Rewinding Time — Days before the Titans returned from the Vega System — Earth — Delhi, India — Singh Residence
Delhi never truly quieted. Even at sunset, the city swelled into a single, restless chorus: car horns overlapping, scooters threading through gaps in traffic, vendors calling out last prices as the sky slipped into evening. Somewhere beyond the apartment blocks, temple bells rang—loud, yet strangely soothing.
In a modest apartment in South Delhi, Kiran Singh sat cross-legged on her bed with an economics textbook open on her lap.
She hadn't turned the page in twenty minutes.
A pencil rolled between her fingers, spinning, stopping, spinning again.
She'd done everything she was supposed to after school—freshened up, exercised, helped with chores, reviewed her notes, finished the practice questions.
And still, the moment she let her mind breathe, it drifted back into the same tight knot of unease.
She didn't know when the anxiety had taken root. It wasn't the upcoming tests. It wasn't fear of failing. If anything, she was doing better than ever.
It was the feeling that something was wrong somewhere in the world, beyond her reach, like a storm gathering in the distance.
The news didn't help.
Every night, the anchors spoke about the Great Tide. They replayed aerial footage of destroyed coastlines and neighborhoods, Taiwan swallowed whole, refugees crammed into unfamiliar nations while the Justice League and UN teams worked to keep order. Then came the revelation that turned dread into nausea: it hadn't been an accident. Someone had done it on purpose. A terrorist attack.
Kiran couldn't understand what kind of person could unleash such devastation.
And yet, when the fear started to squeeze too hard, one memory could still suppress it.
A memory from a year and a half ago: a strange encounter during her family's visit to Varanasi.
A crowd pressed toward the ghats in a single shifting mass. In the jostle of bodies, Kiran collided with a stranger after she slipped away from her parents, chasing the tempting smell of her favorite street food.
He looked like a kind foreign uncle—gentle eyes, an easy smile, the sort of face that made you relax before you even knew why.
But it was the warmth around him that froze her in place.
For a heartbeat, she swore she could see it: a warm aura surrounding him. Within that aura, something vast looked back at her—a silhouette too immense for her mind to hold, wearing a gentle, kind smile.
The vision was unforgettable. Even now, the comfort it brought anchored her against the anxiety.
After that day, life began to change in ways no one could explain.
She woke from sleep feeling different, as if a locked door inside her had cracked open and something patient had begun to stir. Whenever she tried to name it, or even find where it lived in her body, the words wouldn't come.
On the outside, her body began to change. She grew stronger, healthier, sharper.
The changes shocked her family and teachers alike. During routine physicals, doctors ran tests and found nothing wrong. Relatives offered praise and sweet smiles. Her mother even started saying it out loud whenever people mentioned Kiran's growth, insisting the gods had blessed her.
"The gods smiled on my daughter," Rani Singh told the neighbors.
Kiran didn't argue. It was easier than admitting the truth. The change felt less like a gift from the gods and more like something inside her shifting, waking, coiling tighter with every passing day.
And that wasn't even the strangest part.
The strangest part had something to do with Lord Shiva.
The Singhs were devout worshippers of the Hindu gods. Vishnu the Preserver was honored first in their household, but like most families, they kept space for the whole Trimurti: Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the Destroyer. Every morning, her mother performed puja at the small shrine in the living room, lighting incense and an oil lamp as she murmured mantras, offering prayers to the pantheon and showing respect to all the gods.
And every morning, when Kiran tried to pray to Shiva…
She felt nothing.
With the other mantras, she felt something stir inside her: a faint resonance, a settling calm, the familiar peace that came from surrendering breath to sound.
But when she turned her chants toward Shiva, there was only a blank hollow, as if her words were falling into a void.
Like stepping into a room where someone should have been waiting, and finding only a faint outline in the air where a person used to stand.
At first she told herself she was imagining it. She tried harder, repeated every syllable with care.
Yet the emptiness remained.
One morning, she couldn't keep it to herself any longer, so she decided to talk to her parents, starting with her mother.
"Maa," she said softly, keeping her voice low so her father wouldn't hear from the next room. "Do you ever feel… strange when you pray to Lord Shiva?"
Her mother paused mid-motion, a pinch of salt between her fingers. "Strange?" Confusion flickered across her face. "What do you mean, beta?"
Kiran hesitated, then swallowed. "It's hard to explain, but lately when I pray to Lord Shiva, it's like… something's missing. Like I'm speaking and no one is there. Have you ever felt anything like that?"
Rani's expression shifted into a frown. "Kiran, don't say things like that. Lord Shiva is one of the Trimurti."
"I'm not trying to—I'm not disrespecting—" Kiran said defensively, her expression troubled.
"Hush." Rani's voice softened. She let the pinch of salt fall into the dish, brushed her hands clean, and cupped Kiran's cheeks, worry and tenderness slipping through despite herself. "Baccha, you're studying too hard. That's all. Stress makes the mind invent problems. Why don't I talk to your Papa and we go out to relax?"
Kiran opened her mouth, but when she saw the concern in her mother's eyes, she closed it again and forced a small smile. "Sounds good, Maa."
Rani smiled, nodded, and let her daughter go. "Good. Now go enjoy some time with your Papa. I should be done with dinner soon enough."
But the moment Kiran turned away, her smile vanished. Frowning, she walked into the living room, where her father sat on the sofa, resting and watching the news.
"Papa," she said, taking a deep breath. "I have a question."
Vijay Singh raised an eyebrow and tapped the seat beside him.
Kiran nodded, sat down next to him, and began to explain what she'd been feeling.
Even her father—an archaeologist who could explain a buried civilization with calm certainty—looked slightly unsettled when Kiran finally admitted it to him.
"I… I'm not sure," he said slowly, rubbing his chin. Though devout, he was rational too. "But you're not being disrespectful, beta. Asking questions is never wrong."
He hesitated, then gave a small nod, as if he'd made up his mind.
