The moment Samar's eyelids snapped open, shock hit him like a physical blow.
His eyes widened to their absolute limit, stretching so painfully wide it felt as if his eyeballs were threatening to burst from their sockets. His brain scrambled to process the impossible view before him, struggling to reconcile reality with the sheer absurdity of his situation.
Gravity had abandoned him.
He was suspended in the air, hovering effortlessly in a void of grey and brown. All around him, a wall of roaring wind churned in a violent, circular motion. It was a cyclone of apocalyptic proportions—a storm so dense with dust and debris that it blurred the world into a monochromatic nightmare.
Yet, strangely... he was untouched.
Samar hung suspended in the absolute center—the eye of the storm. While the winds outside howled with enough force to strip flesh from bone, he remained completely stationary. He wasn't being tossed around, but he could feel it. The raw, vibrating pressure of the atmosphere pressed against his skin, and the grit of fine dust coated his tongue, tasting of dry earth and ozone.
The initial shock began to fade, replaced by a sharp, cynical narrowing of his gaze. His eyes flinched—not out of fear, but out of a weary recognition.
'Of course,' Samar thought, his jaw tightening.
He didn't need a guide to explain this. He understood it instinctively.
"Another test," he muttered, though his voice was swallowed instantly by the roaring wall of wind surrounding him.
He pivoted slowly in mid-air, scanning his surroundings. It didn't matter where he looked—North, South, East, or West. There was no horizon, no sky, and no ground. There was only the suffocating, swirling prison of the storm, locking him inside its deadly embrace.
Samar took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart against the visual chaos surrounding him. He forced his voice to remain calm, projecting it into the swirling void.
"Is anyone here?" he called out, his gaze darting around the containment wall of wind. "Armaan? Roumit? Where are you guys?"
Silence.
His words seemed to dissolve into the roar of the gale the moment they left his lips. There was no reply, no sign of his friends, not even an echo.
Just as the isolation began to set in, the storm shifted.
Directly in front of him, the wall of the cyclone began to warp. The flying dust and debris stopped flowing in a smooth circle and began to clump together, coagulating like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
Samar watched, frozen, as the grit molded itself into ridges and valleys. A long, jagged snout took shape. Then, deep, hollow sockets. Then, rows of jagged, wind-sculpted teeth.
A colossal face was pressing out from the storm. It was the distinct, unmistakable maw of a Dragon.
Samar's composure shattered instantly. He jerked back in the air, his defensive instincts screaming.
"WHAT THE—!?" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the massive dust-sculpture. "Who the hell are you now!!?"
The dragon's maw shifted, the dust grinding together to simulate movement. When it spoke, the sound didn't come from a throat. It came from the vibration of the air itself—a distorted, grinding rumble that sounded like boulders crushing together. It was a voice ancient enough to make the air heavy.
"You will know soon... who I am..."
Samar rolled his eyes so hard it practically hurt. The sheer melodrama of the situation was exhausting.
"Bruh..." he groaned, dragging the word out. "Can you drop this whole 'ominous suspense' tone of yours? Let's keep it casual, alright? This is just another test, isn't it?"
His voice was calm, balancing a playful lilt with the serious edge of someone who had done this dance before.
The massive face of dust didn't waver. "Who knows?"
Samar let out a long, exaggerated sigh, shoulders dropping. "Alright, look. What's the deal here? I just want to finish this little pop quiz quickly so I can grab Armaan and Roumit and go home."
The storm rumbled, the vibrations rattling Samar's chest. The ancient voice spoke again, the words dripping with a slow, deliberate warning.
"Haste is the work of the devil, child..."
Samar groaned again, louder this time. He crossed his arms and shifted his posture in mid-air, looking entirely unimpressed.
"Just spill the beans already, will ya? I'm getting tired of hanging in the air like a bad piñata."
The swirling dust shifted. The corners of the massive maw curled upward, the grit grinding together to form a grotesque, crumbling imitation of a smile.
"I like you," the voice grated, sounding almost amused. "You are... an interesting fellow."
Samar puffed out his chest, a distinct aura of smugness radiating from him. He adjusted an invisible collar, his smirk widening.
