The cave felt smaller than usual.
The air carried the sharp bite of cold stone, old dust, and the faint, metallic tang of their own adrenaline. The trio sat in a rough triangle, their backs pressed to the glowing rune-etched walls of the Cave of Origins. None of them spoke at first. Their breaths were uneven, shallow, each one still half-trapped in the momentum of the escape.
Ahan was the first to break the silence—though barely.
"…Okay," he muttered, voice trembling despite the hard edge he tried to force into it, "what the hell was that?"
Abhi didn't answer. He was staring at the rippling surface of the Origin Pool, eyes hollow, replaying the moment again and again—the impossible speed, the crushing presence, the way the earth itself had trembled when he appeared.
Aryan was still gripping his knee with both hands, trying to steady his breath. "Three generals," he said. "Three. On three different fronts. Why now?"
A flicker of that earlier panic surged in all of them. Because each of them had seen something different—yet equally overwhelming.
Ahan had been the first to run.
Not out of fear—never out of fear—but because he was the quickest thinker among them. The moment the alarms rose across the secret society grounds and the air crackled with that unnatural pressure, he knew the fight was already lost.
He hadn't even seen the general's face.
Just a blur of motion—like a shadow folded in on itself—and a shockwave that flattened an entire courtyard behind him. Ahan felt the air buckle against his spine and ran without turning around. He remembered hearing screams, not gruesome or lingering, but sharp, terrified releases of breath before the sound of stone cracking drowned everything.
He remembered thinking:
If I look back, I die.
Abhi only lifted his head now when Ahan sighed loudly.
"Fine. If no one's talking, I'll start. I saw something that should not exist."
Aryan frowned. "Speed one?"
"No." Abhi shook his head. "Speed isn't enough to describe it. It was like he ignored distance itself."
He remembered it clearly—the moment he saw Hiro, though he didn't know the name then. A streak of white-gold, a hum like vibrating steel, and a pressure that forced Abhi's knees to lock.
Abhi's instinct had betrayed him—he had moved.
He'd thrown a defensive barrier by reflex, but Hiro appeared inside the barrier, palm flat against Abhi's chest, and the next thing Abhi knew he was skidding across the stone floor of the archive chamber, the world spinning.
He only survived because his master stepped between them.
Master Adivar Udayan had blocked the next strike—barely. The earth had fissured under his feet. Even then, Abhi had seen his master's arm tremble.
Adivar yelled at him, voice shaking: "Run!"
And Abhi had obeyed.
Aryan's moment had been different.
He'd faced the brute—the wall of muscle and dark energy who would later be known as Zane.
Aryan had been ordered to retreat. His master's voice—Pravak—had been stern, commanding.
Aryan didn't listen.
For the first time, he'd wanted to test himself. To see how far he'd come. To see how far he still had to go. So he'd sprung forward, blade igniting in that pale-blue shimmer he'd honed through months of training.
Even Zane seemed mildly amused.
Aryan's strike should have landed. It was fast, sharp, precise.
Instead, Zane caught his blade with two fingers.
Two.
The force Aryan had channeled into the strike rebounded through his arm so violently he felt his shoulder nearly slip from its socket. The shock dropped him to a knee.
Zane had cocked his head. Almost curious.
Then flicked his wrist.
Aryan flew like a ragdoll, crashing into a pillar with enough force to rattle his teeth and nearly black out.
It wasn't Aryan who saved himself—it was Master Pravak. He'd dashed in with earth-shaking force, grabbing Aryan by the collar and slinging him backward while erecting a stone barrier between them.
"Idiot!" Pravak's voice had cracked with a mix of fury and terror. "Run, before you get us both killed!"
Aryan ran. Because seeing his master genuinely afraid had broken whatever reckless pride he'd felt.
Abhi finally exhaled and leaned forward. "And you were right, Aryan. They weren't looking for us."
Ahan nodded silently.
Aryan hesitated. "Then why attack the entire grounds?"
"For the scrolls," Abhi said. "They wanted the fragmented coordinates."
"And?" Ahan pressed.
"And…" Abhi opened his satchel and pulled out three worn, rune-marked strips of parchment. "We got them first."
Ahan's eyes widened. "Wait, all of them?"
"Not all," Abhi corrected. "Just the missing pieces. But together with what Master Aster Kyle gave us earlier…"
He spread them across the stone floor.
The runes aligned. Lines connected.
A shape formed.
Ahan swallowed hard. "So this… this is the path to the first hidden artifact."
Aryan felt a chill—equal parts dread and excitement.
"So the generals attacked because the Overlord is finally moving?" Ahan whispered.
Abhi shook his head. "No. Not moving. Accelerating."
The cave dimmed for a moment as the artifacts' map gave off a faint pulse of light—like a heartbeat.
Aryan's voice softened. "We're not ready for this."
"Too late," Ahan muttered. "They've already declared war on our timeline."
Abhi clenched his jaw, folding the scrolls carefully.
"Then we don't have a choice," he said. "We start the hunt. Now."
The three of them exchanged a look—fear, resolve, exhaustion, and something else beneath it all:
Inevitable responsibility.
The cave hummed softly, ancient runes awakening around them as if acknowledging the path they were choosing.
Ahan finally stood, dusting off his cloak.
"Let's move. Before Hiro, Kairo, or Zane decide to check the cave next."
Aryan swallowed. "You really think they'll follow us here?"
Abhi answered quietly, "If the Overlord wants the artifacts badly enough… yes."
The trio fell into silence.
Then, together, they stepped toward the glowing map—toward the next disaster waiting for them.
And the cave closed gently behind them.