Far away, on another planet in this galaxy, it prowled, a being both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Its name echoed through whispers of legends across worlds: Fi-Qiyo.

  CHAPTER - 5: PROTECT ME

  6:07 A.M

  Kashmir, India

  The old man stepped out of his room, leaving the door slightly open behind him. A thin sliver of light spilled into the hallway, hinting at the quiet life within.

  On the bed, in the soft shadows of the room, a girl lay wrapped in a blanket. The fabric cocooned her small frame, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. The stillness of the room seemed to hold its own secret, waiting for someone—or something—to disturb it.

  Meanwhile, elsewhere in Kashmir

  He walked slowly, the soft quiet of the early morning wrapped around him like a fragile cloak. The rising rays of the sun lingered on the horizon, holding their brilliance, waiting for the perfect moment to spill light across the valley.

  For now, there was only calm—dim, gentle light that softened the edges of the world. He moved forward, step by step, not rushing, not looking for anything. He was simply walking, simply living, letting the morning breathe around him.

  But she had to keep going, and had to live her life somehow.

  In the old man’s house, in the dimly lit changing room, she had risen from the bed and slipped into her clothes. Her mind churned with bitter thoughts, a harsh truth she forced herself to face: he takes from me every day, but I have no choice but to endure.

  The mirror reflected her tired eyes and clenched jaw, a silent reminder of the life she hadn’t asked for. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a stubborn part of her vowed—she would survive.

  Kashmir — a land where nature’s beauty reigns supreme. A place draped in blankets of snow, where green valleys once sang with life.

  The snow and the forests had long been the heart of this homeland, a living tapestry of color and life. But now… a heavy calm had settled over it. Silence hung in the air, almost alive, as if the land itself had taken its people into its quiet embrace.

  Noon, Kashmir

  The old man was close to her again. She lay there, silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

  “I don’t want this,” she whispered, her voice barely breaking the stillness.

  “But I want this,” he replied, his words heavy in the quiet room.

  Her mind raced. Can I run? No… I can’t. But I have to survive. Every fiber of her being screamed for freedom, yet she stayed, trapped in the impossible silence. The room seemed to shrink around her, each second stretching into an eternity.

  Afternoon, Kashmir

  She ran. Every step took her farther from the old man, farther from the suffocating weight of that room. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling like waves in a storm.

  The snow-crusted ground blurred beneath her feet, and the cold air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. All that mattered was distance—distance from him, distance from fear, distance from everything that had trapped her.

  Each heartbeat hammered in her ears, echoing the one truth she clung to: she had to get away. Somehow, anywhere, she had to survive.

  She ducked into a small shop, pressing herself against the wall. Carefully, she pulled the shutter halfway down, creating a fragile barrier between herself and the world outside.

  For a long moment, she simply breathed—slow, deliberate breaths, tasting the cold air that slipped through the cracks. Each inhale was a small victory, a reminder that she was still here, still moving, still surviving.

  Peeking through the narrow gap, she let out a quiet sigh. The distance she had put between herself and him was small, but it felt infinite. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself a fragment of relief. She was far enough, for now.

  A short while later, a sound echoed outside—footsteps, deliberate and heavy against the quiet street.

  Her heart leapt. Is it him? Or one of his men?

  The steps drew closer, faster now, then suddenly stopped. Silence fell again, thick and suffocating. Her breath hitched as she strained to hear, every nerve on edge.

  Through the narrow gap in the shutter, she saw movement. Someone was slowly lifting it from outside. Panic surged through her. She pressed herself into the corner, searching for anything she could use to protect herself.

  The shutter creaked fully open—and there he stood. Not the old man, not one of his men—someone else entirely.

  His eyes met hers. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

  Fear clenched her chest. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “Who… are you?”

  “I ask first,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word. “Who… are… you?”

  She hesitated, then finally said, “Arifa… Arifa is my name.”

  “Why are you here?” he demanded, his gaze sharp.

  “I… I—” she stammered.

  “I said, why are you here?” he pressed again.

  “I am… here to hide myself,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

  “Hide yourself… but why?” he asked, leaning slightly forward, studying her reaction.

  A short while later, the two of them sat together in the dim shelter, the outside world still wrapped in uneasy silence.

  “So,” he said slowly, studying her face, “you ran away because that old man did things to you every day. And that old man is connected to the beings.”

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  She nodded. “Yes. His name is Zoon. And those beings… they want to make him main.”

  “Zoon,” he repeated quietly. “Every person I’ve known with the name Zoon has done something… terrible.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “Nothing,” he said dismissively, then looked at her again. “Tell me something. Why him? I mean—why did they choose him?”

  She took a moment, gathering her courage.

  “Because Zoon was the first human who accepted the beings’ motive—to coexist with humans. He was the first to agree. That’s why.”

  He fell silent, lost in thought.

  After a pause, she asked softly, “What is your name?”

  “Irfan,” he replied.

  “Irfan…” she said, then hesitated. “Why are you roaming around Kashmir like this? You lifted the shutter without fear. And the way you are… it doesn’t look like these incidents have affected you.”

  “They haven’t,” Irfan said calmly.