"You're a smart girl," he said. "I know your mother means well, but I don't think this is just stress. Let's talk to someone who might understand. Come."
After making an excuse to Rani about going for a walk, they went to the local temple.
Once there, they sought out a family friend: the local priest. He listened with narrowed eyes, and as Kiran spoke, his expression darkened into something solemn.
When she finished, he answered at once, his voice sharp.
"Child, these are not casual words. When you give doubt a voice, you give it weight, and it can invite misfortune. Lord Shiva is the Destroyer, yes, but also the one who transforms and renews. He is as essential to our reality as breath itself. So do what must be done. Fast on Mondays. Bathe before puja. Recite the mantras one hundred and eight times. And do not keep this doubt alive by repeating it. If you are struggling, take it as a sign that your discipline has slipped, not that the divine has failed you. Pray with focus and you will feel the divine. Be patient and let these thoughts pass without feeding them. Faith is a practice. Treat it like one."
Kiran's throat tightened. Shame surged behind her eyes—hot, humiliating, and utterly undeserved.
Her father's expression iced over. He stepped between Kiran and the priest before another word could land.
"How dare you," Vijay said, voice low and cutting. "My daughter came for guidance, not sanctimonious judgment."
"Papa, don't—" Kiran startled, reaching for his arm.
Vijay glanced down, saw the distress on her face, and forced his breathing to steady. When he looked back up, the chill in his eyes remained.
"Thank you for your time, elder," he said evenly. "Have a good day."
He took Kiran's hand and led her out as the priest muttered under his breath and turned away.
After that day, Kiran stopped bringing it up.
She kept praying anyway—quietly, stubbornly—ignoring the void inside her. She learned to smile at her mother's reassurances. She learned to nod when relatives called her "blessed."
And through it all, she felt the warmth in her chest continue to grow.
It was faint, but present, like a second heartbeat she could only feel when she concentrated hard enough.
Late at night, she would press a palm to her sternum and concentrate until she found it: a pulse that didn't feel like flesh and blood. Something living, vast, and coiled deep inside her soul.
Today, as she watched the evening turn into night, and her mind recalled all of it, she couldn't help but sigh. Looking at the time, she closed her book, gathered her stationery, set it on the desk, and prepared for bed.
She went to sleep exhausted after a long day of classes, her mind already sliding toward rest when the dream began.
But it wasn't like any dream she'd ever had.
It was vivid. Real. Present. As if her mind had been lifted out of her body and carried somewhere else.
She found herself standing in an infinite space filled with soft golden light. The ground beneath her feet was solid, but it looked like flowing water, rippling with each step.
And before her stood a figure—towering, radiant, with four arms and a serene expression that radiated infinite compassion.
"Kiran Singh."
The voice was gentle, yet still carried enough weight to make her bones remember how small they were.
"Do not be afraid, child. I am Vishnu, the Preserver. I have called you here for a purpose."
Kiran tried to speak. Nothing came out. Questions piled up behind her teeth until her jaw ached.
Vishnu watched her with a faint, knowing softness, as if he'd seen this panic in a thousand mortals before. "Breathe," he said. "Slowly. Let your mind settle."
A calm presence flowed over her like warm light. Her thoughts stopped stampeding. Her chest loosened. Her heartbeat eased into a steadier rhythm.
Only then did her voice return.
She bowed her head, forcing air into her lungs. "Lord Vishnu… is it truly you?"
"It is enough that you recognize me," Vishnu replied, inclining his head.
Kiran's hands shook at her sides. "Then… why am I here?"
"I know you have many questions," Vishnu said. "But there is little time. Listen carefully. You were chosen."
"Chosen?" The word came out sharper than she intended. "Me?"
"Yes." A hint of wryness touched his smile. "But not by me. By another. One far beyond any deity of this realm."
Cold prickled along Kiran's spine. "Who?"
"You were gifted with power by the man you met in Varanasi," Vishnu said. "The one you remember as a kind uncle. In truth, he was a higher-realm being in disguise. The same one you have heard of, the one who has made your world his home. The one named Orach, a being beyond the boundaries of your reality."
Kiran's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock. Varanasi flashed behind her eyes—the collision, the impossible peace in the stranger's gaze, the sense of standing too close to something vast.
Orach.
She knew that name too well. A being feared and revered in nearly equal measure.
Kiran swallowed hard. "What… what did he do to me?"
"I cannot read his true designs," Vishnu said, voice steady. "But I can speculate. In that instant, he likely looked into your soul and found it… pure. Moved by what he saw, he granted you a thread of his power. A fragment of divine energy from beyond our realm."
Kiran could barely blink.
"Even I cannot fully comprehend the nature of that gift," Vishnu admitted. "Or the limits of what it may become. But I know this: you have been changed. And soon, that change will manifest."
Her throat tightened. "Why me?"
"Because fate is not simple," Vishnu said. "Because sometimes a single meeting becomes a hinge the world turns on. Your soul likely resonated with his nature. And now… you will be needed."
His gaze sharpened, the softness giving way to gravity.
"A great crisis approaches," he said. "One that may endanger not only your nation, but your whole world, and perhaps more. The balance is shifting. Darkness is gathering."
Kiran forced her voice to stay steady. "What crisis? What am I supposed to do?"
"You are to be a champion," Vishnu said. "A guardian of the Indian subcontinent. But you will not stand alone. Two others have been chosen as well, each with different gifts. Together, the three of you—alongside Earth's champions—will defend your world when the true threat arrives."
The words landed hard on her shoulders, and her expression crumpled under their weight.
"But… why do you need champions at all?" she blurted. "You are a god. One of the Supremes. One of the Trimurti. Can't you just—"
"There are laws, child," Vishnu interrupted softly, and for the first time his weariness showed. "Rules that bind even the divine. We cannot manifest our true forms and full power in the mortal realm except under circumstances so dire they would shatter the world in the attempt. Our avatars are limited. Our intervention is constrained."
