The echoes of battle still rang in Ayaan's ears as he lay flat on the school courtyard, breathing hard, his fists sore and knuckles scraped. All around him were the bodies of his unconscious bullies—boys who once made his life a nightmare. Now they were silent, defeated, and broken. Above, the sky stretched blue and wide, like freedom.
Rehman helped him to his feet, supporting him as the other students watched in stunned silence. For the first time in years, no one laughed at Ayaan. No one mocked. They stared, eyes wide with something close to respect—or was it fear?
"We're not victims anymore," Ayaan whispered, almost like he was convincing himself. Then louder, he turned to the crowd, voice hard as steel. "Next time anyone tries to claim power over us… they'll meet the same end."
The courtyard remained quiet, but the spark had been lit.
Later that afternoon, after returning home, Ayaan collapsed into bed. His body ached, but his spirit buzzed. The moment he closed his eyes, he was pulled back into the shadowed dreamworld—back to the place where the snow never melted and the wind never stopped.
The black Qareen stood before him again.
"You left me alone," Ayaan said. "Why didn't you help me in the fight? I thought you were the most powerful spirit on the planet."
The Qareen's red eyes glowed with a smirk. "Who told you strength comes without struggle? If power came so easily, every coward would be a king."
Ayaan narrowed his eyes. "So how do I access your power? How do I become strong enough to never fall again?"
The Qareen stepped forward, shadows swirling at his feet. "First, your body must become strong enough to hold my presence. Right now, it can barely contain a whisper of me."
"Then train me," Ayaan said, fists clenched. "Make me into someone who doesn't just survive—but someone who stands tall."
The Qareen tilted his head. "So be it. But you'll suffer. Pain will be your teacher. Regret, your mirror."
"Good," Ayaan said. "I'm done being afraid."
The Qareen paused, then added, "Since we'll be together for a while, give me a name."
Ayaan thought for a moment. "Minus."
The Qareen raised an eyebrow. "Why Minus?"
"Because you're the missing piece… and maybe with you, I'll become whole."
"Fine. But don't say it out loud like a fanboy," Minus muttered, turning away.
The next day, Ayaan woke up early in the morning and left for a distant park where he could train in secret. His muscles screamed in protest as he pushed himself through physical drills—punches, dodges, sprints. But Minus didn't let him rest. Every fall was met with a whisper: "Again. Stronger."
For six months, Ayaan trained alone in that forgotten place—until he could move faster, strike harder, and endure longer than ever before. And slowly, his body changed. Stronger. Sharper. Readier.
One rainy afternoon, on his way back from training, he heard shouting.
He turned a corner and froze. Rehman, Maiz, and Hadi—his closest friends—were locked in a brutal fistfight with two unfamiliar faces. These boys were older, more muscular, and clearly winning.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Ayaan yelled, rushing in.
"They insulted us," Maiz growled. "We couldn't just walk away."
Without hesitation, Ayaan joined in.
The older boy—Jasim—was a brute. He slammed Rehman into a wall and turned on Ayaan, fists like hammers. But Ayaan ducked and landed a tight hook into his stomach. The boy crumpled.
For the first time, Ayaan used Minus's strength—only a fraction, but it was enough. Soon, the five boys lay sprawled on the ground, groaning in defeat.
Breathing heavily, Ayaan looked at his friends. "We need to stop being targets. We need to build something better."
"What?" Moiz asked.
"A gang. Not one that spreads fear—but one that spreads hope."
They all stared at him for a moment… then nodded.
They called themselves "Minus", named after the silent strength within. Ayaan trained them using what he had learned from Minus—meditation, movement, discipline. And the Qareen taught him even more, whispering tactics and techniques during sparring.
As weeks passed, they began helping others—kids who were bullied, isolated, forgotten.
And then, something strange happened.
One evening, while walking home through a narrow alleyway, Ayaan saw a boy with earbuds and a hoodie, head down. But something in him—his Qareen senses—tingled.
"That one," Minus whispered. "He has potential."
Ayaan approached him. "Hey."
The boy looked up, confused.
"You don't know it yet," Ayaan said. "But there's something inside you. Something like me."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"
"You'll understand soon."
Over the next few weeks, Ayaan befriended the boy—sarim. And soon, he revealed his own powers. sarim had been one of the rare few born with Qareen potential
Two months later, in a mall food court, they gathered—Ayaan, Rehman, Maiz, Hadi, sarim, and a few others—and gave form to their dream. A movement. A resistance.
They named it: The Minus Revolution.
It wasn't just a gang.
It was the beginning of a war.
Ayaan, now the founder of a group of rising warriors, looked across his team with quiet pride. He had started as a boy with a shadow in his head and fear in his heart.
But now…
He was becoming something else.
A leader.
A fighter.
A legend in the making.