  She swallowed. “Who are you, really? What do you do?”

  “I kill people like that old man,” he answered flatly.

  “What?”

  “You don’t need to know,” he said.

  “Okay, but—” she hesitated, then forced the words out.

  “Can I come with you? If I stay alone, Zoon will catch me again. Please… can I come with you?”

  “No,” Irfan said without hesitation.

  “Please,” she begged. “Otherwise, I’ll be sent back to him. Please.”

  “No,” he repeated.

  She lowered her gaze. “Then… I’ll do whatever you ask. Anything.”

  Irfan looked at her for a long moment, then sighed.

  “Come. You don’t need to do any of that. You can come with me.”

  Relief washed over her face. For the first time in a long while, a peaceful smile appeared—small, fragile, but real.

  Sonora Desert.

  The bus moved in silence, rolling steadily along the long highway from Sonora to Janos.

  The afternoon had faded, leaving a soft, warm glow on the horizon. They were at the edge of the desert now, about to cross into the vast expanse of Chihuahua.

  Meanwhile, inside the bus…

  Eliza leaned forward, glancing at Nayeli.

  "Where are we now?" she asked.

  Nayeli’s eyes scanned the horizon through the window.

  "We’re at the edge of the desert… about to enter Janos, part of Chihuahua," she replied calmly.

  The old man turned, fixing his gaze on Mateo.

  "How long have we been on the highway?"

  "About an hour," Mateo answered.

  The old man sighed, leaning back slightly.

  "Then I suppose you’ll have to carry me on your back again."

  "Ah, it’s fine," Mateo said, shrugging.

  He leaned back in his seat, turning to Daego.

  "So… what are you doing back there?"

  Daego didn’t look up.

  "Just checking my phone. What else?"

  "And what exactly are you checking on your phone at a time like this?" Mateo asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Daego smirked.

  "Then what else am I supposed to do?"

  A girl sitting behind Daego spoke up, her voice careful but curious.

  "Mr. Jorge?"

  "Yeah?" the old man replied.

  "Didn’t you have a gun? I mean… what happened to it?"

  Jorge glanced down at his feet, where the gun rested.

  "It’s right here, by my feet."

  Daego frowned.

  "Why do you even need a gun?"

  The girl shrugged, defensively.

  "I’m just asking."

  Jorge gave a small, wry smile.

  "Who doesn’t ask about guns? But I trust Mariana.”

  The bus had finally crossed into Chihuahua, reaching Janos.

  The endless stretches of the Sonora Desert were behind them now. The harsh, dry landscape faded, giving way to the new terrain of Chihuahua as the vehicle rolled steadily forward.

  The bus rolled along the empty tracks, heading toward the quiet railway station of Janos. The platforms stretched under the soft afternoon light, empty and still, with only the sound of the bus’s engine breaking the silence.

  Clive stood in the cabin of the bus, watching Robin at the wheel.

  "So… this is the railway station from where we’re taking the train?" he asked.

  Robin nodded.

  "Yeah… but it’s an old train. Wooden cabins, very old-fashioned—nothing like the ones you see in movies."

  Clive frowned slightly.

  "Why the old one? Can’t we take a better one?"

  Robin shrugged.

  "Look… I used to drive trains before, so I only know the old ones. I can’t say much about the new ones. And this one… it’s easier to handle. Maximum ten cabins, that’s all."

  Clive nodded, understanding.

  "Didn’t think you could drive a train too," he said with a small smile.

  Robin chuckled quietly.

  Clive looked thoughtful.

  "Can’t we just go by this bus?"

  Robin shook his head.

  "We could… but it would take forever to get to Tamaulipas. The train, though old, can get us there in a single day."

  Clive nodded, finally understanding.

  A short while later, everyone stepped off the bus and made their way into the quiet station. The platforms were empty, the soft afternoon light casting long shadows over the tracks.

  Robin walked along the platform, scanning for the old train they were supposed to take.

  "Can’t we take a new one? I mean… a premium train?" Mariana asked, tilting her head as she watched him.

  Clive glanced at her.

  "Robin wants to drive the old one."

  "But what’s wrong with driving a new train?" she persisted.

  Clive shrugged.

  "He said it’s easier for him… handling the old one is simple."

  Eliza, watching Robin move along the tracks, shook her head slightly.

  "I didn’t think he could actually drive a train."

  Clive smiled faintly.

  "So… turns out, he can even fly a plane."

  Eliza laughed softly, shaking her head.

  "I can’t believe it… can he really fly planes somewhere?”

  A short while later, Robin spotted an old train resting quietly on one of the tracks. Its wooden cabins gleamed faintly under the soft afternoon light, slightly worn but still sturdy, a relic from another time. The distant whistle of the wind through the empty station echoed off the platforms as he ran toward it, excitement mixed with familiarity in his stride.

  He called out to the group.

  "Everyone, come here!"

  One by one, they followed him, their footsteps clattering softly on the wooden platform. The train looked different up close—its faded paint, creaking doors, and polished wooden cabins gave it a charm that modern trains lacked. A faint scent of oil and aged wood lingered in the air.

