"You…!"
The moment the words escaped Rana's lips, a blinding white flash exploded across the room. The light was so intense that his eyes temporarily stopped functioning, overwhelmed by the brilliance. The air was thick with a metallic scent, mingled with an eerie, low-frequency mechanical hum that vibrated deep into his eardrums. Beneath his feet, the floor pulsed with an almost conscious vibration, resonating with a rhythm that seemed alive.
And then, almost instantly, Rana found himself standing back on Earth. Not in a warehouse, not at any ordinary location—but on the very plot where the airship had crashed years ago. Debris littered the ground, twisted metal jutting at impossible angles, burn marks etched into the concrete—silent testimonies of the chaos that had once unfolded here. This was the same plot where, using his energy manipulation, he had injected the weapon key into Riya.
Rana's head throbbed as if it would split in two. Memories collided violently in his mind: Riya's panicked voice, red warning lights flashing in rapid succession, the metallic tearing of structural components under stress. He screamed—loud, unrestrained—but this time, it wasn't fear or anger driving him. It was raw desperation for the truth.
"I need the truth… I need to know what you were doing among the lower aliens! I demand answers to my questions!"
Silence stretched for minutes. His words echoed, bouncing off unseen walls, unanswered, yet somehow alive. He paced across the desolate plot, his mind desperately scanning for signs, clues, anything that could speak back to him. Step by step, he recalled every detail of the airship crash: the damaged console panels, twisted cables, broken holo-screens flickering faintly, and the residual energy spikes that still glimmered faintly in the darkness. Each memory tightened his chest; his thoughts swirled like a violent whirlpool.
Eventually, Rana returned home. Morning had already crept in, sunlight spilling softly across his room.
"Mummy… where were you, son?" came the concerned voice.
"Just… out for a morning walk," he replied, voice faint, concealing both exhaustion and turmoil.
"Couldn't sleep because of your headache?" his mother asked.
Rana nodded slightly, tilting his head.
His father, having stopped his work momentarily, called out from the courtyard, "Rana, don't go to college today. Rest."
Rana thought inwardly that this was exactly what he needed. His father went back to work, Riya to college, and he finally retreated into the solitude of his room. He showered, ate, and then sat, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.
Every moment, one question haunted him:
What was he really doing among the lower aliens? Was the Masked Man telling the truth? And Xyolithian… what were its intentions? Was it truly concerned with the universe's balance, or merely its own survival?
His breathing grew heavy. Memories flashed relentlessly—Riya's last moments, the airship crash, the vanishing of the warehouse. Then, his gaze fell on the gadget resting on his table. Its display glowed ominously:
"Generate Weapon."
His pulse raced.
"How… how is this possible? I didn't charge this… so how is it active?" Shock and disbelief overtook him as he collapsed into the chair, hands trembling uncontrollably.
His mind was a storm.
What now?
How do I uncover the truth?
Do I return to the warehouse, or stay?
Fatigue eventually overcame him, and sleep took him, but it offered no respite. In his dreams, Riya appeared repeatedly. Moments of the airship crash replayed like a looped nightmare, and he dreamt that she stood before him as he struck—an impossible vision of horror and regret.
By six in the evening, Rana awoke suddenly. His mother noticed immediately.
"Rana, how are you, beta?"
"Better… now," he answered, voice low, tinged with fear.
After a quick meal, he returned to his room, mind still restless. And then—
The alien appeared.
Rana's reaction was instantaneous:
"You… Xyolithian!"
The alien flinched for just a moment before regaining composure.
"How do you know my name?"
Rana lied, careful, measured:
"Just… fragments of memory returning, slowly."
The alien's gaze shifted to the gadget. Its smirk grew—a satisfied, calculated expression.
"Good," it said. "Everything must be completed by tomorrow."
Rana nodded superficially, but inside, a storm of resolve boiled. I will not let Riya be harmed.
The alien's tone was warning yet clinical.
"I will meet you tomorrow. Make sure the work is finished."
Then Rana's voice cut through, sharp and unyielding:
"I have questions!"
The alien froze, startled.
"What do you want?"