"Why, thank you," he beamed, closing his eyes with mock humility. "But you know me—I never let it get to my head."
The giant dust-face stared at him for a long, flat second.
"Alright then," the entity rumbled, trying to pivot back to a serious tone. "Now, we shall come to business—"
"Finally," Samar deadpanned, cutting him off instantly.
The atmosphere shifted. The giant face actually twitched. The swirling dust on its forehead condensed aggressively, forming a jagged, throbbing vein of angry sand—a comical, anime-esque mark of sheer irritation.
"Let me finish, you brat!" the entity snapped, the storm winds flaring up in annoyance.
The face made a sound like two boulders grinding together—HRR-RUMPH!—clearing its non-existent throat to reset the mood. It glared at Samar, making sure he wasn't going to interrupt again.
"So..." the ancient voice dropped an octave, shedding the annoyance for something far heavier and more personal. "Samar Shaw. The boy who wants to know where his brother is..."
The moment the word 'brother' hung in the air, the atmosphere around Samar curdled.
The smirk vanished instantly, wiped clean from his face as if it had never existed. His playful posture stiffened, and his eyes, previously dancing with amusement, went dead calm. It wasn't just a change in expression; it was a total shutdown of emotion.
"How do you know about my brother?" Samar asked. His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection.
The giant dust-face rippled, seemingly entertained by the sudden transformation.
"What a shift..." the entity mused, "But to answer your question—I know about your brother because I know everything that transpires within this universe."
Samar didn't blink. He didn't look impressed by the claim of omniscience. He just stared straight into the hollow sockets of the dust creature.
"Alright then," Samar said, his tone icy. "Spill everything. Where is he?"
"I told you... patience," the voice chided, dragging out the vowels. "Let us verify the facts first. Your brother was lost in a massive carnival, long before you were even born. Correct?"
Samar nodded once, stiffly. "From what I've been told, yes."
The storm seemed to hold its breath. The face leaned in closer, looming over him.
"Now, for the truth you seek," the voice rumbled deeply. "Your brother... is still alive."
The mask cracked.
Samar's eyes widened, a spark of genuine, desperate hope breaking through his cold exterior. His breath hitched.
"Really?" he blurted out, his voice raising a pitch. "Where is he then? Tell me!"
"I said wait," the face commanded, cutting through Samar's excitement. "Your brother is alive, yes. But... he has become something else."
Samar recoiled slightly, the confusion dampening his excitement. He raised an eyebrow. "What are you trying to imply?"
The dust face frowned—or at least, the swirling sand shifted to mimic a troubled expression.
"If your brother were still a normal human, simply living somewhere on this earth, I would know exactly where he is," the entity explained, its voice heavy with a rare uncertainty. "But I cannot see him. This means one of two things: either he is deliberately hiding his location using means beyond mortal understanding... or he has become so overwhelmingly powerful that his existence simply cannot be traced by the likes of me."
Samar's brows knitted together in genuine confusion. The logic wasn't adding up.
"What?" He tilted his head, trying to make sense of the entity's claim. "Has he become a Rakshak or something?"
The dust face remained impassive, though the winds swirling around it slowed, as if deep in thought.
"Perhaps," the voice rumbled calmly. "But one thing is certain—he is no longer an ordinary human. Either he was a Chosen One, possessing latent strength from the moment of his birth, or he seized these divine powers from... elsewhere."
Samar felt a spike of irritation. This was sounding less like a family reunion and more like a bad fantasy script.
"What the hell are you on about?" Samar snapped, his hands throwing up in exasperation. "How can a normal human just become th—"
"It is the truth, Samar Shaw," the entity interrupted, its voice booming with sudden authority.
The wind picked up speed, howling around them as the face leaned closer, its hollow eyes boring into Samar.
"And there is no probability—no guarantee—of whether your brother is evil or kind. His heart is a mystery. But whatever he is..." The voice dropped to a terrifying, vibrating growl. "...he is DANGEROUS."
That was the breaking point.
Samar clicked his tongue loudly, his expression darkening. The mix of relief and dread was too much to process, so he settled on anger.