He let that settle.
"That is why champions are necessary," he continued. "Mortals who can act where we cannot. Mortals who can fight without tearing reality apart."
Vishnu's radiance began to thin, his outline trembling as if turning to light.
"Wait!" Kiran stepped forward, panic returning. "There's something I need to ask—something I don't understand!"
Vishnu steadied, holding himself in place. "Speak."
Kiran hesitated. She'd carried this alone for months.
"It's Lord Shiva," she said, the words spilling out before she could soften them. "Ever since Varanasi—ever since I met Orach—I feel disconnected from him. When I pray, when I stand before his image… there's nothing. Just emptiness. Many near me think I'm disrespecting him. That my faith is weak. But I swear I'm not trying to doubt him. Something is wrong, and I don't understand why."
For the first time, Vishnu's serenity faltered.
Silence stretched for a long moment.
Then, slowly, concern surfaced on his face. "That is… troubling," he said. "I do not have an answer. By all rights, you should perceive the Destroyer as clearly as you perceive me. The Trimurti are interconnected—three aspects of the same cosmic function."
"Then why—" Her voice broke.
"I do not know."
The admission chilled her. This wasn't a priest avoiding her question. This was a Supreme.
Vishnu's gaze drifted, as if he were searching a tapestry only he could see. "I will contemplate it. But I suspect it may be connected to Orach's gift. His power lies beyond our hierarchies. Beyond the rules that govern our pantheon. It may have altered your spiritual perception in ways even I cannot predict."
He paused.
"It is also possible," he continued, "that once you awaken and begin to wield what lies within you, the nature of this disconnect will reveal itself. Sometimes understanding follows power."
His glow began to fade again, faster now.
"Trust yourself, Kiran Singh," Vishnu said, voice steady as he thinned into light. "Trust the gift you have been given. When the time comes, do not hesitate. Your people will need you. Your world will need you."
"Wait!" Kiran reached for him. "How will I find the others? How will I even know when—"
But he was already gone.
The golden space collapsed.
Kiran fell through layers of light and silence, tumbling backward into waking.
She jolted upright in bed with a gasp, heart hammering, dawn barely smudging the curtains with pale light.
For a long time, she sat rigid, trying to convince herself it had been only a dream.
But the memory was too vivid.
Too real.
"Do I…" Her voice came out as a whisper. "Do I really have power?"
She closed her eyes and reached inward with senses she didn't understand.
There it was again.
Warmth—faint but unmistakable—coiled deep inside her like a second heartbeat.
She tried to grasp it. To pull it forward.
Minutes stretched into an hour. Ultimately, nothing happened. Sometimes, if she concentrated hard enough, she caught a whisper of sensation—smoke slipping through her fingers, a melody just beyond hearing.
But still, nothing manifested.
At last she slumped against the headboard, exhausted and frustrated. Half of her believed what she'd seen. The other half insisted it was stress, imagination, a mind desperate to give fear a shape.
She checked the time, saw the morning strengthening beyond the window, and forced herself back into routine.
An exam waited next week. Whatever the gods wanted could wait. Teachers didn't accept divine missions as an excuse.
"Kiran!" her mother called from the kitchen after she'd washed and dressed. "Come, have breakfast!"
"Coming, Maa!"
While the Singh family began their day, in other corners of India—in Mumbai, in Bangalore—two other lives were already tilting toward the impossible.
The pieces were sliding into place.
The champions were being prepared.
That Afternoon, Delhi, India
The sun hung low over the city. Kiran wove through the marketplace on her way home from school, her bag bumping against her hip while her mind stayed knotted around the same thought.
Vishnu's words still echoed in her mind. They were too vivid to dismiss as a dream.
At a street corner she slowed, closed her eyes, and searched for that strange warmth in her chest. It was there—faint as an ember. And the moment she tried to hold it, to pin it down and make it obey, it slipped away again like smoke through her fingers.
"Still no use," she murmured, forcing herself not to spiral.
If the Preserver had spoken the truth, then one day that warmth would become something she could actually use. But right now it was just a tease, and doubt kept finding cracks in her determination.
Kiran exhaled and started walking again.
'Let's just get home. Maa will worry if I'm late.'
Just then, the shriek of tires cut through the market noise. Kiran's head snapped toward the street—and time seemed to slow, the world stretching into slow motion before her eyes.
An elderly woman stepped off the curb, eyes fixed on something in her hands, drifting straight into the path of a car cutting the corner too fast.
Kiran moved before thought could catch up.
She sprinted, grabbed the woman by the shoulders, and shoved hard.
The woman stumbled and crashed onto the sidewalk with a startled cry—shaken, but alive.
But Kiran's relief that hit her on seeing the woman safe, lasted less than a second, because her own momentum carried her forward.
A half-step too far.
She turned and saw a delivery truck swerving to avoid the car, fishtailing out of control, horn blaring. The driver's face was white with horror as the truck slid sideways—straight toward her.
There was no room to jump back.
No time to run.
In that instant, a lifetime of images slammed through her mind: her parents' faces, her friends, her dreams—everything she'd wanted to become, everything she wasn't ready to lose.
And then, impossibly, she saw him again—the kind-eyed "uncle." That impossible aura around him, that vast silhouette within it, smiling gently at her.
Kiran threw her arms up, turned her head away, and squeezed her eyes shut.
'Maa, Papa… I'm sorry—'
But, in that instant, the warmth in her chest detonated.
Golden light burst from her like a reflex. It snapped into shape instinctively—an arc of golden light that hardened into a shimmering shield between her and the oncoming truck.
The truck slammed into it with a deafening crash.
Metal screamed. The front end crumpled, folding in on itself as if it had hit an unmovable wall.
But Kiran felt nothing.
No jolt.
No pain.
Only heat that familiar warmth flooding her body like a tide, fierce and alive.