  Robin led the way, climbing into the driver’s cabin with practiced ease. The controls, levers, and gauges looked old-fashioned, yet perfectly functional in his hands. He glanced back at the group with a grin, inviting them to follow.

  They entered the cabin behind him, the wooden interior creaking gently under their weight. It was a simple space—just benches and enough room to sit—but it carried the warmth and character of a train built to last. Each of them took their place on the benches, the air filled with the quiet anticipation of the journey ahead.

  As the group settled into the wooden cabin, the rhythmic sound of the wheels on the tracks seemed to sync with their heartbeat, a gentle reminder that, though this train was old, it would carry them forward—through the landscapes of Chihuahua and beyond.

  The train’s wheels began to turn, slowly at first, then faster, faster, until the rhythm of metal against track became a steady, mesmerizing hum. The afternoon sunlight caught the polished steel of the wheels, making them gleam and flash as they spun with increasing speed.

  One by one, the group let their guard down. The tension that had weighed on their shoulders for so long began to ease—here, on this old train, they were moving through the desert quietly, safely. For the first time in hours, a fragile sense of relief settled in their hearts.

  The old man had lowered his gun, resting it beside him, and sank into the wooden bench with a tired sigh. The warm, worn surface of the seat seemed to ground him, a small comfort amid the uncertainty.

  Daego stood at the far end of the cabin, his back pressed lightly against the wooden wall, steadying himself. His eyes scanned the passing scenery, alert but less tense than before.

  Clive positioned himself near the front door of the cabin, leaning slightly against the frame, watching the world outside blur past. The soft clatter of wheels on the rails created a rhythm that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.

  Mariana stood beside him, at the other side of the door, her stance relaxed, her shoulders no longer tight with worry. Even she allowed herself to exhale slowly, letting the quiet hum of the moving train reassure her.

  Night had claimed the desert. Shadows crept along the train, wrapping the cabin in darkness. Inside, the lights glowed brightly, casting sharp reflections on the polished wooden surfaces.

  Mariana leaned at the front door, eyes lost in the fleeting beauty outside. The calm of the desert and the golden hue of the fading sun created a brief moment of peace.

  Daego’s gaze darted across the cabin, sharp and restless. Then, in a sudden blur, he sprinted toward Mariana.

  Before anyone could react, he shoved her from the door.

  She tipped forward, half in the air, half falling. Her arms flailed, a startled cry breaking the quiet hum of the train.

  The wheels turned relentlessly. The train didn’t stop.

  Clive moved fast, but not fast enough to catch her in time. She hit the ground, tumbling across the platform just outside the cabin.

  Shock froze everyone for a heartbeat.

  “What are you doing?!” Clive shouted, turning toward Daego.

  Daego lunged at him, pushing, shoving. Clive braced himself, sidestepped, and shoved back. They collided, momentum sending Daego staggering.

  Jorge’s hand twitched near his gun. Mateo hesitated, unsure what to do.

  Daego surged again. Clive pulled his gun, steady, eyes locked. The trigger clicked. The bullet sliced through the air with precision. Daego staggered, losing his balance.

  Clive didn’t pause. With a powerful shove, he threw Daego off the train. Momentum carried him backward, off the cabin, landing away from the moving wheels. Clive fired again, bullets cutting the air, reinforcing control.

  The cabin froze. Wide eyes. Hearts pounding. Everyone breathed in unison, still shocked by what had just unfolded.

  Clive’s stance remained strong, eyes scanning the shadows outside. The train roared onward, relentless, carrying them forward into the desert night. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the rhythmic hum of wheels and the wind rushing past.

  For a moment, the chaos felt distant. Yet, everyone knew—they were still in the middle of it.

  The train’s wheels began to slow. First barely noticeable, then gradually, the hum of metal on rails softening with every rotation. The rhythm of motion—the heartbeat of the journey—started to fade.

  “How much time does it take to stop!” Nayeli shouted, her voice sharp and urgent. She pressed forward, gripping the seat in front of her. Every second felt stretched. She wanted the train to halt—now.

  Robin’s hands remained steady on the controls. He didn’t look back. “This is a train, not a bus,” he replied, calm and unbothered. The slowing was precise, deliberate—careful navigation through the mountainous desert of Chihuahua.

  Outside, the desert rolled endlessly beneath the night sky. The train creaked against the incline. Moonlight fell in slivers across rocks and sand, silver and stark. Shadows stretched long across the dunes.

  The sky was a vast, ink-black dome. Stars glimmered faintly, distant and cold. A soft wind whispered across the ridges, carrying the scent of dry earth and dust. Silence pressed against the cabin like a tangible weight.

  Inside, the group leaned against benches and walls. Eyes followed the subtle slowing of the train. Every creak, every vibration, magnified in the tense quiet. Hearts raced with the rhythm of the decelerating wheels.

  The train rolled on, gradually losing speed, the desert waiting silently outside. The next stage of their journey lay ahead, under the silver gaze of the moon, and the night held them all in its vast, tense embrace.

  — — — — TO BE CONTINUED — — — —

  THE POLES ARE NOW READY.

  CHAPTER - 6: POLES OF THE REVEALS

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  DARK_Novels_