The chamber wasn't grand.
It was simple. Minimal. But every object within it whispered of age, weight, and purpose.
Books. Ancient maps. A sword older than most empires. And in the center, a round low table of obsidian glass—steaming with freshly poured tea.
Raven stood at the threshold, still as stone.
Mavran, back to him, calmly poured from a kettle that glowed faintly with runes. The scent was rich—earthy, aged leaves and something subtle, almost floral.
"Sit," Mavran said, not as an order, but like a host welcoming a long-awaited guest.
Raven sat.
Slowly.
Mavran handed him a cup.
No words yet. Just silence—and steam curling between them.
Then, the old man leaned back, fingers wrapping around his own cup, and spoke with that lazy drawl:
"Chillax, kiddo. I'm not your enemy."
Sip.
"I'm your strongest ally."
Raven didn't respond.
Mavran didn't need him to.
He smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just… knowingly.
"I know everything about Phantom."
No reaction.
"Sorry. Not Phantom."
His gaze sharpened. "I know everything about Raven."
Raven's fingers tensed around the porcelain.
Mavran tilted his head. "No… not that either."
He tapped the rim of his cup.
"I know about Ashok."
Crack.
The tea cup fractured slightly in Raven's grip.
His voice was low. "That name means nothing—"
Mavran cut him off. Not with words.
With silence.
And one final sentence.
Soft. Precise. Like a scalpel slipping between ribs.
"No… I know about Vyom."
Silence.
Raven didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
The world… stopped.
Like that name had frozen time itself.
His pupils dilated. His heart—thunderous. In that moment, he wasn't Raven. He wasn't Phantom. Not even Ashok.
He was a memory.
A name long buried under identities, deaths, and masks.
Vyom.
The name of a child. Of a past erased.
A name he hadn't heard in decades.
Mavran sipped again, nonchalantly.
"Now that I have your attention... let's talk."
Mavran chuckled softly, setting down the porcelain teacup with surgical precision. The fragrance of high-grade tea still lingered in the air, weaving with the tension.
"Ah… forgive me," he said, reclining with casual elegance. "I haven't let you say a single word, have I? Go on, speak."
Vyom inhaled sharply, the weight of his true name still pressing against his chest like a forgotten wound reopened. He opened his mouth—
"Ho—"
"Nope," Mavran interjected, a single finger raised like a conductor halting the orchestra. "Don't ask the obvious. 'How do you know?'—predictable. You're built different, Vyom. Act like it."
Vyom blinked. Once.
Mavran leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully. "Cliché questions are for cliché minds."
Vyom straightened slightly. Tried again.
"Wh—"
"Still no." Mavran smiled, almost fatherly. "Don't ask 'why are you saying this,' 'when did you know,' 'what do you want,' or even 'who exactly are you.' All boring. All expected. I came to speak to you, not some broken record."
Vyom froze for a moment. Confused. Disarmed.
Then—his eyes flickered.
The storm inside him simmered. He adjusted his posture, shoulders straightening, chin lifting. The surprise was still there—but now it sat behind a new layer of control.
He wouldn't dance to someone else's rhythm.
The next line he says… would be his.
Vyom adjusted his posture.
The sharp chill in his eyes returned—cold steel honed by years of silence.
He leaned forward just slightly. Voice low, cutting.
"...So you claim to know everything."
Mavran, still calmly sipping his tea, gave a small nod. "Yes."
Vyom's gaze darkened.
His lips parted—tone dead serious, like the next words would shake empires.
"…Then tell me this."
A pause heavy enough to bend time.
"Where is my biryani?"
Silence hit the room like a divine thunderclap.
Glitch materialized instantly, midair, already losing it.
"BRO WHAT—NO WAY—THIS GUY—WE'RE IN A GOVERNMENT BLACK ROOM AND YOU'RE ASKING FOR BIRYANI???"
He spiraled in the air like a glitched-out fidget spinner.
Mavran blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then calmly set down his teacup.
"…Chicken or mutton?"
Vyom, still deadpan, replied,"Chicken."
Mavran shook his head with a small, apologetic smile."Unfortunately, I'm vegetarian. How about... a veg biryani instead?"
Vyom exhaled through his nose, the faintest twitch of irritation flashing across his face."Whatever."
Mavran chuckled softly—the kind of chuckle that carried old memories tucked behind it.He reached out, lifting the teapot with an almost ceremonial grace, and began pouring the deep amber liquid into the center teacup between them.
As the tea flowed, steam curling like spectral fingers between them, Mavran spoke with a rare softness:"You're still the same… Always craving biryani."
Vyom smirked faintly, arms folded."Who the hell hates biryani?"
Mavran, calmly, said,
"Well... shall we begin now?"
Vyom, ever the agent of deadpan chaos, answered immediately,
"The biryani?"
Mavran laughed lightly, setting the pot down.
"No. The real reason I called you here."
A glint of amusement passed through Mavran's eyes as he finished pouring—then tilted the pot just a little more, letting exactly three extra drops fall in.
The moment the last drop splashed—
KACHAK.
The couches beneath them shuddered—and without warning, the entire sitting area plunged downward like a controlled free-fall ride.
Seatbelts lashed around Vyom and Mavran with mechanical precision.
The teapot and teacups snapped magnetically to the table with a soft hum, like everything was pre-prepared for this descent.
Wind howled past invisible barriers.
Glitch screamed like a cartoon ghost, tumbling midair before getting slapped into a seatbelt conjured just for him.
Vyom's eyes flickered, unbothered, simply adjusting his position mid-drop.
Mavran calmly sipped his tea as if nothing was happening.
The speed began to slow. A faint rumble echoed as the hidden elevator system neared its destination.
Finally—THUMP.
The platform landed. Smooth. Seamless. Soundproof.
The belts retracted automatically. The magnetic locks on the tea set disengaged with soft clicks.
Vyom cracked his neck once, standing up as if he just finished a short nap, his gaze already sharper, more cautious.
The real story was about to begin.