For a heartbeat, amid the chaos, she heard only silence and the hard thud of her own heart.
Slowly, she opened her eyes, then widened them in shock.
Golden light clung to her skin like a second veil. The shield hovered protectively before her, flawless and steady.
She stared down at her hands in disbelief as threads of golden light crawled along her fingers—obedient, warm, and almost… affectionate.
"This… this is… my power?" The words came out thin and trembling. And with the realization came something else: a strange, instinctive understanding. Her power had finally manifested, but it was still waking up.
Then the world rushed back in.
"Oh my God!"
"What is that?!"
"Watch out!"
The crowd's shouts yanked her out of her daze.
A smaller car clipped the truck's wreckage, spun, and slammed into a pole. Above the sidewalk, a heavy sign shuddered loose with a grinding snap and began to collapse toward a cluster of people.
Screams rose.
Kiran didn't have time to be afraid.
Her hand lifted on instinct—clean, decisive.
Golden light flared around her and shot outward, stretching like a living extension of her will. It caught the falling metal mid-drop and held it suspended for a heartbeat.
Then the light intensified, shining brighter and brighter.
The twisted sign and its supports disintegrated in a silent burn.
No ash.
No sparks.
Just gone.
Kiran's mouth fell open as she stared at the empty air.
"Did… did I do that?" she whispered in disbelief.
But the voices were already swelling again.
"She's glowing—she's glowing!"
"Who is that?"
"Oh my God—she saved us!"
Phones rose higher in trembling hands. Voices layered over each other—wonder, fear, relief, worship, suspicion—everyone trying to fit what they'd seen into something they understood.
The truck driver stumbled out of the crushed cab, shaking so badly his knees nearly gave out. He stared at Kiran as if she'd stepped out of a myth.
"I—I hit you," he stammered, eyes wet, voice cracking. "I know I hit you. How are you—what are you?"
Kiran forced herself to breathe. She shoved down the roaring sensation in her veins and locked onto the one thing that mattered.
People were hurt.
People could still be hurt.
"I'm… I'm okay," she managed, and even to her the words sounded unreal. She scanned him quickly noting the blood and shock on his face. "Uncle—are you hurt?"
He blinked rapidly then he shook his head, swallowing hard. "N-no. I… I'm fine."
The elderly woman Kiran had saved approached, dust on her sari and tears clinging to her lashes. She looked at Kiran like a miracle that had stepped down into the street.
"Beta…" the woman whispered. "Thank you. Thank you so much. You saved me." Her voice trembled. "But beta… what are you?"
Kiran drew in a slow breath.
"I don't know," she admitted.
Then she lifted her gaze toward the wreckage and the people gathering around it, her fear tightening into something steadier—purpose.
"But I think I'm about to find out."
Her questions could wait.
Right now, people needed her. There might be others trapped and bleeding—others who needed help before panic turned into another disaster.
The golden energy stirred within her, responding to her resolve—as if it agreed.
And despite the chaos, Kiran felt a small, disbelieving smile tug at her mouth.
Whatever had awakened inside her, she would use it.
Just as the Preserver said she would.
Singh Residence — That Evening
The front door burst open before Kiran could reach for the handle. Her mother, Rani, pulled her into a crushing embrace, tears streaming down her face.
"Thank the gods you're safe! When we saw the news—" Her voice broke.
Her father, Vijay, stood behind them, his expression a mix of relief and confusion. "Kiran, beta... what happened today? The news... that was you, wasn't it?"
Kiran blinked, confused, then followed her father's gaze and froze. The television was replaying footage of her actions. There she was on the screen, a figure wrapped in gold, her features half-swallowed by light, yet unmistakable to anyone who knew her. As her mother finally let go, Kiran could only give a small, helpless nod.
"—unprecedented event in the heart of Delhi," the news anchor said. "Witnesses report that the young woman, whose identity remains unknown, exhibited what can only be described as superhuman abilities. After saving an elderly pedestrian from certain death, she manifested a protective energy shield that withstood a direct collision with a delivery vehicle—"
As they closed the door and stepped into the apartment, another channel showed a different angle, capturing the moment Kiran pulled injured passengers from the wreckage, her golden aura illuminating the scene like a beacon.
"—many are calling this a miracle. Others are asking whether this is a sign that India, too, is producing its own heroes, much like the Justice League and Titans in America—"
Kiran's mother turned off the television with trembling hands. "Kiran, please. Tell us what's happening. Are you… are you in danger? What is this power—"
"I'm not in danger, Maa," Kiran said gently, taking her mother's hands. "At least, I don't think I am. But there's so much I need to tell you both." She drew in a deep breath. "About what really happened in Varanasi."
Her parents exchanged glances. Then her father gestured to the couch. "Sit, beta. Start from the beginning."
Kiran did. She told them everything. Her encounter with Orach in the sacred city, the overwhelming presence she'd felt, and the gift he had unknowingly bestowed on her. She spoke of the growing disconnection she felt when praying to the Destroyer. She described the dream—how the Preserver had called her to be a champion, and how two others would stand with her against the coming calamity.
"...And so, when I thought I was going to die—my power finally answered me," Kiran revealed.
Rani's eyes widened, shaking in disbelief. "Lord Vishnu chose our little girl."
Kiran shook her head, almost imperceptibly. "He said I was chosen. But it wasn't the Preserver—it was Uncle Orach."
Rani opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, at a loss for words.
Vijay sat very still for a long moment, as if listening for the ground shifting beneath their lives. Finally, he spoke quietly. "When you were small, your grandmother used to say you were born for greatness. I thought it was only love talking. But who knew…" He smiled wryly. "She was right."
Rani clasped Kiran's hands tighter. "What will you do now? The whole country saw you."
"I need an alias," Kiran said. "Thankfully my power hid my features. I can't use my real name, or our lives will be turned upside down. Then I need to find the other two champions. And I need answers—about this power, about the disconnect I feel, about what happened in Varanasi, and why."
