Whup—whup—whup.
News helicopters thundered above the city, their blades slicing through the smoky evening haze.
Down below, chaos reigned. Police sirens wailed, red and blue lights flashing across the restless crowd. Shouts, sobs, and muffled cries of guilt tangled in the air like a funeral hymn for the living.
People watching from their balconies couldn't believe what they were seeing.
India was mourning a hero.
A nation united in grief—yet each tear carried a different story.
But far away from the crowd's noise, far from the flashing lights and trembling prayers, another story was being written—quietly, in the shadow of loss.
______
Rameshwar Health Park
Dhak. Dhak. Dhak.
Karan's shoes struck the ground in rhythmic fury, every step echoing his heartbeat.
The track was empty, abandoned by the evening joggers. Only the hum of streetlights and the faint rustle of wind accompanied him.
Sweat dripped from his forehead, tracing down his neck, soaking his shirt until it clung to his skin like guilt he couldn't shed. His breath came in ragged bursts.
Huff... huff... halt.
He slowed to a stop and bent forward, hands on his knees. The world spun slightly.
He grabbed his bottle from a nearby bench and drank greedily.
The water was cold, but it burned his throat. He didn't care. He just needed something—anything—to drown the noise inside his head.
Finally, he slumped onto the wooden bench, chest rising and falling.
The city lights glowed beyond the park fences like distant embers.
He unlocked his phone, thumb trembling.
"YouTube… where is it… damn it."
His breath steadied just enough for him to open the app.
The feed was already drowning in the same headline, repeated again and again.
[ Breaking News:
Blazefury—India's blazing prodigy—has done what few heroes dare to imagine. He sacrificed himself for humanity.
While many heroes fled, Blazefury stood tall, facing annihilation head-on].
Karan froze. His thumb hovered over the screen.
The reporter's voice continued, soft yet trembling with reverence.
[ "When he once declared, 'I am the powerful one,' many mocked his arrogance.
But today… Blazefury has proven that he was the most powerful—not just in strength, but in spirit"].
The words stabbed through Karan's chest like shards of glass.
He locked the phone and sat there silently, staring at nothing.
Blazefury.
He said softly.
The orange sun sank below the city skyline, bleeding into the clouds until the horizon looked like it was on fire.
And somewhere deep within Karan, the flames of grief still burned—slow, suffocating.
He rose, slipped the phone into his pocket, and began to walk.
______
As he neared the park gate, faint voices drifted from the shadows.
"…Yeah, man. Just because he had powers doesn't mean he was some saint. Saving people was his job, wasn't it?"
A group of young men stood under a lamppost, laughing. Their faces glowed in the dim light—smug, careless, ignorant.
Karan stopped.
"Ten days," one of them said, snickering. "Ten damn days, and every news channel still milking that story. Blazefury this, Blazefury that."
"Hero?" another spat. "He was a showoff. Remember Bandra incident? He didn't even save half the people there. Just shouted 'I'm the powerful one!' like an idiot."
Something inside Karan snapped.
The laughter scraped against his ears like broken glass.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. The air around him thickened. His breath slowed—steady, heavy, dangerous.
Thak. Thak. Thak.
He walked toward them.
One boy noticed and frowned. "Hey—what's your problem, dude?"
Before anyone could react, Karan's hand shot forward.
He grabbed the boy by the collar and yanked him close, eyes burning.
"You're standing here badmouthing him," Karan hissed, "because he saved people like you."
The boy flinched. "Let go of me! You crazy or what?"
His friend scoffed. "Save us? We've got powers too, dumbass. We don't need—"
Bam!
Karan's fist crashed into the boy's face.
The sound echoed through the park. Then another punch. And another.
Raw anger. No thought. Just pain looking for a place to land.
The others froze, stunned by the sudden violence.
Karan's voice cut through the air—hoarse, trembling with rage and despair.
"You think your powers make you gods? You think strength is a toy?"
He ran a hand through his damp hair, smirking darkly through the tears that wouldn't fall.
"Your fathers were heroes once, right? Funny… courage didn't seem to pass down. Maybe they're still hiding behind your mothers".
The laughter died instantly.
"What the hell did you just say!?" one of them barked, veins bulging.
"You're dead, you powerless freak!"
Another one squinted. Recognition dawned in his eyes.
"Wait—he's that guy. The one with no powers. Hah! The wannabe hero."
The group erupted in cruel laughter.
One stepped forward—a tall, broad youth with a confident smirk.
"Name's Cheaten. Remember it. From today, if I see you here again, you'll crawl to me and beg to be my servant."
The others grinned, closing in like vultures.
But Karan… laughed.
At first, it was a broken sound. Then louder. Then twisted—almost unhinged.
He crouched, hand over his face, laughter cracking through the silence until it sent shivers down their spines.
"Is he… is he actually laughing?" someone whispered.
Swish—BAM!—THUD!
In a blur, Karan moved. His fist slammed into Cheaten's jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Ugh... s-shit... it hurts…" Cheaten groaned, clutching his face.
Karan stood over him, his shadow stretching long in the lamplight.
"Anyone else?" he asked quietly, voice low and cold.
"I don't have powers. But I don't need them to crush insects like you."
Silence.
No one dared to move. Even the wind had stopped to watch.
Karan turned and began to walk away.
Then, without looking back, he said softly, "Whatever power you have… use it for people. That's what Blazefury did. That's what being human means."
He walked off into the darkness, each step echoing like a heartbeat fading in the distance.
______
Above him, the night unfolded—an ocean of stars and cold silver moonlight.
The air was sharp, the world too quiet.
For a brief moment, the pain dulled.
The city's noise faded, and only the sound of his breathing remained.
But deep down, something else stirred.
A weight that never left.
A voice whispering from the ashes of the fire that took his home.
You couldn't save her.
You weren't strong enough.
Karan closed his eyes and clenched his fists.
The night wind brushed his face like a ghost's touch.
This peace—it wasn't peace at all.
It was the stillness before a storm.
A storm that would test every shard of his soul.
A storm that would demand his choice—between life and death, despair and hope.
Could he still walk the path he once promised his sister, Ayra?
Could he rise from the ruins that defined him?
The stars above blinked faintly, as if waiting for his answer.
And somewhere in the depths of that silence, a whisper—gentle, fragile, familiar—passed through the air:
"Don't stop, Karan… I'm still watching."
He looked up.
The wind carried the scent of ash and flowers.
And as the moonlight glinted in his eyes, Karan's resolve hardened.
From the ruins of guilt…
a new dawn was waiting to rise.