Chapter One – The Day the Sky Fell
The dream always began the same way.
The sky was tearing apart, bleeding green light across the blackness of night. A roar echoed through the clouds, a sound no living thing should have been able to make. Shadows of winged creatures descended, their shapes distorted against the comet fire. Aarav was only a boy then, clutching his father's arm as the earth split beneath their feet.
One of the creatures broke through the dust, its body shifting like molten glass, eyes burning with emerald flame. Ishaan—tall, broad-shouldered, his uniform torn—pulled Aarav close, shielding him with trembling arms.
A spear of light shot down, piercing the ground, and in that moment Aarav saw it: the creature dissolved into radiance, green brilliance spilling like liquid, surging straight into Ishaan's chest.
"Father?" Aarav's voice cracked.
The world spun, his vision dimmed, and consciousness slipped from him like sand through an open palm.
When he opened his eyes again, everything was red. His father was kneeling, blood pooling beneath him, eyes soft but unwavering. Ishaan pressed Aarav's face close to his chest, that faint glow still flickering inside his body.
"I'm sorry, son…" Ishaan whispered, his voice both shield and farewell.
The memory always ended there—his father's warmth fading, the sound of chaos rising.
The world called it 'Sky fell'. The night of 2009 when a green comet struck the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, carving a scar into the sea and earth. Scientists would later declare it a natural disaster—until 2025, when energy signatures traced back to that crater revealed something else entirely. That was the year humanity named it: Astra.
But for Aarav, Astra was not discovered. It was a loss.
"Hey, wake up, dreamer!"
Aarav jolted, his head snapping up from his pillow. Sunlight spilled through the cracks of his window, heating the dust in the air. His messy black hair stuck out in every direction, his lean frame wrapped in a crumpled T-shirt. Standing above him, grinning as if the morning belonged to him alone, was Siddharth.
"College, remember? Unless you've decided to fail life before it starts."
Siddharth was taller, broad-shouldered, his face sharp like it had been carved with angles, hair styled in a way that seemed careless but somehow perfect. He was the opposite of Aarav—confident, energetic, never carrying weight in his eyes.
"I'm coming," Aarav muttered, rubbing his temples. His dreams clung like frost.
By the time they stepped outside, Mumbai was already alive. The air smelled faintly of salt from the sea, though the streets smelled of copper wires and ozone now more than petrol. Electric vehicles hummed past in seamless rows, their neon indicators glinting under the morning sun. The city had changed since the energy revolution of 2025—solar arrays stretched across rooftops, and sleek buses whispered down the streets where smoky engines once roared.
They caught one of those buses, its sides gleaming silver, and rode toward the city's heart. At the Taj Hotel stop, two more joined them.
Manas adjusted his glasses as he boarded, his neat uniform pressed to perfection, black hair combed without a strand out of place. His satchel bulged with notes and books.
"You're late again," Manas said, his tone more observation than scolding.
"Blame Aarav," Siddharth replied immediately, grinning.
Behind him came Aditya, yawning with his shirt half untucked, disheveled brown hair falling into his eyes. He looked like someone who had rolled out of bed and decided that was enough effort for the day.
"Don't blame Aarav," Aditya said, stretching his arms. "Blame mornings. They shouldn't exist."
The four of them were different fragments of a whole, but together they filled the bus with an energy of familiarity. Aarav stayed quiet, gaze wandering past the window.
As they passed Marine Drive, the bus slowed near a sprawling athletic ground. Students and athletes ran across the track, their movements sharp under the sunlight. Among them is a boy whose speed caught every eye—his strides long, body lean and toned, short hair damp with sweat.
"Look at him go," Aditya muttered, sitting straighter.
"That's ,Reyan" Manas said. "Fastest runner in the college circuit."
Siddharth smirked. "he is actually from our college but he rarely comes"
Their laughter followed the bus as it rolled forward. Aarav glanced once at her, then back at his reflection in the glass.
---
Their attention shifted as the bus passed a massive building draped in screens—a broadcasting tower with a digital board alive with news. A reporter's voice rang clear through speakers across the street.
"After four years since the controversial stall in 2025, discussions on the Solar Energy Harvestation Program have resumed here in Mumbai. Leaders of the Union States have gathered to decide if this project will shape the next evolution of mankind. Will this be another stalemate, or a turning point for humanity's future?"
The broadcast cut to images of diplomats arriving, their entourages swarming with security.
Siddharth whistled. "Big day, huh?"
Manas adjusted his glasses. "Because of 'the Skyfall of 2009 ', Astra was discovered. Because of Astra, solar energy harvestation became possible. This is history in motion."
Aditya leaned back. "Still don't get why they stalled it last time. Seventy-three percent of leaders were ready."
"Because the initiating countries were the ones who rejected it," Manas explained. "They feared it would harm their lands."
Aditya shrugged. "Or their pride."
Aarav said nothing. His mind lingered not on politics but on the comet, the blood, his father's last words.
By the time they reached college, the campus was buzzing. Students spilled across the courtyard, laughter and chatter filling the air. Aarav and Aditya found seats in the third row of class, while Siddharth and Manas claimed the front. Greetings and teasing flew around them, but Aarav kept his head low, tracing invisible patterns on his desk.
Meanwhile, the center of Mumbai transformed into a fortress. The Solar Harvestation Summit was housed in a towering black-glass structure, every panel bulletproof. Swarms of drones patrolled the skies, Indian Army soldiers stationed across every street.
A sleek, armored car pulled up before the building. From it stepped a tall man in his fifties, posture rigid, uniform immaculate—General Samar Pratap, commander of India's Anti-Astra Unit, a division formed after 2025 to regulate Astra's weaponization. His presence was like drawn steel: controlled, sharp, unyielding.
Beside him walked a man in simple clothes, spectacles perched on his nose, carrying an air of quiet intellect—Dr. Arya, once part of ISRO, now the mind behind the Solar Harvestation Program.
Samar's voice was low but steady. "May your work lead mankind to a brighter future, Doctor."
Dr. Arya offered a faint smile. "Thank you, General. Let's hope the world is ready."
As he entered the building, Samar surveyed the perimeter. "All clear?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," a soldier replied crisply.
Samar nodded once, his gaze never relaxing.
Among the crowd of reporters stood a young man in a white shirt and black trousers, spectacles glinting in the sunlight. His sharp jawline and composed presence drew subtle glances from the women nearby, though his attention remained locked on the glass tower. His smile was faint, enigmatic—a secret only he knew.
The city pulsed with anticipation, unaware that history's weight was again shifting above their heads.