There was nothing.
No light.
No sound.
No ground beneath his feet.
Just emptiness.
An infinite abyss stretching in every direction, so silent that even his own heartbeat felt absent. Then, like a blade tearing through the void, something moved.
A distant, deep growl echoed through the dark — low, ancient, unearthly.
Then he appeared.
From the black nothingness, a colossal crimson dragon emerged. Blood-red, its body seemed like it was made of flowing blood — thick streams of dark liquid gushed and cascaded along its massive frame, as if every inch of it bled constantly, endlessly. The dragon's surface shimmered with a grotesque beauty, glowing faintly like molten lava coursing through jagged flesh.
And then… its eyes.
Pitch black.
So black they didn't reflect light — they devoured it.
Those eyes stared directly into him — into me — and I felt the crushing weight of a being too ancient, too powerful, too terrifying to comprehend.
Then it opened its maw, vast as the sky, revealing rows of obsidian fangs dripping with shadowed steam.
"When are you coming…?" it asked.
Its voice wasn't sound — it was like a feeling shoved directly into my brain. Heavy, resonant, inevitable.
A pause.
"When are you coming…?" it said again — louder. More commanding.
I tried to speak — to scream — but my mouth wouldn't move. My throat was frozen. Why couldn't I talk? I wanted to ask, What do you mean?! Where?! Who are you?!
But no words came. My vision began to blur as the pressure around me intensified. The dragon's eyes turned even darker, if that was even possible, like they had become miniature black holes.
And then — in a voice that echoed like thunder over a battlefield — it roared:
"WHEN ARE YOU COMING?!"
My mind shattered. My chest exploded in panic.
I screamed.
And I woke up.
My body jolted upright in bed. My heart was hammering like it was trying to punch through my ribs. Every part of me was soaked in sweat — my shirt clung to my back like a second skin.
I gasped for air.
I couldn't breathe.
The room spun for a second.
It was still dark — just before dawn — but everything around me was real again. The dream, the blood, the dragon, the voice…
Still echoed in my skull.
That dragon again.
Blood-red. Enormous. Flowing like it was alive — like its flesh was bleeding out in every direction. Its black eyes… they devoured everything. No reflection, no mercy.
And that voice, deeper than nightmares, had echoed again.
"When are you coming…?"
The words still rang in his ears.
He sat still for a moment, catching his breath, then let out a whisper only the walls could hear.
"Again… that dream."
Dragging himself out of bed, he moved like a ghost through his morning routine — washed his face, brushed his teeth, changed into his school uniform. His mind wasn't with him. It was still in that void, still standing before that crimson god.
With his school bag slung over his shoulder, he descended the stairs.
Sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea was his elder sister, Sohana. She was scrolling through something on her tablet when she looked up and caught sight of his dazed face.
"Ohhh ho ho~" she smirked. "Let me guess — another nightmare?"
Armaan gave her a flat look and muttered, "Nothing special."
"Nothing special?" she grinned. "You look like you've seen your math teacher naked."
He groaned, "Cut it out, sis."
She snickered, flicking a piece of toast toward him. "Fine, fine. Just saying — if a dream keeps haunting you, it's probably something serious. Or you're just being a drama queen."
Armaan shook his head and focused on the plate. His mom had left out aloo paratha with curd. He forced himself to eat, barely tasting anything.
As he left the house, waving half-heartedly at Sohana, the fresh morning air slapped him back into awareness. But not even the chirping birds or honking cars could distract him from the dream's grip. It had started right after the football tournament — always the same void, always that dragon, always those three words.
"When are you coming?"
His brows furrowed. Was it a premonition? A curse? A memory?
He was halfway to school when his head snapped up.
A sharp pulse of prana — like a flicker of flame in a calm forest — brushed against his senses.
Someone's in danger.
Without hesitation, Armaan sprinted toward the alley the feeling was coming from.
The narrow street was poorly lit and filled with trash bins and parked scooters. And there, near the wall, were five boys cornering a girl in school uniform. One had grabbed her wrist, another was laughing as he blocked her escape.
"Come on , why acting so innocent?"
"Just talk to us baby—"
"You think you're too good for us or what?"
The girl trembled, clearly terrified.
One of the boys raised his hand — ready to slap her.
But it never connected.
A hand, firm and calm, stopped it mid-air.
The attacker blinked and turned, only to find Armaan standing there, gripping his wrist. His eyes — normally distant and gentle — were now sharp as blades.
"Let her go," Armaan said quietly.
The leader of the group scoffed. "Who the hell are you? Wanna be a hero?"
Armaan tightened his grip — so tight the guy winced.
"I'm the last person you want to touch right now," he said coldly.
The air shifted. Even though Armaan wasn't releasing his full aura, the weight around him was unmistakable. The others stepped back instinctively.
