded itself clean into the dummy's chest. The second struck the ground and detonated not wildly this time, but with a focused blast radius. A third clone mimicked his throw with near perfect timing, showing clear progress in coordination. He grinned through his panting breath. "Finally starting to hit where I mean to."
Aman barked a laugh as he rushed forward across the mat, his spear spinning in a blur. The air shimmered around him, a translucent dome forming and holding longer than ever before. This time, it didn't crack under stress. Naina moved behind him in perfect sync, loosing an energy arrow through a pre designated gap in his shield. The arrow sliced through the air and struck a moving drone with pinpoint precision.
"That's three in a row," she said coolly. "One more and I call it a pattern."
"I'm the pattern," Aman shot back, twirling his spear. "You're just lucky to be standing in it."
Aanchal didn't speak much. She was focused, her body a blur of momentum as she activated her Swiftstep, flickering forward across the hall in quick bursts. Her agility had grown sharper, her steps cleaner. With her precognition beginning to stabilize, she struck dummies mid motion, anticipating their shift before they even moved. She wasn't just fast now she was calculating, her blade moving like an extension of thought itself.
The synergy was real. They were learning to read each other's movements. Aanchal's misdirection set up Naina's shot. Dikshant's clone distracted long enough for Aman to vault in and shield bash the enemy. Their powers weren't fully mastered, but they were finally flowing together no longer stepping on each other's moves, but building from them.
Shivam arrived just in time to witness a full team sequence Aanchal blinking behind the dummy, Dikshant's clone pinning it in place, Aman hurling his spear mid sprint, and Naina finishing the strike with a clean arrow to the core. It wasn't perfect, but it was real. Earned. Every bead of sweat and bruise had led to this rhythm.
"They're ready," Agastya said from beside him.
Shivam didn't answer immediately. He watched as Aman and Dikshant exchanged a high five, Aanchal gave Naina a nod of acknowledgment, and the room briefly echoed with the sound of shared breath and mutual pride.
"No," Shivam said finally. "They're becoming ready. That matters more."
He stepped onto the mat, the others pausing to meet him in a loose circle. They didn't salute. They didn't bow. But they looked to him now with something unspoken a trust beyond orders.
"Tomorrow, it starts," he said quietly. "We move on the relay tower. And after that the capital." A beat passed.
Then Naina spoke. "Are we enough?" Shivam looked around at each of them. At the scars, the quiet courage, the tired hope still burning behind their eyes.
"We're more than enough," he said. "Because we've built this together." No more scattered sparks. Now, they burned in unison. And this time, they were ready to light the world
The command room buzzed with tension, but not the chaotic kind. It was the hum of precision of machines aligning, people sharpening, and destiny coiling like a spring about to snap.
Soft blue lights traced across the central holo table, projecting terrain maps layered with Dominion patrol routes, timing estimates, and escape vectors. Dozens of nodes blinked with shifting data each one a piece in the grand assault to come. At the head of the table, Rathod stood tall, her expression steeled into the calm of someone who'd made peace with impossible odds.
Shivam entered first, flanked by his team. Their boots echoed against the reinforced floor, but no one in the room turned not out of disrespect, but reverence. This team had become the tip of the blade. They would be the first to move. The first to strike.
Vidhart stepped forward, one hand tracing the path of a narrow valley displayed on the map. "This is the Dominion relay tower Tower 617. Located in a trench system east of Vedhyra. Decommissioned officially, but fully operational beneath the surface."
Mansi and Suchitra stood nearby, managing the overlays. Mansi flicked her fingers through the projection, revealing a cross section of the tower's substructure. "Here's your route. A canyon trail shields your approach. Once you're within five hundred meters, there's a dormant ventilation shaft that runs along the trench wall. Sumit and Pawan dropped a scanner drone last night the shaft is open."
"Ventilation tunnel?" Aman muttered. "Great. I always wanted to crawl through metal intestines."