Rana's voice was calm but firm:
"I demand answers to two questions:
You said we created you, and you were always there… yet I've been on Earth for five years. How could you have always been there? And how did you create me when I was already a commander?"
Then, he noticed—the alien had vanished. Every word, every interaction, was now a vivid projection in his imagination. The intensity, the urgency, the energy—it had all fused into a mental replay that felt real.
Rana's heartbeat pounded, determination hardening within him.
"I need answers to these two questions—before anything else."
His eyes glowed with a mix of anger, curiosity, and focus. Shadows danced across the room; the soft glow of the gadget cast an eerie, cinematic light. Quantum energy vibrated faintly in the background, echoing the warehouse flash deep within his subconscious.
He inhaled deeply, centering himself. Mind still spinning, heart racing, gadget glowing—the weight of the vanished alien's presence pressed upon him.
Everything converged into one undeniable message:
Your actions, your choices, your courage—this is the moment.
Rana began planning: answers first—from Xyolithian and the Masked Man; then Riya's safety; next, strategy for the portal and warehouse. And in that instant, he understood: this was only the beginning. The true test, the real battle, was about to commence.
Now Rana stood once more at the warehouse plot. The watch timer on his wrist ticked down—set precisely to one hour. His face masked tightly, protecting him from the toxic fifth-floor smog. The air was unnervingly still, thick with silence, almost sentient. The portal opened, and he stepped through, metal corridors reflecting every footstep with unnatural amplification.
One hour… to find every answer. His hands trembled slightly.
He advanced toward the fifth floor. When he opened the door, he was met with an empty corridor. Broken holo-panels, twisted metal, faint blue emergency lights, and smog—nothing else. Shock deepened inside him.
"What… is this?" he muttered. "I came to search the entire building… and there's nothing?"
Floor by floor, corridor by corridor, he searched. Silence enveloped him. Every echo of his steps, every heartbeat, every distant hum of failing machinery—all merged into a synchronized rhythm that vibrated through his chest.
Timer reminders blinked relentlessly: 50 minutes… 40… 30… only ten minutes remained.
Frustrated, he muttered aloud:
"I've combed a hundred floors… there are three thousand in total… and found nothing. Was this even worth it?"
On the ground floor, his gaze caught a familiar wall. Something in his subconscious recognized it—dream fragments, memories half-remembered. His hands moved almost on instinct, reaching for the wall.
He touched it… nothing.
"How long will this go on?" he yelled, striking the wall in frustration.
Mechanical whirring responded. The surface shifted, revealing a scanner with an eye scanner above and a hand scanner below. Holographic lights blinked red and blue. The metallic interface vibrated with a low hum.
Rana's pulse spiked. Carefully, he placed his eye against the scanner, his hand on the metal pad. The interface flared, lights pulsing rapidly. And then:
"ACCESS DENIED"
His mind clicked. The scanner required Zaneath.
"Where… could Zaneath be?" he whispered.
Memories collided—Masked Man's calm warning, Xyolithian's cryptic hints, the gadget's faint glow. Every detail spun as a 3D holographic projection within his mind. Energy spikes shimmered faintly. Quantum particles seemed to dance with every recollection.
Breathing heavily under his mask, hands shaking, Rana's timer read 5:23 remaining.
He focused.
"This scanner… I cannot bypass without Zaneath… time is running out," he muttered.
The gadget pulsed, soft but insistent. Words blinked: "Generate Weapon." His pulse quickened.
"How… how is this possible? I didn't charge this…"
The gadget seemed alive, faint hums vibrating around it. Energy particles danced across the air. Rana centered himself: answers first, Riya safe, portal strategy, Xyolithian's intentions.
Debris and shadows around him cast cinematic depth—an awareness, as if the building itself was observing him. Every flicker, every echo, every heartbeat resonated in tandem with his mind.
His voice echoed through the metallic corridor.
And then… he heard footsteps.
Slow… heavy… and mechanical.
From within the smog, a silhouette began to emerge.
As the figure came closer, the blue emergency lights reflected off his armor.
Rana's breathing grew faster.
When the man finally stopped in front of him, Rana's eyes widened in shock.
"You…" Rana said slowly.
Then suddenly his voice rose —
"It's you… you are Veyrath!"