The danawa's claws were just inches from Armaan's neck, its jagged mouth drooling in anticipation—when suddenly, he vanished.
The beast froze. A heavy gust of Prana swept across the platform. Its crimson eyes widened as it sensed something far more powerful than the bleeding Rakshak boy it had nearly devoured. Slowly, it turned its monstrous face.
There she stood.
A woman, barely in her twenties, held Armaan in her arms with an expression of quiet strength. She wore a unique Rakshak uniform unlike any seen before—a sleek black and gold coat with angular shoulder plates, glowing sigils etched along the hems, and a crest of a blooming lotus embedded at the center of her chest. Her long dark hair was braided neatly, swaying slightly behind her, and her eyes held an otherworldly glimmer. A faint aura of divine calm surrounded her, yet her presence felt undeniably commanding.
The danawa's smirk faltered as it glanced at its own hand.
It was melting.
Smoke and red energy poured from the stump of what had once been a deadly claw. The Velsh Dragon had done its work, searing through the beast's corrupted matter with divine heat. The monster growled in frustration.
Meanwhile, the woman gently laid Armaan beside Alya. Her palm glowed with radiant energy as she pressed it on Armaan's wounded chest, healing magic pouring into him like a stream of warm light.
"You bitch," the danawa snarled. "You dare interrupt my meal?"
The woman ignored him.
As the light faded, Armaan slowly opened his eyes. His blurred vision focused on the silhouette of the woman, her white Aether blade drawn and glinting under the dim metro lights. She stood between him and the danawa, like a holy wall of resolve.
"A-A… Who are you?" Armaan asked weakly.
She didn't look back. "You carried this danawa well, kid. But you can't handle it at your level. It's on par with high-level Astra Rakshaks or even Divya Rakshaks. I'm surprised you survived... Now let me end this."
Her voice was calm, nurturing even, yet full of authority. Something about it soothed both Armaan and Alya—like a mother's lullaby wrapped in steel.
In a blink, she disappeared.
Before the danawa could flinch, a silver streak carved through the air—and slash—its torso was cleanly severed from its head. No time to scream. No time to react.
"Pulse of Light… Divine Judgment," she whispered, lowering her blade.
The danawa's body disintegrated into nothingness—reduced to motes of light.
She returned, her long braid swinging softly. Alya helped Armaan sit up, supporting him by the shoulder as he winced. The woman now smiled gently.
"What's your name, handsome boy?" she asked.
Armaan flushed faintly. Alya raised an eyebrow—and suddenly thought:
"She's not wrong… If all the boys in school were put into a competition, Armaan would probably win for being the most handsome… maybe followed by Samar and Roumit."
Alya instantly shook her head, cheeks burning with a strange heat she didn't understand.
"M-My name's Armaan. Just Armaan. No last name," he replied, trying not to sound shy. "And this is Alya Parveen, my classmate."
Alya nodded politely, though her expression was still flustered.
"Oh… Just Armaan, huh?" she chuckled. "I'm Advika, the 6th Divya Rakshak of India." Her tone was friendly but clearly proud. "You fought really well. Holding off a danawa of this level at your age? Impressive. And what was that attack of yours? I've never seen anything like it."
Armaan rubbed the back of his head, now back in his casual clothes. The metro around them flickered back to life. All the passengers reappeared, dazed and unaware of the nightmare that had just ended.
"Oh, that…? I call it Ryū no Keisho," he said. "Velsh Dragon is just one of the forms it takes."
"Ryū no Keisho, huh?" Advika repeated with interest. "A dragon's inheritance… sounds powerful."
Then Armaan's eyes widened.
"Wait... You were watching all this time!?"
"No no," Advika laughed, lifting a grocery bag. "I was just passing by after shopping and sensed two strong Pranas in conflict. When I arrived, you were already performing that Velsh Dragon thing… Melted that danawa's hand right off. Nicely done."
Armaan blushed again, looking away. Deep inside, though, a storm brewed—he had been saved again. That gnawed at his pride.
Alya, standing quietly beside him, puffed her cheeks slightly. She looked annoyed.
Advika caught that instantly.
"Are you two dating?" she asked with a sly smirk.
Both Armaan and Alya shot up. "NO! We were just here to buy a gift for our class teacher!" they said in unison.
Advika chuckled and leaned down slightly, brushing Alya's shoulder gently as she whispered something in her ear—soft enough that Armaan couldn't hear.
Alya's eyes widened for a second, her cheeks turning a deeper red. She looked away quickly, biting her lower lip.
With a calm smile, Advika turned to go. "Well then, I'll be on my way. Protect each other, kids. And Armaan…" she glanced over her shoulder with a wink, "Nice name."
