Rain drummed against the glass walls of CityCare Super Speciality Hospital, turning the lights of Delhi into blurred rivers of gold.
The clock on the emergency floor glowed 2:17 AM.
For most people, the city was asleep.
For Dr Aarya Sharma, the night was just beginning.
The shrill sound of his pager tore through the silence.
Aarya's eyes snapped open.
The message flashed:
EMERGENCY OT – CRITICAL GUNSHOT CASE
He was already on his feet.
His white coat swung behind him as he strode through the corridor, polished shoes clicking sharply against the floor. Nurses and junior doctors instinctively moved aside the moment they saw him.
At twenty-eight, Aarya was already the hospital's most trusted trauma surgeon.
Some called him a miracle doctor.
Others whispered that he was too calm for a man who spent every night wrestling with death.
Both were true.
As the OT doors slid open, the metallic scent of blood hit him like a wall.
On the operating table lay a young man in a torn black suit, his shirt drenched in crimson.
Three gunshot wounds.
One in the shoulder.
One near the ribs.
One dangerously close to the heart.
Chief Surgeon Verma looked up, sweat dripping from his forehead.
"Aarya… we're losing him. The bullet nicked the pulmonary artery."
Aarya's gaze sharpened.
"Name?"
The room fell strangely silent.
Finally, one nurse answered in a whisper.
"Rudra Malhotra."
Even the machines seemed louder after that.
The Malhotras.
One of the most powerful names in Delhi.
Officially a corporate empire.
Unofficially, the city's shadows belonged to them.
Aarya slipped on his gloves.
"Scalpel."
The room moved instantly.
He stepped closer to the table, and the world narrowed to one thing.
The patient.
The operation began.
Clamp.
Incision.
Suction.
His hands moved with impossible precision.
Every stitch is exact.
Every movement is smooth.
As if he had done this surgery a hundred times before.
Then his fingers touched the bullet.
A pulse ran through it.
Cold.
Wrong.
For a heartbeat, the bright white OT lights vanished.
Aarya stood on a battlefield, drowned in fire.
The sky burnt red.
Broken chariots littered the ground.
Warriors screamed as steel clashed.
At the centre stood a man clad in black-gold armour, a spear wreathed in violet flames clenched in his hand.
Behind him towered a dragon made of living shadow.
It roared into the heavens.
Then the warrior turned.
Aarya's breath caught.
It was his face.
Older.
Harder.
Ancient.
A voice thundered through the battlefield.
"The heir has awakened."
"Aarya!"
The vision shattered.
He was back in the OT.
The monitor screamed.
BEEEEEEP—
Flatline.
The room erupted into panic.
"We're losing him!"
"Cardiac arrest!"
Aarya's voice cut through the chaos like steel.
"Defibrillator. Charge 200."
The nurse obeyed.
He pressed the paddles down.
"Clear!"
Rudra's body jolted.
Nothing.
Again.
"Clear!"
Still nothing.
Aarya stepped forward and placed his hand directly over Rudra's chest.
The moment skin touched skin—
Pain exploded across his own chest.
A searing heat burnt beneath his shirt.
A dragon-shaped mark flared alive on his skin.
The heartbeat monitor flickered.
Then—
BEEP.
Once.
Twice.
Then steady.
Silence.
The entire OT froze.
Chief Verma stared.
"He's stable…"
Aarya slowly stepped back.
His pulse thundered in his ears.
That should have been impossible.
The surgery ended at 4:03 AM.
Rudra Malhotra lived.
As Aarya stepped out of the OT, the corridor had transformed.
Black-suited men lined both sides like statues.
Silent.
Armed.
At the centre stood a tall silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored black coat.
His presence alone made the corridor colder.
Vikram Malhotra.
The city called him a billionaire.
The underworld called him the King of Shadows.
His eyes locked onto Aarya.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Vikram inclined his head.
A small gesture.
Yet powerful enough to leave every nurse staring.
"You saved my son."
His voice was calm.
Dangerously calm.
Aarya met his gaze.
"I did my job."
A faint smile touched Vikram's lips.
"Few men can say that while looking me in the eye."
Before Aarya could respond, another figure stepped forward.
A woman.
Long black hair.
Sharp, elegant features.
A crimson dress beneath a dark coat.
Her beauty was undeniable.
But it was her eyes that held him.
Intelligent.
Cold.
Dangerous.
"This is my daughter," Vikram said. "Arya Malhotra."
Their gazes locked.
For a moment, the world narrowed.
Something unreadable flickered in her expression.
Then her eyes moved to his chest.
To the place beneath his shirt where the mark still burnt.
Shock flashed across her face.
Gone as quickly as it came.
Interesting.
Vikram placed a sleek black metal card on the table beside him.
DOMINION GLOBAL
"Our gratitude."
Aarya glanced at it but did not touch it.
"I don't accept gifts from patients."
Arya Malhotra's lips curved slightly.
"Confident."
Aarya met her gaze.
"Professional."
For the first time, something like amusement flickered in her eyes.
Then the corridor lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Emergency red lights flooded the hallway.
A cold wind rushed through the corridor.
A whisper brushed against Aarya's ear.
Soft.
Ancient.
"Aaryaveer…"
He turned sharply.
No one stood behind him.
Only shadows.
Then, in the reflection of the glass wall—
for one terrifying second—
Black dragon wings unfurled behind him.
He blinked.
Gone.
The storm outside roared louder.
And somewhere beneath the sleeping city, something ancient had begun to stir.
Destiny had finally found him.