She took a deep breath, then kept going.
"Most of all, I need to train. I need to be ready."
Rani pulled her close again, trembling with fear for her child. "It isn't fair. You're only seventeen—so young. How can the gods ask this of you?" Her voice broke. "Vijay… we should leave. We should run away."
Vijay exhaled, long and heavy, then shook his head. "We can't outrun this, Rani." He met his wife's worried gaze. "This is a divine responsibility. Despite her age, it isn't something she can ignore." He turned to his daughter, his expression softening. "But whatever comes, we'll face it together, beta."
"But—" Rani tried to protest, still shaken. Then, seeing Vijay's expression, she took a steadying breath and forced herself to trust her family. "Your father's right. Whatever comes, we'll face it together."
Kiran closed her eyes for a moment, letting their warmth and love wash over her.
"Thank you, Maa, Papa."
Around the World — In the Days Leading Up to the Hawaiian Great Tide
India wasn't alone in the sudden emergence of new heroes.
In China, ten individuals received the blessing of the Celestial Bureaucracy under the Jade Emperor's mandate. The Chinese government moved immediately to contain the resulting incidents, but footage still leaked. Across the country, all ten awakened that same week, and within forty-eight hours the state announced a new official hero unit, the Great Ten.
In London, Bridget O'Connor discovered impossible strength. Firelight danced in her hair as her arms trembled while she lifted the front end of a crushed car. Then last night's dream came flooding back—the one where she met Brigid, the Celtic goddess of the forge.
When a building collapsed in Westminster, Bridget wedged herself beneath a concrete slab and held it up until firefighters dragged the trapped civilians into daylight.
Before she could choose her own name, the tabloids did, the Shining Knight.
In São Paulo, Isabella and Gabriel Ferreira woke to a storm that wasn't on any forecast.
Isabella could feel air pressure like a second skin. She learned to thicken wind into walls, to pour blinding rainforest mist into alleyways, and to crack thunder across the sky.
Gabriel became attuned to water. He pulled humidity from breath, bent rivers into rushing barricades, and drew moisture from the air until the ground itself seemed to drink.
Neither could name the entities that visited them in sleep. The presence only felt ancient, Amazon-deep, older than cities. They did not realize they had been marked by the Parliament of Vapors, an old court of river and storm deities.
Their neighborhood soon gave them a name for what they had become: the Wonder Twins.
In Moscow, former soldier Dmitri Volkov woke to crimson bioelectricity crawling over his hands—blistering, blinding, alive. He could drive it through his palms, sheath his fists in plasma hard enough to punch through armor, or fire concentrated EMP bursts that killed power grids in a heartbeat. In the first hours after Perun—Slavic god of thunder—reached for him, fear and shock swallowed his discipline. The energy ran wild, blacking out an entire district and throwing the city into panic.
But Dmitri did what he had always done. He trained. He learned the edges of the power, forced it to obey, and then began turning up wherever civilians needed saving. The public gave him a name that spread like a warning flare: Red Star. The Russian government tried to claim him immediately.
Dmitri had his own ideas about duty.
Across Africa—in Lagos, Cairo, and Nairobi—others awakened as well.
In Lagos, a woman called down white lightning as if answering a song, marked by Oya. People began calling her Cyclone.
In Cairo, a man learned to shape sand and stone, to feel the literal heartbeat of the Earth's crust, branded by Set. They named him Geomancer.
In Nairobi, a young woman spoke to animals and projected her awareness into thousands of living minds at once, touched by the Red—the universal consciousness of animal life—and by ancient spirits of the hunt whose names had been forgotten, but whose power remained.
In America, an heirloom a woman always kept close began to glow faintly. That night, her dreams filled with luminous animals, roaring as if the entire kingdom of living things had learned her name.
In Brazil, a burn victim lay in an ICU—one of the few survivors of a pyroplasmic blast so violent no one could recognize her face. Survival should have been impossible. And yet the embers inside her still raged, eating her from within.
As the gods shifted uneasily—sensing an oncoming calamity—elemental spirits moved too. Something in her will struck like flint in the dark, and they answered. The God Ki that allowed gods and mortals to grow had grown more potent. A Sky Spirit entered her body, flooding her with its essence and turning the toxic, corrosive fire into a nurturing flame. Her temperature rose. A faint green aura shimmered above her skin. Tissue knit itself back together. Her hair began to grow in a vivid, impossible green.
Then the spirit withdrew and vanished.
Elsewhere in Norway, beneath the northern lights, in a hidden village of the Ice-Folk, a princess practiced until her fingers went numb. Her ice magic had always been strong. Lately it had been growing.
She had promised herself she would not leave until she could control it—until she was certain she would never hurt anyone the way she had when she was younger. But upheaval reached even the quiet places of the world, and something in her finally hardened into resolve.
If she had been given power, then it was meant to be used.
That night she packed the basics, said her goodbyes, and stepped down from the secrecy of her homeland into the wider world—no longer only a princess, but someone determined to protect.
The world was changing. Pantheons stirred, uneasy about events on the mortal plane and the shifts rippling through divine realms.
Back in India, late one night, Kiran meditated in her room and felt a strange surge moving across the subcontinent.
Her eyes opened, glowing faintly gold in the dark.
She couldn't pinpoint their locations, but she could sense two distinct presences.
One burned bright, fierce as flame.
The other was subtle and heavy, cold—and threaded with a sadness she couldn't understand.
"Could these be… the other two?" Kiran whispered as the thought struck her. She steadied her breathing, forcing herself to calm down the next moment.
No matter what, she understood that she couldn't ignore them. They were out there.
And whether they knew it or not, they would soon need to meet.
First, though, she needed to understand her own power well enough to defend herself before meeting these two strangers. Only then could she talk about what they were all waking up for.
The Preserver had spoken of a crisis but offered no details.