And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd—leaving behind a confused boy, a silently blushing girl, and a platform that still hummed faintly with the echoes of battle and dragonfire.
The metro ride back home that evening was unusually quiet. Armaan and Alya sat side by side, their faces turned to opposite windows, the rhythmic sound of the train the only thing filling the awkward silence. Both were lost in their thoughts—about the battle, about the Divya Rakshak woman, about the compliment that hung in the air a little too long.
That night, as the moonlight gently bathed his room, Armaan opened his diary and began to write.
"September 4th.
Again… I had to be saved. No matter how hard I try, it's never enough. But I won't let it happen again. I will become stronger… so strong that no one will ever have to save me again. I will protect them… all of them, with my own hands. That's a promise, Father."
With determination burning in his chest, he closed the diary, his hand subconsciously brushing the hilt of his Aether blade beside his bed. Sleep found him soon, but it was not a peaceful one—it was filled with dreams of shadows and dragons.
The Next Day: September 5th – Teacher's Day
Morning sunlight filtered through the classroom windows as Armaan and Alya arrived early, each carrying their half of the surprise gifts. They were the first to reach, and the school halls were still quiet.
"Let's recheck once," Alya suggested.
"Yeah, good idea," Armaan nodded, placing his backpack on one of the benches.
After ensuring everything was perfectly arranged, they found themselves sitting opposite each other on the classroom benches—Armaan facing backwards toward her, casually sipping water from his bottle. Alya was visibly distracted, her gaze flickering between his face and the aura he had displayed just last night.
She finally broke the silence. "What was that… last night? That sword, the aura… the flames? And what exactly are Rakshaks?"
Armaan paused, placing the bottle down, and took a moment to answer.
"I'm a Rakshak," he said softly. "A mid-ranked Astra Rakshak. We fight Danawas, Sahitaans… anything that threatens the world. Last night, that was a Danawa. And the sword… that was my Aether Blade. The attack form you saw—Ryú no Keisho. 'Velsh Dragon' is just one of its forms."
Alya blinked. Her eyes briefly scanned his frame. Now that she noticed, his muscular form had grown sharper recently—shoulders broader, arms more defined. Her cheeks flushed red in realization, and she instinctively covered her face with her hands.
Armaan tilted his head. "Hey... What happened? You look red."
"N-Nothing!" Alya said quickly, burying her face even deeper into her palms, voice muffled.
Armaan chuckled nervously, scratching his cheek. "You sure?"
Before the moment could hang any longer in the air, a loud voice interrupted them.
"Oyy Armaaaan!"
It was Samar.
There was a very specific chaos boys create when they catch their bro with a girl—loud, teasing, and full of smirks. Samar stood at the door, grinning like he had found treasure.
Both Armaan and Alya instantly stiffened, now caught like deer in headlights.
Without a word, Armaan turned, got up, and walked up to Samar.
Thud!
A soft punch landed on Samar's head.
"Oww! What was that for?!"
"For appearing out of nowhere and ruining the moment, you idiot!" Armaan muttered, his ears red.
Samar laughed, unbothered, while Alya smiled behind her palms, still recovering from the whirlwind of feelings.
Slowly, one by one, the classroom began to fill. Familiar faces entered—chatting, laughing, arms full of gift boxes and decorations. But something about today felt warmer, more unified. Perhaps it was the buzz of Teacher's Day or perhaps... it was the shared feeling of admiration towards the two who had taken charge of everything with such quiet dedication.
Samar, rubbing the spot on his head where Armaan had punched him, grinned and said loudly enough for everyone to hear,
"I still say it was a power move making Armaan and Alya the mission leaders. Not gonna lie, they nailed it."
Roumit chuckled, giving Armaan a thumbs-up.
"Yeah man, I thought you were just a quiet guy with books and all, but now you're organizing school events and looking like an anime protagonist."
Avinash, adjusting his glasses, added,
"Honestly, the logistics were smoother than last year. Well done, both of you."
Nandini chimed in,
"It was really thoughtful, the way you split the gifts and handled it so responsibly."
Ayaka, walking in with her usual calm smile, looked toward Alya and said,
"Very graceful work, Alya. And Armaan-kun, I admire your sense of detail."
Though the event wasn't supposed to be a secret mission, it could have been… if Samar hadn't created such a noisy fuss the previous day, yelling right in front of Ms. Sen, their class teacher. She had smiled at the time but clearly heard it all.
Despite that, the execution was flawless. Ms. Sen walked in just as a soft melody began to play from a speaker—preplanned by Alya. The moment she stepped in, students lined up to present the gifts, which were arranged neatly in an arc on her desk.
