The Gathering of Currents
Not the mechanical dark of the Doom Train's walls — but something softer, breathing.
He hadn't moved in hours, yet the air around him trembled as though waiting for his signal.
Every breath he took now had rhythm — not his, but shared.
When he inhaled, metal thrummed. When he exhaled, circuits flickered faintly green.
He could still feel it — the Verdant Pulse, woven into him like a second heartbeat. It didn't speak in words. It simply… remembered.
Raghu closed his eyes.
The forest wasn't gone. It had folded itself into him — roots of memory threading through muscle and bone. When he focused, he could almost see it: the endless canopy overlaying the train's metallic corridors, whispering with every vibration.
He touched his Halo Watch. It responded not with the usual hum, but with a faint chime that echoed in the back of his mind.
[Verdant Pulse: Level II Active.]
[Integration: 42%. Synch Stability — Unknown.]
Unknown. That word lingered longer than it should have.
He exhaled and whispered, almost to himself,
"You're not just part of me, are you? You're learning me."
A flicker of green light pulsed under his skin in response — like acknowledgment.
He sat back and listened.
The Doom Train's endless roar wasn't background noise anymore. It was breath, heartbeat, conversation.
And somewhere ahead — faint, deliberate — he could hear something new.
A call.
Sector Nine.
The MUSA Council — The Ten Seats
The chamber floated in darkness — suspended above the shifting network known only to those who served the Circles as its hidden masters.
Ten seats surrounded the void. Only two were lit.
The second seat — Jivan — leaned back with his usual irreverent calm, a faint grin tugging at his mouth even here.
The ninth — Mrityu — stood motionless, draped in obsidian armor laced with geometric light.
A third voice — filtered, distant — filled the void.
The First Seat, whose name none spoke.
"Sector Nine has been triggered. The train will initiate Descent upon arrival."
A murmur of static rippled across the network.
Several seats flickered, their occupants appearing only as silhouettes.
"We were not scheduled for a Descent until next Ascension," spoke the Sixth Seat, tone sharp.
"The train ignores schedules," said Mrityu quietly. "It remembers designs."
Jivan chuckled under his breath.
"Designs, yes. And sometimes, accidents."
He projected the notification onto the center void — the message every Circle contact had received:
[MUSA Candidate Acknowledged. Alignment Initiated.]
Silence.
Then the Tenth Seat spoke — an elderly voice, brittle as static.
"So it's confirmed. The Resonant One is active again."
The words drew a faint smile from Jivan.
"You sound afraid, old friend. I'm almost impressed. It's been what — two centuries since the train last remembered?"
The First Seat's voice broke the tension, calm but absolute.
"Enough. The Descent will continue as signaled. Observation protocols only. No interference."
Jivan tilted his head. "Even if the alignment completes?"
"Especially then," said the First. "If the train remembers him, then he's no longer ours to guide."
Sub-Channel Transmission: Seat Nine
When the others dimmed their channels, Mrityu stayed connected — his holographic visor flickering in solitary blue.
A smaller window pulsed to life beside him: a message stream encrypted beyond normal Circle reach.
[Channel Secured — Candidate Link: Ayush Dhal]
Lines of biometric data scrolled, interlaced with simulation fragments.
Ayush's neural responses pulsed erratically — fast, emotional, human. Mrityu watched in silence.
"Steady your core, Ayush," he said softly, voice devoid of warmth yet not cruel. "The Descent is not meant to be fought. It's meant to filter."
No verbal reply came, but the signal steadied — heartbeat flattening into control.
Mrityu deactivated the feed.
He knew Ayush wouldn't remember this exchange.
The guidance embedded itself only as intuition — a whisper shaping instinct, not memory.
From behind, Jivan's voice floated through the dark:
"Still playing mentor to that boy, are you?"
"Guiding," Mrityu corrected. "Not interfering."
"Semantics," Jivan said, smirking. "You always liked your pupils disciplined."
Mrityu didn't respond.
Jivan's eyes flicked toward the dim silhouettes of the other seats.
"And what of the others? The twins?"
"Gudi and Vedant are under other Circles," Mrityu said. "Their hands will stay limited."
"Limited?" Jivan repeated. "You mean restrained."
"Call it what you like," Mrityu murmured. "Their threads have already been pulled."
The lights of their seats pulsed faintly — acknowledgment signals, meaning watchers elsewhere had heard enough.
When the others vanished, the silence lingered like residue.
Jivan flicked a coin between his fingers — a tiny metal disk etched with the same symbol that had appeared on his console hours ago.
[Resonance Acknowledged.]
He stared at it a moment too long.
"You're early, Raghu," he murmured. "And the train's not supposed to notice early ones."
From the shadows, Mrityu's voice followed.
"Then maybe he's not the train's choice."
Jivan smiled faintly. "No, my friend. He's the train's reminder."
In the quiet corridors where data became pulse and pulse became thought, the Doom Train stirred.
It had heard their meeting. It had heard everything.
Not through wires or sensors — but through memory.
[Observer Synchrony: Active.]
[Descent Countdown Initiated.]
[Sector Nine ETA: 19 Hours.]
And deep within its oldest code, the hidden subroutine pulsed once more — older than MUSA, older than Circles.
[Resonant Core Alignment — Phase III Imminent.]
The Doom Train whispered, its hum turning almost like a laugh — quiet, mechanical, ancient.
And somewhere in his pod, Raghu's pulse matched it perfectly.