The boy whose hand had been caught tried to yank himself free, but Armaan leaned in. "Try anything again," he said softly, "and your hand won't work for a week."
Silence fell. The boys, sensing the atmosphere wasn't in their favor, muttered curses and stumbled away.
As they disappeared into the street, Armaan let go and turned to the girl. "You okay?"
She nodded, shaken but safe. "Y-Yeah. Thank you…"
"Be careful. Don't take this route alone."
He watched her walk away before sighing and checking the time. "Late again…"
As Armaan turned to leave the alley, slinging his bag back over his shoulder, the girl called out behind him.
"Wait…"
He paused and looked over his shoulder.
She hesitated for a moment, then asked softly, "Is it possible that… you're Armaan?"
He blinked, genuinely surprised. Even now, even wearing a mask and large spectacles — the usual disguise he used to hide from curious onlookers — someone had managed to recognize him?
Ever since the Kalambhaar Cave incident, Armaan had become a national topic — whispered in classrooms, gossiped about in markets, dissected on forums and YouTube videos. His face, his name, his story… it had spread like wildfire. Going anywhere in public without being mobbed was nearly impossible. That's why he had started wearing the disguise — just to feel normal again.
"…Yeah, I'm Armaan," he admitted, pushing his specs up slightly. "But how'd you figure that out?"
She smiled, a bit proud of herself. "Your hair," she said. "It's… messy in that specific heroic way."
He chuckled. "That's oddly specific."
She laughed softly, then bowed slightly. "Still, thank you. For helping me… and for everything you did back in Kalambhaar. You saved lives."
Armaan looked away, scratching his head. "I just… did what I had to."
"I know," she said. "Still. Thanks."
She turned and walked off toward the opposite road, her schoolbag bouncing against her back.
He watched her leave.
Even my hair's not safe anymore, huh…?
As Armaan walked past the school gates, the usual buzz of morning chatter surrounded him — students catching up on assignments, seniors half-asleep, and the ever-present chaos of the morning assembly.
He spotted Samar and Roumit near their usual spot under the old banyan tree. Alya stood with them, tying her hair into a neat ponytail as she chatted casually.
"Yo!" Armaan greeted as he joined them.
Samar grinned. "Well, look who decided to descend from his legendary cave."
"Too famous for us now, huh?" Roumit added with a smirk. "Should we get your autograph before your next dragon-slaying gig?"
Armaan chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, when are you going to cut this out…"
But the moment they entered the assembly ground, the teasing escalated.
As they lined up, a group of girls nearby were blatantly whispering.
"Damn… he's way too hot," one of them whispered audibly.
"I know right? Too bad — totally out of your league," another replied with a giggle.
As they lined up in the assembly, Samar leaned closer with a sly grin.
"Bro was already popular after the Kalambhaar Cave incident," he whispered. "But after that football final?"
Roumit joined in, nudging Armaan's side. "Damn, you're going to have multiple love letters sliding into your desk like it's a post office."
Armaan sighed, adjusting his specs and pulling his mask up just a little. "You two are impossible."
"Impossible," Samar echoed dramatically, "is the number of girls who now want to sit beside you in physics."
The national anthem began, saving him from further roasting.
But even after the assembly ended and classes resumed, something felt… off.
He tried to act normal, joining the banter during roll calls, smirking at the teacher's lame jokes, but his thoughts kept drifting. The crimson dragon's voice echoed faintly in his ears — When are you coming? — again and again like a broken chant.
In English class, it happened.
A chalk piece zipped through the air toward his head — the usual attempt by a teacher to catch a daydreamer.
But Armaan, almost on instinct, raised two fingers and caught the flying chalk without even turning his head.
The class went silent.
Miss Sen, the teacher, raised an eyebrow. " Armaan....?"
He blinked and looked up. "Sorry, ma'am… spaced out a bit."
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing more and continued with the lesson.
During the lunch break, Samar and Roumit cornered him behind the canteen wall.
"Alright, spill it," Roumit said, biting into a samosa. "You've been zoning out all day. Did your divine dragon form tell you you're pregnant or something?"
Armaan rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
Samar leaned closer. "Seriously, though. Something's off. You've got that 'I just saw the world end in my sleep' look."
Armaan hesitated, fingers tapping lightly on his lunch box. "It's nothing. Just… nightmares, maybe."
Roumit and Samar exchanged a quick glance but said nothing.
Before they could probe further, Armaan smoothly switched the topic.
"Anyway, did you guys see the notice board? The science fest is next month. Guess who's going to build a flying rickshaw again?"
Samar groaned. "Don't remind me. The last one exploded and almost burned Ms. Jain's eyebrows."
The three of them laughed, the tension melting — but only for a moment.
Deep inside, Armaan knew the dreams weren't just dreams anymore.
They were a warning.