A week had passed since Weapon Resonance Day, and the four of us had naturally become inseparable, not because someone had declared us best friends, but because routine had woven us together so tightly that being apart felt wrong. Morning montages had become our thing—Krish waking before Arjun and quietly practicing precise fire manipulation on the balcony, the flame dancing between his fingers like it had a mind of its own, until Arjun inevitably woke up, saw him concentrating, and shoulder-checked him.
"ARJUN, MAN!"
Same running joke. Keisang laughed now because he was used to it. Taara rolled her eyes. Breakfast. Classes. Weapon drills. The group felt normal in that specific way that made you forget you were training to fight monsters in a hidden Himalayan civilization.
Life Sciences was where I showed off without meaning to. Professor Iyer was explaining the respiratory adaptations of an ancient Naga variant, and I correctly identified an organ adaptation that nobody else had noticed, pointing at the holographic cross-section and explaining the vascular pattern that suggested heat regulation rather than venom production. The professor nodded approvingly, and Arjun whispered from beside me.
"Nerd."
"Proudly."
Arcane Physics was where Keisang accidentally bent an arrow's trajectory using wind resonance, the professor so impressed he made Keisang demonstrate it three times while taking notes. Weapon training was where Arjun and I sparred briefly, no winner, just improving, everyone noticing we were getting faster together, our movements syncing in ways that felt almost instinctive.
Reconnaissance class wasn't indoors. It was in the Observation Hall, a massive chamber dominated by a huge relief map of India that stretched across the entire floor, ancient mechanical instruments surrounding it like a constellation of brass and crystal. Compass arrays. Portal maps. Resonance charts. This was where the Ninth Citadel monitored India, and the professor explained it with the kind of gravity that made the air feel heavier.
"Thousands of dormant demigods are born every year," he said, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "Most never know. Some die. Some are rescued. Some disappear forever."
Silence. Reality hit. Taara already wore a bronze mechanical watch on her wrist, and when I asked about it, she explained it was a Resonance Tracker, only given to trained scouts. Today, the class learned how to use it.
While explaining, the watch vibrated. Once. Twice. Then violently. Its rings began rotating, the glass glowing crimson, and everyone froze. The professor immediately grabbed it, checked coordinates.
"Western Ghats. Resonance unstable. Moving. Heart rate dropping. Hostile signatures nearby."
The professor didn't finish class. He walked straight out. Minutes later, Devavratha arrived, looked at the watch, looked at the four of us.
"You're coming."
That's it. No speeches. Everyone immediately understood. This was real.
First official deployment. We received emergency portal keys, healing kits, communication crystals, climbing rope, ration packs, monster field guides. The instructors didn't baby us. They prepared us. The Portal Chamber was massive, huge gears rotating, runes glowing, steam hissing from ancient mechanisms. This wasn't magic. It was ancient engineering. The portal locked onto the Western Ghats, and Devavratha stood before us, his expression unreadable.
"Bring her back."
That's it.
The Western Ghats hit us like a wall of humidity and rain, dense rainforest stretching in every direction, the air thick with the smell of wet earth and something metallic. Birds suddenly stopped singing. Something was wrong. Keisang naturally took the lead, tracking broken branches, blood droplets, footprints. Taara noticed the trail deliberately changed direction.
"She's trying to lose pursuit."
Smart. I knelt, touched scorched bark. Someone had burned a Daitya. Accidentally? Or instinct? Arjun found a dead Daitya, neck broken, and everyone exchanged looks. The professor whispered.
"...She's fighting."
We began running.
The clearing opened up suddenly, and there she was. One girl. Seventeen. Starving. Bleeding. Exhausted. Hair messy. Face dirty. Holding a rusted iron rod like it was Excalibur. She shouldn't still be standing. Yet she was. Three Daityas circled her, and she killed one barely, the second one lunging, she dodged, the third slashed her shoulder, and she still tried to get back up. Her backpack never left her. That's what she was protecting.
I quietly stepped forward.
"...Move."
The fight exploded.
Keisang fired first, three arrows in rapid succession, each one curving through the air with impossible precision, splitting the Daityas' formation before they could coordinate. The wind around his bow screamed, and he was already moving, already nocking another arrow before the first three even landed.
"Left flank!" he shouted, and we moved without thinking.
Taara slammed her shield into the ground, and the earth responded, roots bursting upward to trap the nearest Daitya's legs. She didn't wait—her gadha came down in a devastating arc that cracked stone, the impact sending shockwaves through the clearing. The Daitya staggered, and she was already pivoting, shield bash followed by gadha strike, a rhythm so fluid it looked choreographed.
Arjun became lightning.
Both spears ignited simultaneously, thunder cracking overhead as he vaulted off Taara's shield, spinning in mid-air, twin strikes that carved through the second Daitya before it could react. He landed in a crouch, spears crossed, lightning arcing between them, and was already moving again, a blur of motion that made the air itself seem to crackle.
"Krish, high!" Keisang warned, and I didn't question it.
I ducked, the Agni Sword blazing to life, crimson fire trailing behind it like a comet's tail. The third Daitya lunged, and I met it head-on, sword sliding through its guard, fire erupting along the blade's edge. I spun, using the momentum to redirect the strike, fire whipping outward in a controlled arc that forced the remaining Daityas back.
They fought like they'd trained together for years, not weeks.