"We don't have another option," Suchitra said. "The outer gates are alarmed and monitored. This tunnel bypasses the alert net. Once inside, you'll reach the core console chamber. That's where you drop the relay."
Rathod's voice cut through. "You'll be under the radar for exactly sixteen minutes. After that, Dominion perimeter sensors will recalibrate and reengage. You'll either be out… or buried."
Shivam nodded; his jaw tight. "We'll be out. What happens next?"
Robin Rayudu stepped forward, unfolding a secondary map. "The moment you trigger the blackout, Vidhart's units will strike Dominion checkpoints across five sectors. Ground forces will rise from pre cleared tunnels. Supply caches are in place. We will storm the outer garrison walls of the capital by the second hour of the blackout."
"We're keeping pressure on all fronts," Vidhart added. "And by the time they realize what's happening, our flyers Sumit and Pawan will break into the palace airspace for Adhivita's extraction."
The room shifted slightly at her name. Shivam said nothing, but his fist clenched quietly at his side.
Naina broke the silence. "What about Lavin? He's not just going to sit and watch."
"He's already in the field," Rathod said. "Our sources confirm he's infiltrated rebel sectors. Most likely, he's looking for Shivam."
A heavy pause.
Aanchal's voice was low. "Then we better give him something to find."
Rathod stepped around the table, stopping in front of them. "You don't have to say yes. We can find another team."
"We've trained for this," Dikshant said. "We are the team."
"10 days ago," Vidhart said, "you weren't ready. Today, you're more than ready. But understand this: the moment you step outside that tunnel, you are not just fighting for survival. You are the opening line of a war that hasn't been written yet."
Shivam looked around at his friends.
Aman's usual smirk had faded, but something stronger sat behind his eyes a protector's will. Naina stood tall, her posture exact, but her gaze was softened with resolve. Aanchal shifted slightly, her shoulders squared, her thoughts clearly already ten steps into the mission. Dikshant twirled a throwing knife between his fingers, but his hand didn't shake.
And Shivam… he felt all of them. Their presence. Their power. Their trust.
He met Vidhart's gaze. "We move at dusk. No hesitation."
Vidhart gave a nod. "Then get to gear up. Final prep is in one hour."
The prep bay was quiet not in sound, but in spirit.
Each of them suited up without speaking. Their armor was different now. Not patched scavenger gear or repurposed Dominion plating. This was rebel forged lightweight, body fitted, and reinforced with threads of refined Noctirum designed to channel their powers without overloading their systems. Subtle grooves along the chest and arms pulsed faintly as their auras calibrated to the suit mesh.
Dikshant pulled on his gauntlets, flicked a blade into his palm, and spun it once. "Not gonna lie. I feel kind of badass."
Aman tested the locking joint on his forearm plate. "We are kind of badass."
Naina smiled faintly as she clipped her utility quiver to her back. "We're not invincible."
Aanchal sheathed her curved blade into the slot behind her shoulder. "No. Just faster, stronger, and slightly angrier."
They gathered by the platform door, the sound of wind leaking faintly from the exterior gate beyond.
Shivam adjusted his bracer, then turned to them.
"I'm not leading this because I have more power," he said. "I'm leading this because I have all of you behind me. We do this together. No one gets left behind."
They all nodded with a confident look. One by one, they stepped forward, bumping shoulders, nodding, clasping wrists. When the door opened, the world beyond smelled like rain and iron. The sky was beginning to darken.
Vedhyra no longer felt like a city it felt like a spark waiting to catch.
The outer districts were cloaked in a quiet, deceptive stillness. Patrol ships glided overhead, their humming low but ever present, casting wide cones of red light that swept across narrow alleys and empty rooftops. Surveillance drones drifted like silver insects along the edges of the highwalls, scanning everything but seeing little. But beneath the stillness, movement brewed. Not the overt kind there were no marches, no flags, no gunfire. Just looks exchanged too long, footsteps echoed with coded taps, and chalk symbols that reappeared no matter how many times they were scrubbed away.
