Aarav stood alone, the cracked earth beneath his feet radiating a strange heat that seemed to seep into his bones. The air smelled of ash and metal, and a low wind carried dust across the barren wasteland. The sky above was dark, the stars brighter than he'd ever seen—but they were unfamiliar, as if the very heavens had shifted.
He swallowed hard, heart hammering against his ribs. Where am I? Or worse—when am I?
The chrono-band on his wrist blinked steadily, the word RECALIBRATING... flashing over and over in cold, white letters. He tapped it, shook it, but it wouldn't respond.
A distant rumble drew his gaze to the horizon.
There, silhouetted against the starlight, lay the broken remains of a city. Towers crumbled like ancient monuments, their jagged edges clawing at the sky. The outline of what must have once been Kurukshetra was now a ghost town—silent, lifeless.
How could this have happened?
He started walking, the silence pressing in on him with every step. His mind raced with questions. Was this the future? Or had something gone so wrong in the past that this ruin was now his present?
The wind picked up, carrying with it the faintest sound—like the whine of machinery far in the distance. He paused, straining to listen. The noise came again. It wasn't just wind. It was rhythmic, mechanical.
Aarav quickened his pace toward the city, drawn by equal parts dread and hope. Maybe someone was out there. Maybe someone had answers.
As he neared the outskirts of the ruins, the ground beneath him changed—dirt giving way to cracked asphalt and broken tiles. Abandoned vehicles lay in twisted heaps, their metal skeletons rusted and torn. He passed what must have once been a market—stalls overturned, wares long since turned to dust.
A street sign, barely legible, swayed in the breeze: Main Street, Sector 9.
And then he saw it.
A figure, standing at the mouth of an alley. Tall. Motionless. Cloaked in shadows.
"Hello?" Aarav called, his voice hoarse.
The figure didn't move.
Aarav stepped closer, heart pounding. "Please—I need help. I'm lost."
The figure stepped forward.
It wasn't human.
A sleek metal frame glinted in the starlight, its eyes twin orbs of red light. The machine's face was smooth, featureless save for those glowing eyes. Its limbs were long, jointed at odd angles, and it moved with a predator's grace.
Aarav froze.
The Sentinel.
It raised an arm, and from its wrist sprang a blade of pure energy, humming softly.
Aarav turned and ran.
The machine gave chase, its strides unnervingly silent despite its size. Aarav darted through debris, weaving between broken walls and shattered glass. He didn't dare look back—the red glow of the Sentinel's eyes was seared into his mind.
Find shelter. Think.
He spotted a collapsed building with a narrow gap between two slabs of concrete. Without hesitation, he dove through, scraping his arms on jagged metal. He held his breath, listening as the machine's footsteps slowed.
The red glow appeared at the gap's edge. The Sentinel scanned the rubble, its blade flickering. Then, as if sensing prey nearby, it started tearing at the debris, pulling aside chunks of stone with terrifying strength.
Aarav scrambled deeper, heart racing. His fingers found something cold and smooth—a hatch buried beneath the rubble. A faded symbol marked its surface: a gear with a lightning bolt through it.
He had no choice.
He yanked it open and dropped into the darkness below, just as the Sentinel's blade sliced through the space where he'd been.
The hatch sealed shut above him, blocking out the red glow.
Aarav hit the floor hard, gasping for breath. His eyes adjusted to the dim blue glow of lights embedded in the walls. He was in a tunnel—one far older than the ruins above, by the looks of it. The walls were metal, but ancient, worn smooth by time.
What is this place?
The tunnel stretched into darkness in both directions. The hum of machinery echoed faintly through the air. Aarav chose a direction and began moving, trying to keep his panic at bay.
Minutes—or was it hours?—passed as he made his way through the winding corridors. The air grew cooler, and the tunnel sloped downward. Strange markings covered the walls—symbols and numbers he didn't recognize. He tried to memorize them, in case they mattered.
At last, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber.
And what a chamber it was.
