Sector Nine was always theoretical. A myth whispered among CNC analysts. A dead zone where the train hadn't descended for four and a half centuries. A place referenced only in old archives and corrupted logs.
Until now.
On the Observation Deck, Harry stood above the screens like a man watching a continent sink. Dozens of holograms flickered in front of him—biosignatures, pod statuses, gate resonance traces, internal temperature graphs.
All showed the same nightmare.
Sector Nine: Active
Gate Systems: Unlocked
Train Core: Partially Online
Candidate Rejection: 98%
Exception: 1 — ID: Raghu
Harry exhaled slowly.
"The Core came online… and chose someone."
The AI assistant chimed softly:
"Supervisor Harry, Fragment 02 synchronization anomaly has been logged. Candidate 47 displayed non-terrestrial resonance. Station Nine responded."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
He closed his fist around the edge of the console.
There were only a few tiny sparks of relief:
• Ayush survived
• Vedant survived
• Gudi survived
• Raghu… surpassed survival
• 18 candidates did not
Numbers on a screen.
Lives outside the train were irrelevant.
Inside, they mattered until they didn't.
Sector Nine was cruel like that.
Harry checked the live feed again.
Candidates moved toward Gate Two.
But the feed refused to stabilize around Raghu, fragmenting whenever the camera caught him.
Not static.
Avoidance.
It was almost respectful.
Harry felt a shiver creep up his spine.
He tapped into encrypted channels, trying to view Raghu's resonance footprint.
Access denied.
Again.
Again.
A whisper ran through the metal plate beneath him.
A hum.
Deep.
Old.
He swallowed.
"The train knows him."
A sentence he should never have spoken aloud.
Brenda watched from her own silent war-room — a single-person console chamber far from the CNC tower.
Her screen lit with fragmented sets of Sector Nine data, each carrying a warning symbol.
Sector records.
Resonance logs.
Ancient access codes failing.
Heuristic barriers unlocking themselves.
Her fingers moved fast, navigating through layers of information restricted even from most supervisors.
"Sector Nine… waking up like this isn't normal."
Brenda leaned back in her chair, brows knitting together.
"This isn't the train realigning. It's… searching."
Her console beeped.
Candidate Survivors: 82
Fatal Losses: 18
Gate One Results: Logged
She scrolled further.
Raghu's name glowed faintly.
His resonance reading—a simple line of text:
[Aligned: Partial]
Not "synced."
Not "passed."
Not "recognized."
Aligned.
Her pulse quickened.
"What are you aligning to… Raghu?"
She reached for an encrypted file.
Not CNC.
Not faction.
Not official.
But one belonging to her old secretive benefactors—
The Quiet Order, a circle unknown to most.
The file opened.
Empty.
Then a single new line appeared.
[The Forgotten One has stirred.]
Her throat tightened.
"No… not now."
Another line blinked into existence.
[Sector Nine descent has awakened an Ancient.
His journey began the moment the rails glowed.
He will reach Sector Nine.
None may bar his passage.]
Brenda felt cold.
"An Ancient… inside the train? After all this time?"
Her hand trembled, once—then steadied.
If this was true,
if something truly ancient had awoken…
Every candidate was walking into a storm they could not even imagine.
She switched her console to supervisor feed.
She watched Raghu descend the stairs toward Gate Two.
Her voice came out quiet.
"This is disastrous"
Somewhere the train, Far beneath hidden behind layers of forgotten steel and timelines, a chamber pulsed awake.
A circular hall of floating thrones.
Darkness shaped like architecture.
Geometry folding into itself.
Ten silhouettes sat, each cloaked in shifting shadows.
Nine seats glowed.
One remained dark.
The Second Seat—Jivan—spoke first, leaning forward with amusement dancing in his tone.
"Well now… the train has aligned. And our Candidate slept through half of it. That's a first."
His words were playful.
His eyes were not.
The Ninth Seat—Mrityu, wrapped in stillness sharper than blades—spoke with slow gravity.
"The Core does not stir without reason. Sector Nine does not open without purpose. Something is crossing the layers."
Jivan flicked his wrist.
"The Circles have received the message."
A glowing script unfurled in the air:
[An Ancient walks.
Sector Nine beckons him.]
Seat Four's silhouette stiffened.
Seat Seven whispered: "Impossible."
Seat Three rasped: "He should have never been able to wake."
Mrityu's voice echoed across the circle like a quiet storm.
"Age is not the end for some. He slept beneath the train long before any of us were born."
Jivan cracked a grin.
"I've always wanted to meet a legend."
Mrityu's eyes narrowed.
"You do not meet him. You survive him."
Silence rippled across the hall.
After a long pause, the First Seat's voice—deep, resonant, undisguisably ancient—echoed like the strike of a cosmic bell.
"Then Sector Nine becomes the crucible."
Every throne flickered.
Every seat-holder straightened.
"The candidates walk their paths."
"The train awakens."
"And an Ancient returns."
Jivan chuckled lightly.
"Well… Raghu's day is about to get interesting."
Alarms flashed across Harry's screens.
But none were red.
All were violet.
Violet was not a warning color.
It was a predecessor protocol color—something reserved for old systems predating the current CNC.
"Sector engines slowing…"
"Rail alignment shifting…"
"Gate Two expanding…"
"Train Core active at 2%…"
Harry felt pressure on his lungs.
The room seemed to breathe.
The Train Core wasn't supposed to do anything manually.
Ever.
This was unheard of.
Harry whispered,
"Who did they wake up?"
The train hummed in answer.
A hum with intent.
Raghu walked down the spiral steps. Calm. Breathing quiet. Ready for the next trail.
His sword pulsing beside him—two fragments gently resonating together.
Each pulse felt like a whisper:
Find the next.
Descend.
Follow the pull.
But as he reached the midpoint of the stairs, something strange happened.
A wave struck him—not physical, not psychic—
but a presence.
A pressure in the world.
A breath of something alive.
Ancient.
Moving.
Raghu stumbled.
Only for a step.
The sword vibrated so sharply he winced.
It felt afraid.
The Verdant Pulse within him shuddered—
as if trying to recoil.
Raghu exhaled and steadied it.
"What is that?"
The air answered with a tremor.
Not words.
Not sound.
But intent.
Another awakens.
Not of the Train.
Something older.
Raghu froze.
The world around him vibrated. Up above, other candidates felt it too. Uren Tally clutched his chest. Mira Len dropped to her knees. Zeyn Orl staggered. Even Ayush paused mid-step. Vedant's flame flickered violently. Gudi's bubbles snapped like glass. Only Raghu remained centered.
Only Raghu was recognized.
The stairs ahead lit up beneath him.
A path.
A choice.
He stepped forward.
The world shifted.
In the deepest chamber beneath Sector Nine…
where no candidate, no supervisor, no faction,
and no Circle dared step…
Something opened its eyes.
A sigh escaped a throat that hadn't exhaled in three thousand years.
A hand—aged beyond comprehension, yet unbroken by time—moved slightly.
Metal trembled.
Rails sang.
Sectors shivered.
The chamber whispered his existence.
He had awakened early.
A slow grin formed across an unseen face.
"So the Train remembers…"
He rose from his slumber.
One step.
And every light in the Doom Train flickered.
Two steps.
And Gate Two's walls shook.
Three steps.
And the Train Core faltered.
Above, supervisors panicked.
Circles straightened.
Brenda stared wide-eyed.
Harry nearly fell from his chair.
And Raghu…
Raghu felt cold breath on his neck.
As if someone, somewhere in the darkness,
had just noticed him.
And smiled.