The people had begun to believe again. And that belief moved faster than Dominion data nets ever could.
On crumbling walls, hastily drawn figures of a glowing man had started to appear. His face was barely defined, always drawn mid motion, framed by streaks of blue or fire. Above him, or sometimes below, three simple words:
The Spark Still Lives.
Others went further:
The God Sparked One Returns.
The One Who Shatters Metal.
They Will Rise.
Even within the inner markets guarded, sanitized, and strictly patrolled the name found its way into whispers. Among vendors and off duty Dominion workers, hushed phrases like, "Did you hear about the boy who outran a mech?" or "They say he took out ten soldiers with one breath," slipped between transactions.
A myth had rooted itself into the cracks of the city's foundations. It wasn't being shouted. It didn't need to be.
It was simply spreading.
And into this fragile web of unrest stepped a ghost in disguise.
Lavin moved through the city like a thread woven where it didn't belong. His Dominion armor had been left behind. Now, he wore the faded tunic of a civilian worker, stained with grease and ash. A satchel was slung over his shoulder, filled with decoy tools and a single, silent blade hidden beneath layers of worn cloth. His posture was slouched; his expression tired. Perfect. Unremarkable.
No one looked twice.
That was the point.
He'd spent two days like this riding scavenger trams, browsing fruit stalls with fake coin sticks, listening. Not to rebel generals or resistance fighters they were too careful now, too deep underground. No, Lavin listened to children playing beside cracked courtyards. To old men fixing collapsed gates. To city clerk whispering in fear during tea breaks. The rebellion didn't need to shout to be heard. Its myth was doing the work.
And all roads, all stories, pointed back to one name.
Shivam.
Lavin had seen it with his own eyes, once. At Samaypur. That flash of light, that impossible surge of willpower. It wasn't just an energy signature. It was presence something that demanded gravity, attention, belief. And now, that presence had become the symbol every sector couldn't stop talking about.
He passed a news terminal and paused long enough to watch the stream. Official Dominion reports remained quiet, controlled. Nothing beyond Adhivita's execution date had been announced. But the tension was crawling. Every citizen felt it in the way checkpoints multiplied overnight. In how Dominion officers barked louder, punished faster. They were losing control of the narrative, and they knew it.
The God Sparked One was never named officially.
But that only made him stronger. Beneath the city, Mayapuri thrummed with purpose.
The final checks were underway. Shivam's team had already moved to the loading bay, suiting up with armor light enough to run in, strong enough to take a blow. Weapons were tested. Final resonance syncing was recalibrated. Their faces were tight with focus not panic, not doubt, but tension pulled tight like a bowstring.
Shivam lingered behind after the last system check, walking alone to the bunker's upper ledge.
The outer platform was narrow, a windswept ledge carved along the mountain wall. From here, the sky opened in full for once, not blocked by storm clouds or towering city wreckage. The moon hung above, round and brilliant, a silver lantern against the black.
He hadn't seen the moon clearly in weeks. Maybe longer. For a moment, he said nothing. Just breathed.
Then quietly, he sat, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was barely louder than the wind. "I'm coming for you." The words didn't echo. They didn't need to. They were not a vow for the stars. They were for one person. And far away, in a place of silence and steel, that person looked up too.
Adhivita sat in the far corner of her cell, her arms curled loosely around her knees. The air was cold, heavy with recycled pressure and concrete dust. The prison cell offered nothing in the way of comfort no light, no bed. Just a slit carved into the wall far above her eye line.
But through it, tonight, the moon could be seen.
The light touched only the upper rim of the stone wall, and from her place on the ground, it reached just enough to catch the edge of her cheek.
She leaned toward it, her cuffed wrists barely making the motion possible. Her lips parted, but she didn't speak. There was nothing to say. Not yet. But her eyes closed, and her face softened. Something in her blood told her he was still alive. That the spark had not been extinguished. And that it was coming back for her.