Keisang's arrows curved around Taara's shield, finding gaps I deliberately created by herding the monsters into his firing lane. Arjun used Taara's shield as a vaulting platform, launching himself into impossible angles, twin spears creating a cage of lightning that kept the Daityas off-balance. I moved through the chaos like water, Agni Sword painting patterns of fire in the air, every strike precise, every movement flowing into the next.
"Switch!" Arjun called, and without hesitation, I dropped low, his spear passing over my head by inches as he struck at the Daitya I'd been engaging. I came up spinning, sword slashing upward, fire erupting in a controlled burst that blinded the creature long enough for Keisang's arrow to find its mark.
The coordination was insane.
Taara's shield became an anchor point, the earth itself responding to her presence, roots and stone rising to create barriers and traps. Keisang's wind guided every arrow, not just correcting their trajectory but accelerating them, making them hit with impossible force. Arjun's lightning didn't just strike—it chained, jumping from one Daitya to another, creating openings faster than they could react.
And I led it all.
Agni Sword blazing, fire responding to my every thought, I moved through the fight like a conductor leading an orchestra. Every duck, every dodge, every strike was calculated, predicted, countered before it even happened. The Daityas weren't just fighting us—they were fighting a system, a machine, a perfectly coordinated unit that adapted faster than they could think.
Then a roar.
More Daityas emerged from the treeline. Far too many. Six. Eight. Twelve.
"Portal!" Taara shouted, activating the emergency beacon.
"Thirty seconds!" Keisang called, already falling back, firing arrows in rapid succession, each one finding a target, each one buying us time.
We fought while retreating, a controlled withdrawal that looked like a dance. Arjun and Taara held the flanks, their movements perfectly synchronized, shield and spears creating a wall of lightning and earth that nothing could break through. I carried Vedika, Agni Sword still blazing, fire erupting behind me in controlled bursts that kept the Daityas at bay.
Keisang watched the rear, arrows flying, wind screaming around him, every shot perfect, every movement calculated.
"Twenty seconds!"
A Daitya lunged at Taara, and I was there before it could react, sword slashing through its guard, fire erupting along the blade. Arjun's spear followed instantly, lightning chaining from the strike, and the Daitya went down.
"Fifteen!"
The portal began to shimmer, ancient runes glowing, the air itself seeming to fold.
"Ten!"
We were surrounded. Too many. No way out.
"GO!" Taara shouted, slamming her shield into the ground one final time, earth erupting upward in a massive wave that knocked half the Daityas off their feet.
We moved.
Arjun vaulted through first, spears blazing. Keisang followed, firing one last arrow that curved impossibly through the air, taking down two Daityas in a single strike. Taara went next, shield raised, gadha spinning.
I was last, the girl in my arms, the portal closing behind me.
One Daitya leaped.
Its head entered the portal.
Shoulders forced through.
The portal closed.
Its head fell inside the Citadel, turned into ash.
Silence.
The Medical Wing was absolute chaos. Healers. Doctors. Stretchers. Vedika rushed away. Diagnosis: severe dehydration, starvation, infected wounds, sleep deprivation, dozens of scars. She had clearly survived alone for weeks. Hours later, the four of us finally sat, completely exhausted. No one talked. Eventually, Keisang quietly said.
"...How was she still standing?"
Nobody answered.
A healer brought the girl's belongings. "These were with her." We unpacked everything carefully. Broken phone. Wired earphones. Sunglasses. Compass. Survival knife. Flashlight. Detective notebook. Rope. Stitched medical kit. Empty food wrappers. Train tickets. Scribbled maps of India. Monster sketches. Newspaper cuttings. Receipts from dozens of cities. Waterlogged photographs.
She wasn't wandering. She was investigating.
Then one thick leather codex. Beautiful. Ancient. Heavy. I opened it. Blank. Every page. Blank.
Then the diary. Old. Worn. Edges torn. I opened the first page.
If you're reading this... hi. I'm Vedika. Which either means I'm dead... or you're very nosy.
Everyone smiled. First glimpse of her personality. I kept reading. Short entries. Funny. Lonely. Honest. She wrote like she was talking to someone because she had no one left to talk to. Readers slowly learned: her father was a Navy Captain who died in a harpoon attack during a classified operation. Her mother was Niharika Reddy, a marine biologist who believed in an ancient hidden order of Hindu demigods somewhere in the Himalayas.
Before dying under mysterious circumstances, she handed Vedika the blank Codex and told her: "If you ever find the truth... this book will too."
Vedika had spent months traveling across India chasing myths, abandoned temples, folklore, and rumors. Every lead ended in disappointment. Until monsters became real. Then she realized: "Mom wasn't crazy."
I didn't finish the diary. I closed it. There were hundreds of pages left.
Night fell. Rain tapped against the Medical Wing windows. The four of us refused to leave. Arjun slept sitting upright. Keisang was sketching the Daityas from memory. Taara quietly reread one diary page, her expression soft. I placed the diary and the blank Codex neatly beside Vedika's bed. I looked at the unconscious girl. She fought all this way alone. Now, for the first time in months, she wasn't alone anymore.
The blank Codex sat on the bedside table, its ancient leather cover catching the dim light from the hallway. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating the room for a split second, and in that flash, one page of the Codex seemed to shimmer—gold ink appearing and vanishing faster than a heartbeat.
ns216.73.216.48da2
and then Add to home screen.