The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling like the growl of a beast in the dark. Rain poured in sheets, soaking the world in grey.
"Why are you here, Armaan?"
Farmaan's voice was firm, carrying the weight of years—of battles, secrets, and scars. He stood at the doorway, his towering frame casting a long shadow in the flickering lamplight.
Armaan stood just beyond the threshold, panting heavily, water dripping from his hair, clothes clinging to his body.
"I've… I've been having really bad dreams," he managed between gasps.
"Ever since the football championship… they haven't stopped."
Farmaan's eyes narrowed slightly—not in confusion, but focus.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, stepping back to let the boy inside.
"Explain it to me properly… in detail."
Farmaan handed Armaan a thick towel as the boy stepped inside, completely drenched. Rain dripped from his hair, leaving small puddles on the floor.
"Here. Dry yourself," Farmaan said, closing the door behind him. The rain outside continued to rage, thunder rumbling like a warning from the heavens.
Armaan nodded silently and rubbed his face with the towel, his breath still heavy. They moved to the aangan, where Farmaan lit a small lantern and gestured toward the old wooden sofa. The flame cast a soft, flickering glow across the courtyard walls.
Farmaan sat down beside him.
"Now… spill it," he said gently, but firmly.
Armaan gripped the edge of the towel, his knuckles pale.
"…Gramps… have you ever heard of a dragon coming in a rakshak's dream? Or even a human's… and asking them—'When are you coming?'"
Farmaan frowned, brows knitting.
"What do you mean by that, Armaan?"
Armaan inhaled shakily, his voice cracking under the weight of fear.
"It's been happening ever since the football championship. Every night. I close my eyes and suddenly I'm standing… somewhere else. A place so dark it feels like the end of everything."
His eyes stared ahead as if he were falling into the memory.
"There's no ground. No sky. No light. Just an endless, pitch-black void. And I'm alone. Floating or standing—I don't even know. But then…"
He paused. His voice trembled now.
"I hear footsteps. Or something like them. And out of that darkness… it appears."
Farmaan leaned in, listening carefully.
"A dragon. Massive. Monstrous. Its eyes are pitch black, deeper than the void around it. And its entire body is crimson. But not like a painted red—real blood-red. I can see blood flowing through it… in every direction, beneath its scales. Thick, pulsing veins criss-crossing its body. Like it's alive. Alive and ancient."
Thunder rumbled again outside, as if reacting to his words.
"And it looks at me. Just… stares. Every time. Those black eyes don't blink. Don't waver. And then… it says the same thing—'When are you coming?' That's all. Then I wake up. Every single night. Drenched in sweat. Heart pounding. Like it's not just a dream. Like it's… waiting for me."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Farmaan didn't speak for a while. The weight of Armaan's words pressed on his chest like stone. Even with his decades of experience, even with all the secrets the rakshaks and guardians knew… this?
This was something else.
Finally, his voice came out low and grim.
"…This isn't just a nightmare, Armaan. This is a summons. From something that shouldn't even exist."
He looked into Armaan's eyes.
"And the worst part is—whatever it is… it knows who you are."
Farmaan placed a firm hand on Armaan's shoulder, grounding him.
"Listen, Armaan," he said with a calm, thoughtful tone, "the solution to every mental stress, fear, and strain—no matter how terrifying—is meditation."
Armaan looked confused. "Meditation? How is that going to help against… that?"
Farmaan stood up, his voice steady and full of the wisdom earned through years of experience.
"If something can reach you through your dreams… if it can invade the deepest parts of your consciousness—then that means your soul is already connected to it. The link is there. What you need… is to use it."
He began walking toward the staircase. "Come."
Armaan followed him silently, still trying to process everything.
They reached the first floor—right above the old, creaky ground level—and Farmaan stopped in front of a plain wooden door. He pushed it open slowly.
Inside was a completely empty room. No furniture. No dust. Just smooth stone flooring and the soft scent of sandalwood carried by the old bricks in the wall. The only window was cracked open, letting in a cool breeze. Moonlight shone in faintly, casting silver streaks on the floor.
"This," Farmaan said, stepping inside, "will be your space now."
Armaan blinked. "But it's… just a room."
"It's exactly what you need," Farmaan replied, turning to face him. "Here, you'll sit. You'll breathe. You'll let go of the noise around you. And you'll concentrate everything you have—your mind, your heart, your soul—on reaching it. That dragon… whatever it truly is… may have come to you first. But that doesn't mean you have to wait for it to speak again."
He stepped closer, his eyes intense now.
"If it can invade your dreams, then you can invade its silence. Speak to it. Question it. Demand answers. But never forget one thing—"
Farmaan's voice dropped into a warning whisper.
"—Before you can understand the message, you must first understand the messenger."
Armaan stood frozen in the moonlit room, staring at the floor. His breath was steadying now. Slowly, he nodded.
"I'll do it."
Farmaan gave a small smile and placed his hand once again on Armaan's shoulder.
"I'll keep watch from outside. Take your time."
As Farmaan left the room and closed the door behind him, Armaan walked to the center of the room. He sat down cross-legged. The wind whispered softly through the window.
He closed his eyes.
Breathed in.
And the darkness began to stir again.
Armaan drew in a deep, slow breath.
He silenced every thought.
He silenced every fear.
He silenced… himself.
And then, he focused—entirely—on the center of his being. A still point in the middle of his chest, where breath, soul, and thought met.
For a moment… there was peace.
But then, a sudden chill ran down his spine.
His skin prickled.
His lungs felt like they were being squeezed from the inside.
And then—
WHOOSH!
It felt like his entire existence was being vacuumed out of the room. His body didn't move—but his consciousness was torn free and dragged backward, as if the world itself was yanking him into something far older… far darker.
His eyes snapped open.
But they didn't see the room anymore.
He was no longer in the meditation chamber.
He was suspended in mid-air.
Floating.
Breathing.
Alone.
In the same pitch-black void with no ending.
A realm of absolute nothingness.
No stars.
No ground.
No ceiling.
Just him… and the silence that rang louder than thunder.
He looked down—there was nothing beneath him. Looked up—nothing. All around him, an empty expanse.
It wasn't just black.
It was the absence of all things.
And then…
The voice came.
Low… ancient… laced with raw power that made even silence bend to its will.
"So finally… you talked to me, Armaan."
Armaan's breath caught in his throat.
His body trembled, shaking in fear, the weight of the voice pressing down on his very soul like an ocean trying to drown a single flame.
But he clenched his fists… shut his eyes for a moment…
Took a deep breath.
And looked into the void.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"And what do you want from me?"
A deep, rumbling growl echoed around him, like thunder rolling through a hollow world.
And then… it emerged.
From the endless dark, a serpent-like figure began to take form—its colossal size impossible to measure. Its crimson body pulsed with glowing veins of flowing blood, as though a million rivers of war raged within it.
Its eyes were pitch black, like dying stars, pulling light into them.
Its scales were jagged, some broken, like scars of countless wars.
And its presence…
Unbearable. Divine. Ancient.
"Me?"
"I'm the Great Dragon of Deep Sea Bloodshed, one of the Five Ruling Dragons of the Draconic Realm."
"I reigned as a king for millions of years."
"But above all…"
The voice dropped, heavy with a pride older than time.
"I am the son of the Creator of the Draconic Realm…
the strongest dragon ever born… the Black Hole Dragon."