She wondered what kind of threat made gods choose mortals as champions. That still eluded her. But given the recent turmoil in the world, she had her suspicions.
And if awakenings were happening beyond India as well—if other pantheons were choosing their own champions—then whatever was coming was far larger than she could imagine.
Hours after the Great Tide attack on the Hawaiian Islands — Late Evening
Kiran stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, letting the warm wind tug loose strands of hair across her cheek.
Below, headlights flowed through traffic like rivers of light. Horns, street calls, and distant music rose and fell in a city that never fully slept.
She should have felt relief. The news anchors certainly did—every channel replayed the same clips on loop, the Great Tide rearing up over Hawaii, the AEGIS lattice igniting, the wave vanishing into that shimmering threshold as people around the world cheered and posted victory edits.
Kiran hadn't cheered once.
The anxiety in her chest hadn't eased. If anything, it had sharpened.
Because today had felt like proof of the enemy's capability, not a display of their full power.
And if the gods had warned her about a calamity, then what if this wasn't it?
"What if Hawaii was just a test… or a distraction?"
She'd been coming up here every night since the Delhi incident—since the moment the golden light had awakened. At first it had been panic-training, learning how to make the power appear and disappear on command, how to stop it from flaring whenever her emotions spiked. Then it became discipline—hours of repetition until the light obeyed her hands the way her hands obeyed her mind.
Tonight, she needed proof she was getting stronger.
She drew a slow breath and lifted her hands.
Golden light answered immediately, rising beneath her skin like living heat. She shaped it into a thin shield before her palm—held it—then widened it into a curved barrier and walked forward as if bracing for impact.
The light of her shield didn't flicker. It stayed steady and obedient.
She then shifted to offensive stance.
The shield condensed, lengthening into a blade. She had grown up around her parents' work, surrounded by ancient weapons, and she had drawn inspiration from them in training. The sword of light carried weight in her grip, its edge humming quietly. She swung once, then twice, cutting the air in sharp arcs, before letting the sword unravel into a loose aura that wrapped her shoulders and chest like armor.
With each passing day, the transitions came faster, cleaner, and with less strain.
She'd even managed to envelop herself in a thin layer of her power, bolstering her strength and letting her levitate—briefly—coaxing gravity to release her for a few precious seconds. It wasn't flight. Not yet. It took intense concentration, and it left her drained and trembling afterward.
But it proved something fundamental.
Her power wasn't fixed.
It could grow.
And she could feel it—deep in her bones—that this was only the beginning.
By day, she still went to school. Still ate meals at the table. Still answered her friend's questions with careful half-truths. But whenever she slipped into the city to help—quietly, with her features hidden—she treated every intervention as both duty and practice.
By night, on this rooftop, she pushed the limits.
But tonight, despite everything she'd learned, it didn't feel fast enough.
The questions were multiplying faster than her answers.
What was the true nature of her power?
Why had Orach given it to her?
What were its limits—and why did it sometimes feel alive, as if it sensed her intent before she finished forming a thought?
And why—no matter how many mornings she stood before the family shrine—did she still feel that blank, hollow absence whenever she tried to pray to Lord Shiva?
Like the Destroyer's seat in the universe was empty.
Like something essential had been scraped out of reality.
Like something had been… erased.
Kiran clenched her fingers. The golden light flared in a reflexive pulse—then steadied as she forced herself to breathe.
"Impressive."
Just then, a voice cut through the rooftop wind—soft, close, and wholly unannounced.
Kiran spun, power snapping around her in a thin protective layer as she dropped into a defensive stance.
A young woman stood near the roof's edge, as if she'd stepped out of the night itself. Flames curled lazily around her fingers—bright and controlled, not quite threatening, but ready for action if she needed it. She was tall, her black hair tied back in a practical ponytail. She wore long black boots, dark jeans, a crop top, and a black leather jacket that looked ordinary until you noticed the fiery lotus design burned across the back like a signature.
"Whoa—easy," the woman said, raising both hands. The flames dimmed, but didn't vanish. "I'm not here to fight. I felt your energy and came to check it out."
Her eyes flicked over the layer of golden light around Kiran, and she felt the purity of its divine aspect.
Then she smiled, realizing her own power seemed stronger near it.
"Interesting. You're one of the three, aren't you?"
Kiran's eyes widened. "You're the fire-wielder. The one from Mumbai."
The past few days had turned the whole country into a rumor mill. Three new heroes had appeared almost at once—an inferno-bright figure in Mumbai, a shadowed fighter in Bangalore who seemed to command earth and darkness, and her—caught on shaky footage in Delhi, glowing gold and dubbed Solstice by the internet.
The woman nodded. "Priya Sharma. Though the news keeps calling me Agni. Figured I might as well embrace it."
She stepped closer. Heat radiated from her, but it wasn't uncomfortable for Kiran. It felt more like standing near a hearth.
"And you're Solstice," Priya said. "Right?"
"Kiran," she replied, keeping her stance but letting the golden light soften. "Kiran Singh."
Priya's expression shifted—surprise, then something like reluctant respect. "You're younger than I expected."
"I'm seventeen," Kiran said, defensive before she meant to be.
"I wasn't criticizing," Priya said quickly, a wry curve to her mouth. "Just… gods have interesting recruitment standards." She glanced toward the night sky. "Makes me wonder what the third one is like."
A voice answered from the shadows before Kiran could.
"Don't bother wondering. I'm already here."
Both girls tensed.
Kiran called the golden light back into her hands. Priya's flames flared. Both ready to attack.
A young man stepped out from the darkness behind the stairwell structure. Lean built wearing dark clothes with eyes that carried anger—and beneath it, something heavier.
Grief.
Kiran felt it, strangely, her expression tightening into a frown. 'What is this I'm feeling? Is he… h-he's… hurting.'
"Who are you?" Priya demanded, flames flaring brighter.
