Morning came in quietly, like it always did in their part of the city — not with the sharp blast of alarms or police sirens, but with the distant clinking of milk bottles, the dull drone of autorickshaws turning corners, and a few elderly voices arguing about politics at the tea stall below.
Rudra stirred in his bed. No dreams. Just that same heavy silence inside him, the kind he'd started getting used to since the Zix Core awoke. It didn't hum anymore — at least, not the way it used to — but he could still feel it there, like a second presence folded into his body, waiting, watching.
But this morning wasn't about any of that.
It was about them.
His family.
The people who still saw him as just Rudra — student, son, the one who forgets to bring milk packets on the way home.
He sat up, stretched out his arms, and looked around his room. Posters of old sci-fi movies still hung on the wall — dusty, curling at the corners. His laptop blinked faintly beside the bed, and the water bottle on his desk was half-empty from last night.
No one here would call him powerful.
And honestly, he didn't mind that.
He stepped out of his room and into the small hallway that connected the bedrooms to the kitchen. The smell of frying onions was already in the air. That meant only one thing.
His mother was awake.
---
Family Routine
"Tu uth gaya?" his mother called without turning, still focused on stirring something in the kadhai.
"Yeah, just now," Rudra replied, rubbing his eyes. "Smells good. You're making aloo poha?"
"Of course," she said, almost insulted that he even had to ask. "What else do you think I'd make when potatoes are about to go bad? I'm not throwing them just because you kids want Maggi every other day."
He walked into the small kitchen-dining area, leaned against the wall, and watched her cook. She wore the same olive-green housecoat she'd had for years — faded now, and patched at the sleeve — but to him, it looked right. Familiar.
"You could've let me do it, Ma. You slept late too," Rudra said.
She gave him a glance that made it clear she wasn't in the mood for pointless sympathy.
"I'm not an old woman yet, Rudra. Don't talk like you're my father."
He smiled faintly and sat down at the table. "Fair."
Just then, a door creaked open at the far end of the hallway, and a tall figure walked out, groggy-eyed, with half-buttoned shirt and that familiar morning scowl on his face.
Rudra's father.
"Water," he grunted. "Cold."
Rudra was already pouring a glass before he could sit.
---
His Father – The Quiet Core of the House
Rudra's father — Sanjay — wasn't the loud type. He wasn't one of those dads who made big speeches or tried to sound wise all the time. He was a quiet worker, the kind who'd spent twenty years in the same desk job at the electricity department without ever missing a day.
He didn't talk much. He didn't complain.
But his presence filled a room when he entered it.
"News?" Sanjay asked, sipping the water.
"Phone's charging," Rudra replied. "I'll get it in a bit."
Sanjay nodded. That was enough. He wasn't the kind to chase breaking headlines. But he liked to listen while drinking his tea. Said it helped him "stay awake without getting angry."
The two of them sat quietly for a while — one sipping water, the other poking at a peeled orange from yesterday.
Then his father broke the silence.
"You've been sleeping less," he said, not looking at Rudra.
"I'm managing," Rudra said casually. "College is heavier this semester."
Sanjay didn't reply immediately. He just nodded, but his fingers tapped the edge of the glass, slowly.
He'd noticed something.
Rudra knew.
But neither of them brought it up.
---
The First Shift
It started with small things.
Three nights ago, Rudra had tried something unusual. He had whispered a small request to the Zix Core — something harmless. Something personal.
> "Give him something. Not power, not strength. Just… resilience. Something to help him sleep better. Something that keeps him steady. He's done enough already."
There was no dramatic light. No special effect.
Just a slight shift in the air.
And the next day, Rudra saw his father do something strange.
He had stopped walking with a limp.
It wasn't huge — just a slight stiffness in the left leg that came from an old bike accident. Rudra had seen it for years. But now… it was gone.
He didn't bring it up. Neither did his father.
But it was there.
And now, this morning, his father reached behind to scratch his neck and casually lifted a heavy steel bucket of water with one hand — something he used to call Rudra for.
Not a word was said.
But Rudra's mind kept replaying it.
---
Lunch Talk
At noon, Rudra sat with his mother and younger sister at the table. She was scrolling through her phone, watching some makeup tutorial, not really listening to anything anyone was saying.
"You're wasting your eyes with that screen," their mother muttered.
"It's a review video, Ma," the sister replied.
"I don't care. You've been looking at that thing since breakfast. Go take a walk."
Rudra glanced at her. "She's got online classes later too. Let her breathe."
Their mother rolled her eyes. "You both defend each other like politicians. Watch what happens when you move out — I'll finally have some silence in this house."
"You'll miss us within a week," Rudra replied, voice relaxed.
"I'll miss the dishes getting done on time."
The banter was familiar. Comfortable.
And it made Rudra ache a little inside.
Because none of them knew that he was already changing.
That he was watching people and thinking in terms of protection, power influence, and spiritual sync. That he was slowly building a hidden empire they might one day be a part of — without even knowing they were chosen for it.
And now his father — the man who never asked for anything — was starting to show signs of something awakening.
---
Evening
That night, after dinner, Rudra stepped out onto the narrow balcony to get some air. The street lights flickered lazily. Someone was playing a slow song in a building across the lane.
His father joined him a minute later, arms folded, quiet as usual.
They stood there for a long time, just watching traffic roll by.
Then his father said, almost too casually:
"You ever feel like you're holding something you don't understand?"
Rudra looked at him carefully.
"What do you mean?"
His father didn't turn. He just kept looking forward.
"Sometimes I wake up, and I feel like I've done something important," he said slowly. "Like I fought a fight, or solved something big. But there's no memory. Just… calm."
Rudra's mouth went dry for a second.
He managed a smile. "That's probably just good dreams. Your brain sorting itself out."
His father didn't argue.
He just nodded, like always.
But Rudra knew — something had begun.
Quiet. Gentle. But real.
He looked up at the sky, and the Zix Core's interface flickered faintly behind his eyes.
> Passive Transfer Successful
Subject: Sanjay
Status: Stable
Cognitive Adaptation: In Progress
Potential Role: Hidden Anchor
Rudra said nothing.
But deep inside, he made a promise.
They wouldn't just be protected.
They would be part of it.
All of it.
Even if they never knew how.