Captain Rathore observed the truck, noticing that none of the recruits had stepped down, and his gaze lingered on the untrained individuals who now gripped their hands with a stronger resolve than the trained ones. It was as if something had ignited within them, an unspoken determination that made them more committed than ever before. His eyes briefly shifted to Rohit and Isha, who appeared equally puzzled by the shift in energy around them.
Rohit glanced around, his unease growing as he noticed the faces of some of the recruits. There was something eerily familiar about them, almost as if their expressions mirrored his own pain and loss. The resemblance to both his and Isha's faces unsettled him-why did they look like shadows of his past, reflections of something long lost?
Isha, feeling the same tension, caught Rohit's gaze, both of them silently questioning who these people were and why they seemed connected to them. Their thoughts collided as they exchanged a glance, the mystery of Project M deepening. What were they really being thrust into? What connection did these strangers have to their pasts? The weight of these unanswered questions hung heavily in the air.
The president's bodyguard clapped, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the unwavering determination in the recruits' eyes
Rathore exhaled, his job here is complete. With a firm nod, he turned to the bodyguard and said, "My job is done, General Rudra. It's time for you to take care of them now."
The bodyguard returned his gaze, his voice carrying an air of authority. "Understood. Captain Rathore, your part ends here. It's time for you to leave." Without another word, Rathore gave one final glance at the recruits before stepping away, his silhouette fading as he walked toward one of the waiting jeeps.
As Rathore's presence faded into the distance, Rohit instinctively glanced at Isha. For the first time, he noticed a flicker of unease in her usually composed demeanor. Rathore had been a pillar of security, and now that he was gone, an unsettling silence settled over them. Sensing her discomfort, Rohit leaned in and asked quietly, "Why do you look uneasy?"
Before Isha could respond, the president's bodyguard stepped forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "Everyone, wear your blindfolds."
Rohit's gaze sharpened at the order. His instincts flared, and without thinking, he questioned, "Why do we have to wear blindfolds?"
The bodyguard turned to him, his expression unreadable. Then, with a chilling smirk, he leaned slightly forward and asked in a low, threatening voice, "Do you really want the reason?"
The weight of his words pressed down on Rohit like a blade at his throat. The murderous intent was undeniable-cold, suffocating, and deliberate. His eyes met Rohit's, unblinking, unwavering. And then, his voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"Do what I said. Now."
Rohit clenched his fists. His pride screamed at him to fight back, to demand answers. But something in the bodyguard's tone-something in the way his presence alone made the air feel heavier-warned him. This was not a man to challenge.
Before Rohit or Isha could react, the untrained people in the truck immediately followed the order, putting on their blindfolds without hesitation. Their unwavering determination made Rohit pause. Their actions weren't driven by fear but by something deeper-something resolute.
Exchanging a brief, confused glance with Isha, Rohit hesitated for only a second before making a choice. Without a word, he reached for Isha's hand. Their fingers tightened around each other-an unspoken reassurance in the midst of uncertainty. Together, they picked up their blindfolds and covered their eyes.
The president's bodyguard scanned the group one last time before giving a sharp nod. "Driver, get ready. We move to the next destination." His voice carried an air of finality, leaving no room for hesitation.
As the truck's engine roared to life, the tension thickened. The untrained recruits sat rigid, their blindfolds secure, while Rohit and Isha, still grasping each other's hands, braced themselves for whatever lay ahead.
Rohit instinctively reached for his blindfold, but no matter how much he willed himself to remove it, his hands wouldn't move. A strange hesitation gripped him, as if something unseen held him back. Instead, his fingers tightened around Isha's hand. In a quiet, almost broken voice, he muttered, "I don't want to lose anyone again."
Isha heard his words, and for the first time, a nervous uncertainty flickered in her usually steady grip. Without a word, she squeezed his hand back, a silent reassurance that she felt the same.
Suddenly, the truck's speed surged forward, the hum of the engine turning into a sharp, forceful roar. The velocity pressed them back slightly, their bodies swaying with the motion. And then, just as they adjusted to the rapid pace, an eerie sensation washed over them.
A chilling drop in temperature struck first, sharp and unnatural, like the dead of winter clawing at their skin. Five seconds-just five seconds-yet it felt longer, a void of cold that sent a shiver down their spines. Then, as abruptly as it had come, a wave of heat followed, burning like the height of summer.
But it didn't stop. For the next ten minutes, the temperature fluctuated between extremes-icy cold to searing heat, over and over again. Rohit and Isha could do nothing but endure it, their fingers still clasped together. They could feel the tension in each other's grip, silent confirmation that they weren't imagining it.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the shifting temperatures ceased. The truck's speed returned to normal, the steady hum of the engine settling into a rhythmic pace.
Isha, still gripping Rohit's hand, finally broke the silence. "Did you feel that?" Her voice was quiet but firm, as if needing reassurance that she wasn't alone in experiencing it.
Rohit exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I did."
As they tried to make sense of what had just happened, a new sensation enveloped them. A faint yet distinct aroma drifted through the air-the rich, calming scent of sandalwood. It was subtle at first, but soon, it grew stronger, wrapping around them like an invisible force. The fragrance was warm and familiar, yet its sudden presence in the enclosed truck sent a strange unease creeping up their spines.
Then came the sound-a deep, resonant chant of mantras rising and falling in rhythmic waves. It wasn't just a distant murmur; it surrounded them, seeping into their very bones. The soft chime of temple bells followed, ringing in perfect harmony, their echoes lingering in the heavy air.
Though still blindfolded, Rohit and Isha could feel it-the presence of something vast, something sacred. For a brief moment, it was as if they were no longer in a moving truck but standing at the steps of an ancient temple, on the threshold of something unknown.
The vehicle came to a halt, and the president's bodyguard's voice rang out with authority. "Remove your blindfolds."
Rohit and Isha hesitated for a moment before slowly untying the cloth. As soon as they did, the warm sunlight poured onto their faces, momentarily blinding them. Their eyes adjusted, revealing a sight neither of them had expected.
Before them stood a grand temple, its architecture exuding an ancient yet powerful presence. Beside it, a massive castle-like structure loomed, its design resembling an academy rather than a fortress. The air was filled with a serene yet disciplined energy, as if this place held both spirituality and intense training.
Rohit's gaze wandered across the vast grounds. A group of people was practicing martial arts with sharp, disciplined movements, while another group sat in perfect stillness, deep in meditation as they performed yoga. His attention shifted again-to a particular group standing apart from the rest.
Dressed in pristine white robes, they moved in unison, wielding swords engulfed in controlled flames. Their precise and elegant strikes made it clear that this was no ordinary swordsmanship. At the forefront of the group, an elderly master-his aura exuding wisdom-observed their movements with a watchful eye. But Rohit's focus was drawn to one figure in particular.
Among them, a young man, seemingly around Rohit's age, moved with unparalleled skill. His body, sculpted with perfect athleticism, executed each technique with flawless precision. The flame dancing along his sword illuminated his sharp features, his presence radiating both power and control.
For a moment, Rohit felt as if he was looking at something or someone he needed to understand.