"Arjun Malhotra," he said, calm and flat. "From Bangalore." His gaze flicked between them. "And before you ask—yes. I've been watching you both. I needed to be sure you were actually helping people and not just showing off."
"And?" Priya's voice sharpened, her eyes narrowing.
"You passed," Arjun said. The hint of a smile didn't reach his eyes. "So here I am. The third champion."
Priya didn't lower her hands. "We're supposed to take your word for it?"
"Believe me or don't. I honestly don't care," Arjun said, his voice flat. "I lost my faith in gods a long time ago. I don't want any part of this."
Kiran held her ground. "Then why come at all?"
Arjun's jaw tightened. For a moment his composure cracked and the anger underneath showed.
"Because a few nights ago, two goddesses showed up in my dreams," he said. "They warned me that a crisis is coming—one that may not just impact our nation, but the whole world. They said I was one of three."
He glanced down at his hands, as if still disgusted by what they could do.
"I tried to ignore it. Tried to make it go away. Like I said, I lost my faith a long time ago. I want nothing to do with the gods, much less be their champion." His voice dropped. "Then I woke up, and the darkness answered me. The earth did, too."
Priya's flames steadied. Kiran's gold eased—just a fraction.
Arjun looked back up, his gaze locking on Kiran. "So yeah. I'm here." His mouth twisted. "But if the gods are desperate enough to lean on kids to fight their battles… that tells you exactly how screwed we all are."
"I'm standing here anyway," Kiran shot back. "So save the pity."
For a second, it looked like he might argue.
Then Arjun exhaled slowly, like he didn't have the energy to argue with her. "Fine," he muttered. "You're stubborn. I'll give you that."
Just then, Priya clapped once, drawing their attention. "All right. We're not doing this all night, yeah?"
She pointed between them. "Let's be civil and compare notes. We need to figure out what we know, what we don't, and what we need to do next." Her gaze settled on Arjun. "Let's try this again. I'm Priya Sharma. The news calls me Agni."
Kiran stepped forward, her golden light dimming. "Kiran Singh. They're calling me Solstice."
Arjun nodded once. "Arjun."
"Good," Priya said. "Now—what did the gods tell each of you?"
Over the next hour, they traded their experiences, from Priya's first ignition, Arjun's sudden control over earth and shadow, Kiran's dream of Vishnu—which had felt less like sleep and more like being summoned.
Both Priya and Arjun were thrown, their figures going still, by how direct Kiran's encounter had been. Their own dreams had been muffled, symbolic, half-obscured—like the gods had spoken through water and fog.
Eventually, Priya folded her arms and stared out over Delhi's lights.
"So we agree on the basics," she said. "Something's coming. We just don't know what."
"The Great Tides might be it," Arjun said immediately.
Kiran nodded. "That might be it. Someone is weaponizing the ocean. That alone could end civilizations. For now, that's the only thing that qualifies as a true calamity."
"Makes sense. And the timing can't be a coincidence either," Priya added, quieter now. "People don't start awakening across the world for no reason."
Kiran's expression tightened. "So there really have been others."
"Yeah," Priya said. "Plenty. I've been keeping up with the rumor mill online. Different countries are showing signs of different powers awakening. It looks like the other gods and entities are making their own moves."
Arjun's gaze shifted away, expression tightening. "There's more."
"What?" Priya raised an eyebrow. Kiran gave him a peculiar glance, too.
Arjun drew a breath, as if weighing his next words.
"I've been experimenting," he said. "With my earth sense. Extending it through the ground."
"How far can you reach?" Kiran asked.
"In deep meditation…" He hesitated. "The Himalayas to the north, and—at least to some extent—well into the Indian Ocean."
Priya stared at him. "That's insane."
"It was nearly too much," Arjun admitted. "Nearly split my skull. Honestly, I don't want to do it again. But before I pulled back, I felt two disturbances."
Kiran leaned forward. "Where?"
"One in the ocean," he said. "It left me with a heavy, strange feeling. But… oddly, not unnatural. I don't know how else to describe it." He raised his hands, then let them fall. "It felt like the sea was hiding something old."
His voice dropped. "But what concerns me is the feeling from the one to the north."
Kiran went still.
"That one was different," Arjun continued. "It felt familiar, like it carried traces of what I felt in the ocean, but it was unnatural at the same time. The moment my senses touched it, I felt sick. If I hadn't pulled back in time, I'm pretty sure I would have vomited."
Priya's eyes narrowed. "You think the ocean anomaly connects to the Tides?"
"Maybe," Arjun said. "But if you're asking me where the real crisis starts?" He looked between them. "My money's on the north."
"China," Priya murmured.
"Or something using China as cover," Kiran said, mind racing. "First Taiwan, then Hawaii. Whoever is behind this doesn't care who gets provoked."
Priya's expression sobered. "India has thousands of miles of coastline. If you're right, then—"
"Then we're looking at something catastrophic," Kiran finished, voice thinning. "And if it's coming from multiple fronts… the three of us won't be enough."
Silence settled over the rooftop.
Priya let out a slow breath. "Yeah. We need help."
"Then we find the gods," Arjun said instantly. "If they want us to fight, the least they can do is give training. Answers. The faster we grow—"
"That helps," Priya cut in, "but it doesn't solve the numbers problem."
"Then why not call the Justice League?"
The new voice startled all three of them.
They spun toward the roof door.
A man stood there with his hands in his pockets, with a calm expression, as if he hadn't just walked into a rooftop meeting of living weapons.
"Papa?" Kiran blurted. "How did you—"
Vijay Singh walked forward, glanced at the fading gold light still clinging to Kiran's fingers, and met her eyes.
"Your mother got worried when you didn't come down for a while," he said simply.
Then, with the kind of casual tenderness only a parent could get away with, he patted Kiran's head. Kiran flushed—half mortified, half relieved.
Vijay turned to the others and nodded politely. "Vijay Singh. Kiran's father. And you two must be the other champions."
