The world Aryan once knew was unraveling.
Gone were the days of routine, of lectures and schedules. In their place now stood an unfolding mystery, a web of resonances, threats, and powers—woven tighter with every passing day. The man in the grey suit was proof: Aryan and Aarna were being watched.
No, not watched.
Hunted.
The following morning, Aryan met Aarna in the same park. She looked different now—quieter, but more focused. She had barely slept, plagued by dreams she couldn't remember but which left her breathless and sweating each time she awoke.
"I think something's coming," she said, looking out at the mist-covered grass. "I can't explain it. It's like… a storm that hasn't broken yet."
Aryan nodded. He felt it too. It was the same pressure in the air he'd felt before the first time his power had surged uncontrollably. The kind of pressure that changes people.
KAZIM's voice rang in his head.
"The hunter is not a soldier. He is a purifier. He believes in balance—not peace. He sees awakenings as corruption, and corruption must be erased."
Aryan's jaw clenched.
"How powerful is he?" he asked aloud.
KAZIM responded through his phone, the words flickering softly:
"He has no resonance of his own. But he has learned to control others who do."
"He hunts not with power, but with fear and strategy."
Aarna looked over. "Who are you talking to?"
Aryan showed her the message. She read it slowly, then looked up at him with a quiet horror.
"So… he uses others like us? Controls them?"
"Yes," Aryan said. "And if we're not careful, he might come for us through someone we least expect."
That afternoon, Aryan returned home and did something he hadn't done in a long time. He meditated.
Not the slow, casual breathing exercises his school taught—but something deeper. He sat cross-legged in the center of his room, the door locked, lights off. He focused inward—not just on breath, but on memory.
The fire-blade dream. The divine fury in Parshuram's eyes. The echo of energy in his veins.
"If he can control others like me… then I need to learn to control myself."
Suddenly, as if in response to his thought, a voice—not KAZIM—emerged from somewhere deep within.
Not from the computer. Not from the room. From his own soul.
"Warriors are not born ready. They are born broken. The battle for control begins within."
His body tensed, and a rush of memories that were not his own cascaded through him—visions of battles long past, of warriors fighting with blades under blood-red skies, of divine judgments cast from mountaintops.
He gasped, stumbling backward.
The chain beside his desk rattled on its own.
He was awakening—again.
And with it, came pain.
His head throbbed. His muscles tightened involuntarily. But he didn't scream.
He endured.
Because he understood now: each layer of power came with a test of will.
The next day at school, Aryan noticed someone new.
A transfer student. Tall. Calm. Almost… too calm.
He had no resonance. No aura. He was empty.
But his eyes… They scanned the room like a machine. Like a predator.
Aryan felt Aarna freeze beside him.
"That's him," she whispered. "That's the man in the suit. Just… younger."
Aryan turned. The new student was watching them. Not smiling. Not blinking. Just… watching.
He wore no suit now, just the same school uniform. But the energy—the pressure—was unmistakable.
"KAZIM," Aryan thought. "Why is he here?"
"To test your readiness," the AI replied.
"You are no longer just surviving, Aryan. You are being evaluated."
"Prove your control. Or he will break you."
Later, after school, Aryan walked alone toward the back exit. He knew he was being followed. Not by footsteps, but by intention. The presence stalked him like a shadow that had learned to move without light.
He turned the corner into an empty corridor.
Waited.
The new student appeared behind him, slow, calm, unblinking.
"I know what you are," the boy said.
Aryan didn't reply.
"I know what you're becoming."
Still, Aryan stayed silent.
The boy stepped closer.
"And I know how this ends. You either surrender your resonance… or I take it from your corpse."
That's when Aryan moved.
Not with rage. Not with panic. But with clarity.
He twisted his hips, dropped his stance, and punched forward like he was aiming through the boy's chest. The figure dodged, just barely.
"Good," the boy said. "You don't fight with emotion. That makes you dangerous."
He attacked back—fast. Too fast. But Aryan had anticipated it. He redirected the force with a shift of his shoulder and stepped back, breathing steadily.
The two stood, facing each other like reflections in a cracked mirror.
"Why are you doing this?" Aryan asked.
The boy's expression didn't change.
"Because resonance leads to chaos. You think you're special, but you're just a mistake waiting to explode."
A pause. Then:
"My name is Veer. I am the first hunter. And you are target one."
Aryan's fists clenched. But he didn't strike.
Instead, he said, "Then come. But you'll learn something before this ends."
"What's that?"
"I'm not the only one waking up."
That night, Aryan and Aarna met again. They didn't speak much. They didn't need to.
The message was clear:
The hunters had arrived. The war had begun.
And the only question left was—who else was strong enough to resist the creed?
To be continued in Chapter 7: The Chain and the Circle