"Alright now, you should stop your shitty talk," Samar spat, glaring at the giant maw. "After all these years—years—I finally get to know my brother is alive. And the moment I do, you tell me he's 'dangerous'? You can't be serious."
He clenched his fists, shaking his head. "I don't buy it."
The dust face didn't flinch at his anger. It merely stared back with ancient indifference.
"Anything is possible," the voice whispered, dissolving into the gale.
Samar exhaled sharply, his patience wearing thinner than the air in the upper atmosphere.
"Anyways," he snapped, his tone dripping with annoyance.
"What do you get out of revealing all this to me? And where is the actual test? Or is this conversation the test?"
The dust face smirked again, the debris shifting to form a knowing, arrogant grin.
"This test is not like your previous trials, Samar," the entity said softly. "It is... different. But before we proceed, there is one more thing you must know."
The storm winds quieted down, allowing the next words to land with maximum impact.
"One of your closest friends has met your brother. Many, many times." The entity paused, its hollow eyes narrowing. "Yet, strangely... even through their memories, I cannot process your brother's face. Nor can I pinpoint his current location. He is a ghost in their mind."
Samar blinked, his brain grinding to a halt. "What do you mean?" he muttered, confusion clouding his features. "My brother has met one of my closest friends? Many times?"
His mind raced, flipping through the faces of the people he trusted.
Roumit? No, he's just a normal guy. It wouldn't make sense.
Then, realization dawned on him.
"It has to be Armaan," Samar whispered to himself, looking up. "He's a Rakshak as well. If anyone deals with the supernatural, it's him."
The giant face's grin widened, almost predatory.
"That might be the case," the voice mused. "But you should be careful. Your brother's ideology... is evil."
Samar froze. The confusion instantly evaporated, replaced by a surge of pure, hot aggression.
"Hold on," Samar snapped, stepping forward on the invisible floor of air. "First you say you aren't sure whether he's kind or evil. Now you're stating it as a fact that he's evil? What is the meaning of this? Stop playing games with me!"
A low hum began to emanate from Samar's body.
The air around him shimmered. A fiery, orange aura burst into life, coating his skin like liquid flame. It was his Prana, leaking out in response to his rising temper, heating the freezing winds of the storm.
The entity watched the display of power with an amused glint in its dusty sockets. It didn't back down. It simply repeated its favorite mantra, the words echoing with maddening calm against the crackle of Samar's energy.
"Anything... is possible."
Samar's restraint finally snapped.
His irises ignited, engulfed in a searing, supernatural orange light. The Prana surged through his veins, radiating outward in waves of scorching heat that pushed back against the biting cold of the winds.
"What the hell do you want from me?!" he roared, his voice vibrating with raw power.
He prepared to lunge, to strike, to force an answer out of the storm itself—but there was nothing to hit.
The colossal face began to lose its cohesion. The ridges of the dragon's snout crumbled; the hollow eyes dissolved into drifting grit. The storm was reclaiming its puppet. The millions of dust particles that had formed the entity scattered back into the howling grey cyclone.
As the face vanished, one final whisper drifted through the gale, faint but inescapable.
"The decision... is on you, Samar Shaw."
And then, he was alone.
The presence was gone. The ancient weight that had pressed against his mind lifted, leaving him suspended in the center of the uncaring, mechanical rotation of the storm.
Samar spun around, his glowing eyes frantically searching the wall of wind for a target.
"What decision!?" he screamed at the empty air.
There was no answer. Only the monotonous howling of the wind.
"Where the hell did you go!?" He waved his hands furiously, his Prana flaring erratically with his mood. "Hey! Dusty guy!?"
Silence.
"What decision are you talking about!?"
His voice cracked with the strain of shouting, but the storm offered no clarity. It just kept spinning, indifferent to his confusion.
"Arghhhh..."
Samar grabbed his own hair, letting out a guttural growl of pure frustration. He was trapped in a box of wind, armed with a terrifying revelation about his lost brother, a cryptic warning about his best friend, and a choice he didn't understand.
"I'm getting really ticked off..." he whispered, his eyes burning with a chaotic mix of rage and helplessness.
He floated there, a speck of fiery orange in a world of grey, realizing that the test hadn't ended.
It had barely begun.