Priya recovered first. "Yes, sir. I'm Priya Sharma." She gestured at Arjun. "He's Arjun. And… yeah. We're like Kiran—champions of the Hindu gods. The country's calling me Agni."
Arjun gave a respectful nod, but his eyes stayed wary—still scanning the rooftop like he couldn't understand how an ordinary man had approached without being noticed.
Kiran wondered the same thing.
Vijay's mouth quirked, as if he could hear the question without anyone asking it. "Don't mind me. I heard enough to understand the problem." He glanced at the city, then back at them. "You may be champions. But you aren't the only protectors on this world."
His tone grew serious.
"The gods told you to unite against a crisis. They didn't say you had to carry it alone."
Priya blinked—then pressed her palm to her forehead. "I… honestly didn't think of that."
Arjun's expression tightened, grudging agreement winning. "If something like the Great Tide hits the Indian Ocean, we'll need everyone we can get. The League would make a real difference."
"Exactly," Vijay said, his expression easing into a smile. "You're thinking in the right direction now."
Priya's voice softened with sincerity. "Thank you, sir. That's… wise."
"My daughter is involved," Vijay said, "so I'm involved—whether I like it or not." His smile warmed. "I'm just a normal human. But I'll help however I can, if you'll have me."
"We'd welcome it," Priya said immediately.
Arjun nodded once. "You're our elder, and you're actually thinking like one. We welcome your help."
Vijay chuckled under his breath and glanced at his watch. "It's late. I suggest you call it a day. Exchange contacts, and continue planning tomorrow. After all, both of you have a long journey ahead. Especially you, Arjun—Bangalore is a long trip."
"I can manage," Arjun said.
"Before you go," Vijay added, looking between them, curiosity flickering. "Priya is Agni. Kiran is Solstice." His gaze rested on Arjun. "What name did you choose?"
Priya groaned. "Yeah. I've been wondering about that. But since you didn't say anything, I didn't push it."
Kiran leaned forward. "Yeah—what is it?"
Arjun sighed, resigned. "Kala-Dhara."
"Kala-Dhara," Priya repeated, testing it. "That's… a lot."
"It sounds cool," Kiran admitted, "but it's hard to say."
Vijay's expression turned thoughtful. "It suits you." His voice lowered. "Names are anchors. They hold power. Sometimes they're promises."
Arjun went still.
"You chose it to remember something," Vijay said gently. "A promise to yourself."
After a long beat, Arjun nodded once. "Yes."
"It'll be a tough road, son," Vijay said quietly. "Are you sure?"
"I am," Arjun replied, voice firm.
"Papa, what does it mean?" Kiran asked, tugging his sleeve.
Vijay shook his head. "It's his promise, beta. His private matter." He paused, choosing his words. "I only recognized the roots because of my work. The name comes from Sanskrit roots. That's all I'll say."
Priya bumped Arjun's shoulder, half teasing, half sincere. "Fine. But teams don't keep secrets forever. So, don't keep us waiting."
Kiran nodded. "One day you're telling us."
Arjun opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod.
Priya exhaled and stretched, trying to pull the mood back from the edge. "Alright. Today was… enlightening. Meeting you, meeting this emo guy, and finding out Lord Vishnu himself showed up for you—no wonder your power feels so clean. Trimurti-level blessing, huh?"
Kiran hesitated.
"Actually…" she began.
Priya blinked. "What?"
"My power doesn't come from Lord Vishnu," Kiran said quietly.
Priya frowned, thrown. "But he appeared to you. So he must've granted you a boon, or—"
Kiran started to answer—then stopped. Her expression tightened, troubled.
Priya and Arjun exchanged a quick look.
Priya softened at once. "Hey. It's okay. If you can't say it, don't. We trust you."
Kiran stared at her—at both of them.
Then she drew a steadying breath and looked to her father. Vijay gave a small nod.
Kiran turned back.
"I do want to say," she said, voice firm. "Lord Vishnu told me the truth about the man I met. He wasn't a man."
She swallowed.
"He was Orach—the Higher Realm being—wearing a disguise. To me, he looked like a kind foreign uncle when our paths crossed." Her eyes didn't flinch. "My power comes from him, from his blessing."
The rooftop went silent once more.
Arjun took a step back, trembling.
Priya's knees buckled. She caught herself with one hand on the concrete, breathing hard, shock written across her face.
Everyone on Earth knew Orach.
During the Kryptonian invasion, his colossal crimson aura body had manifested above the planet cradling their planet. His ship and mecha had shattered armies. His echo had killed champions and gods on the battlefield—and brought them back. He inspired awe and terror in equal measure, and unlike most heroes, he would kill if provoked.
And now Kiran—seventeen years old, standing in front of them with gold on her hands—was telling them he had blessed her.
"That's…" Priya whispered, voice thin. "Kiran. Please tell me you're joking."
"I'm not," Kiran said, expression steady.
Priya stared at her for a long moment, searching her face for the smallest crack.
Then, with visible effort, she pushed herself upright and drew a shaky breath.
"Okay," she said quietly. "I'm done for tonight. I need to go home." She forced a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's do what your father suggested. We exchange contacts now, plan tomorrow, and keep an eye out for trouble. Agreed?"
Arjun nodded once, face unreadable.
They exchanged numbers quickly.
Priya launched into the sky, jets of flame blasting from her hands and feet, leaving a brief orange streak against the dark.
Arjun stepped back—and sank into his own shadow, vanishing from the rooftop and reappearing on the street below before the ground rippled under his feet and carried him away.
Vijay placed a hand on Kiran's shoulder. "Come," he said softly. "Your mother will be restless."
Kiran let the gold fade completely, the last warmth withdrawing beneath her skin.
Then she followed her father back inside.
That night, the Singh household, and the other new champions, went to sleep with their thoughts racing in directions nothing about their life had prepared them for.