The class erupted with a unified "Happy Teacher's Day, Ma'am!"
Ms. Sen, though expecting something, was visibly surprised at the coordination and beauty of the gesture. Her eyes softened as she looked over the neatly wrapped gifts, the hand-made card signed by everyone, and the warm, grateful faces of her students.
"This… is beautiful," she said with a smile. "I may have heard some noise yesterday… but I didn't expect this."
Laughter echoed in the class.
"Alright everyone," Roumit suddenly called out, "Before we start the real madness, group photo time!"
"Who's phone?" Nandini asked.
"No one else's but Armaan's!" Samar declared. "He's the boss today."
With everyone crowding in for the class picture, Alya and Armaan were naturally asked to stand in the center. Side by side, holding soft smiles, they posed. Just as the photo was being clicked…
Click!
Samar, with impeccable timing, elbowed Armaan in the ribs—caught mid-action in the picture. Armaan's eyes were half-wide, Alya had started laughing, and Roumit, grinning, had his arm over Avinash's shoulder like always.
The picture was chaotic, perfect, and full of memories.
And it now belonged to Armaan's gallery, saved as "Mission Sen-sational".
After the memorable class picture, studies were set aside for the day. Ms. Sen smiled warmly and said,
"You've all worked hard. Today, just enjoy yourselves."
Someone—probably Roumit—shouted,
"Let's play Antakshari!"
The class erupted in cheers. Without delay, the students formed teams: Girls vs. Boys, the age-old classic. Desks were pushed aside, water bottles refilled, and the energy shifted to playful rivalry.
Rules were laid out:
Each team must sing a song starting with the last letter of the previous song.
A correct song earned 3 points.
If a team passed, they lost 1 point and the letter shifted to the other team.
If the other team also failed, no points were lost.
A strict 6-second timer was enforced for each turn.
Round 1 began.
Girls started strong with "Moh moh ke dhaage"—ending with an "E". The boys quickly responded with "Ek ladki ko dekha".
Round after round, the game went on, voices loud, lyrics half-remembered, laughter constant.
Roumit messed up a line and still got cheered. Nandini belted out a perfect tune that earned applause from both sides. Alya and Ayaka carried the girls' team like pros. Even Avinash joined in with unexpected confidence.
The points kept climbing.
Final Round: The bell was about to ring.
The Girls: 36 points
Boys: 34 points
And the next letter: P
A hush fell. Boys needed exactly 3 points to win.
6 seconds on the clock.
1...
Everyone looked at each other.
2...
Samar's eyes darted, deep in thought.
3...
Alya smirked—victory felt close.
4...
Suddenly, Samar leapt up and sang loudly:
"Pehla nasha, pehla khumaar!"
The class burst into cheers. Without missing a beat, Armaan, Roumit, and Avinash joined in, their voices rising together to finish the line. The class roared with laughter and applause.
"Boys win!!"
The girls collectively let out a dramatic pout, Nandini throwing a crumpled paper ball at Samar, Ayaka smiling silently, and Alya pretending to sulk but clearly enjoying the fun.
As the school bell finally rang, everyone stood up, still laughing, still riding the joy of a simple game that somehow made the day unforgettable.
And somewhere, in the back of the room, Armaan saved the score sheet in his diary—a memory carved between battles, secrets, and songs.
As the golden sun dipped behind the buildings, Armaan, Samar, and Roumit were walking home, still laughing over the dramatic Antakshari finish. The boys had claimed victory, and the teasing hadn't stopped since.
Just then, Armaan's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and saw the name: Farmaan.
He quickly picked up.
"Hello?"
A calm, composed voice came from the other side,
"Hello, Armaan?How are you? "
Recognizing the voice, Armaan straightened slightly, his tone more respectful now.
"I'm good. Today was Teacher's Day, so we had a small celebration at school. I sent you something, hope you liked it."
A pause. Then a small smile in the voice,
"I did. That leather-bound journal was beautiful. You've got taste."
Armaan chuckled softly.
But then Farmaan's voice turned serious,
"That aside... I need to see you tomorrow."
Armaan's expression shifted.
"Tomorrow? Sure. It's Saturday, I'm free. Where?"
"Old training grounds. 9 AM sharp. There's something we need to talk about—just the two of us."
The call ended without further explanation.
Armaan stood still for a moment, eyes thoughtful.
Samar asked casually,
"Who was that?"
Armaan slipped the phone back in his pocket.
"Gramps ."
Roumit raised an eyebrow.
"Everything alright?"
Armaan nodded slowly, but his mind was already racing.
"Yeah… just got something important tomorrow."