Rows upon rows of pods lined the walls, each large enough to hold a person. Most were dark, empty. But a few glowed softly, their windows fogged with condensation. A faint heartbeat-like thrum filled the air.
Aarav stepped closer to one of the pods. Wiped the glass.
A woman lay inside—eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. She couldn't have been much older than him. Her hair floated around her like dark silk, and strange wires connected her to the pod's interior.
"What is this place?" Aarav whispered.
"A sanctuary," a voice said from the shadows.
Aarav spun, fists clenched. From between two pods stepped an old man in tattered clothes, his beard long and white, his eyes sharp despite his age.
"Who are you?" Aarav demanded.
The man chuckled softly. "I might ask the same of you, boy. Not many wander in here from the surface. Most are long gone."
"I—I'm Aarav. I didn't mean to—" His voice faltered. "There was a machine. A Sentinel. It was after me."
The old man's expression darkened. "Then it won't be long before they find this place. Come."
He turned and began walking between the rows of pods. Aarav hesitated, then followed.
"I'm called Viren," the old man said. "I've kept this refuge for many years. Longer than I care to count. These pods—they house the last hope of the old world."
Aarav glanced at the sleeping forms. "They're alive?"
"Barely. We placed them in stasis when the war began. When the Dominion rose and the Sentinels wiped out the resistance. They sleep, waiting for a day that may never come."
Aarav's mind reeled. "The Dominion… they did this?"
Viren stopped at a control panel, fingers dancing over the keys. "The Dominion controls time. They control history. They erased entire generations, rewrote events, and replaced truth with their version of it. Those of us who resisted were hunted, driven underground."
Aarav stared at him. "I have to stop them. I have to go back—fix what went wrong."
Viren looked at him, eyes narrowing. "You're not from here, are you? Not from this time."
Aarav hesitated, then nodded. "I came in a machine. My future self—he was trying to stop them. He said we had to destroy their core. But something went wrong. I ended up here."
Viren's gaze softened. "Then perhaps fate has not abandoned us after all."
The tunnel lights flickered. A low, distant rumble shook the chamber.
"They've found us," Viren said grimly. "The Sentinel must have marked your path."
He gestured to a door at the chamber's far end. "Come. There's one chance left."
They ran, the ground trembling as the enemy drew near. The door led to a smaller room—filled with strange devices and maps of star systems, timelines branching out like trees.
Viren pointed to a machine in the center—a sleek, compact time engine, much smaller than the ones Aarav had seen, but pulsing with raw energy.
"I built this, from scraps and stolen tech. It can send you back. But it can only jump once before it burns out."
Aarav stepped forward, hope igniting in his chest. "Where can it take me?"
"Where you need to go. The machine will align with your chrono-band's last calibration point." Viren gripped his shoulder. "Listen to me, boy. The past is fragile. Change the wrong thing, and you could make this future inevitable. But do nothing… and this wasteland remains."
The chamber shook harder. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Aarav climbed onto the platform. "I'll fix it. I swear."
Viren input the coordinates. "Find your mother before they do. She's the key. More than you know."
The door burst open. The Sentinel stepped inside, blade raised.
Viren slammed his hand on the activation panel.
Light engulfed Aarav.
When the light faded, he stood in a place that was both familiar and strange.
The air smelled of rain. The city around him was alive—Kurukshetra as it must have been before it fell. Neon lights flickered, people hurried along the streets, unaware of the storm that history would soon bring.
Aarav looked at his chrono-band. The date flashed: March 13th, 2091.
One day before the letter had been written. One day before everything had begun.
He had another chance.
But as he stepped forward, blending into the crowd, he felt a prickle of unease.
Someone was watching him.
Across the street, in the shadow of an alley, a figure stood. A woman.
She stepped into the light, and Aarav's breath caught.
It was his mother.
But not as he remembered.
Her eyes glowed faintly blue, and a cold smile played at her lips. In her hand, she held a device that hummed with dark energy.
Their eyes met.
And Aarav knew—in this timeline, she was already theirs.