Where Hope Began

THE MORNING WHEN Professor Arya Rathore, along with her apprentice Sidharth Zou, had stepped onto the Excised cobbled path of the Mall Road, the town had already lost its name. Burrowing his chin into the collar of his oxblood sweater, Sidharth gave Arya a side eye. He had been highly vocal about their last-minute inclusion in this futile affair. It was already evident that this excavation was one of those scapegoat operations to ensure the Arcane Ministry saved face.

Heeding him no mind, Arya averted her gaze. Sidharth pursed his lips in measured annoyance and then pulled out the analogous scribble pad from his charcoal-hued tweed overcoat's side pocket. Following the trail of the curved road ahead, Sidharth noted down the clean disappearance of shops that were once on the edge of the ridges. The path ahead arched upward, with cobbled stones gradually making up the fray; however, at the peak, where a gothic church—Colonial-era architecture—stood, it abruptly morphed into charred stubble, with vermillion grid-marks and a pungent smell that made Sidharth hold his breath.

Right before their arrival, he and his master both had a fill of paratha and a cup of Earl Grey. It was against his wishes, but Arya had argued that it would help to maintain energy levels, but the bile that threatened to erupt now had a different view. With a quick scribble and a note to scold his master, Sidharth averted his gaze to focus on an alternative.

Over the controlled expanse of this ridge, dubbed the Mall Road by locals, there wasn't a sight that the Miasmic tides hadn't already touched. The facade walls of the town hall were worn down and hollow; the foundation blocks of the police station adjacent to it remained exposed, with bubbling liquids of vermillion and obsidian cackling in a cosmic elation. Even the lamps and the humble side railing guarding the steep descent into the Himalayan valley flickered from time to time, threatening to disappear.

"No matter how you look at it, Arya," Sidharth paused, clicked the pen once, and then fixed a stern gaze on her, not befitting of a student but of an elder scolding their younger ones. "This assignment is another one of their schemes to invalidate our crusade."

"Crusade?" Arya's neatly trimmed chestnut hair bobbed in her high pony, as she held back a chuckle. "You make it sound like we are on a medieval adventure."

"Still better than that obscure philosophy of healing the world," Sidharth refuted with a sigh. "Avalon is not a great name for this world-saving business, and neither do I like it as my thesis title."

Pulling up the sleeves of her oxblood chesterfield coat, Arya positioned the collar of the cashmere turtle neck; it was too cold for the desert dweller. "We will have ample time for debates on the Marudhara Suryavanshi's heroic exploits once we return," she said, gesturing at the minor gathering of pseudo-military forces and a few ministry officials at the ridge ahead. "So, don't you think it would be ideal if we graced those who have been protecting this town with our presence?"

CAPTAIN DANIEL SINGH held Sidhharth's palm in a firm handshake. Slightly ignorant and mildly annoyed, he lingered a second longer to sense even a sign of hesitance or a tremble in the protector's demeanour, but to his dismay, there were none. Staring into his electric blue eyes, Sidharth saw his own receding silhouette. Holding back an apologetic smile, he gave him a final nod and returned to Arya's side, who, with her sunlit yet regal smile, exchanged pleasantries with everyone.

It was an occupational skill that he, as her heir, had to learn. Although it was a headache, when compounded by the coursework and these excavations. Captain Daniel shot him another smile. Sidharth wanted to ignore; he was averse to the optimistic type. He found their methodology taxing and crude.

"It would be bad manners," Arya commanded him in a whisper. She was flooded by the scrooges of the ministry and their never-ending lies of appreciation; thus, it was his duty, on behalf of the Marudhara Suryavanshi, to extend thanks to the Captain.

With a hesitant step, he gestured for the auburn-haired man towards the canopy of the vaulted archway of Christ Church. It was the only structure of the nameless town that had yet to face the brunt of the Miasma on the exterior. Halting by the marble steps, Sidharth offered the Captain a calculated smile. He had practised it many a time, courtesy of Arya, first-ranked, and Vikram, third-ranked hero of Marudhara Suryavanshi.

"Thank you for your services, Captain Singh," Sidharth uttered in slow and measured notes of congratulations. "Without your presence, we of the Marudhara would have been walking through a pungent land. Due to your repeated intervention, the place still stands, and you can now leave the rest to us."

The Captain held a faint smile through it all. It was eerie. Sidharth was expecting at least a nod of acknowledgement or even a pat on the shoulder, but all he got was cold silence. There was no further conversation after that. All that he could hear were the distant echoes of the ministry and their lascivious lies. It was an annoyance. Heaving a sigh, he retraced his gaze back at Daniel, who now stood by the church door, tinkering with his doomsday clock.

It was a mechanical, enchanted wristwatch issued by the Ministry of Arcane to measure the time left before a corrupted place dissolved from reality. It was a handy tool for those deployed to resist such an event, but a heartwrenching ordeal for those who belonged to that place. Slightly curious, by his sudden action, Sidharth drew up his sleeves and gazed at his own.

The bronze minute hand remained still at 30 minutes from midnight's edge. The brass cogs underneath it moved in a lethargic click, while the hour hand quivered at the top. There were seven other minuscule chronometers, each depicting the time of a corroded region.

"Did you get the numerologist to adjust the watch for local time?" Daniel shot him a jaded glance.

"I know the regulations, Captain," Sidharth covered his watch and gave him a measured nod. "But thank you for the—"

The Captain cut him off with a wave. He then pulled out a roll of cigarettes and gestured at him. Sidharth shook his head and held back his weary stare.

"Suit yourself," The Captain lit up a smoke and then continued. "Forgive me for taking a quick peek, but it seems your watch is at 30 minutes to midnight." He paused, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

Sidharth's eyes widened as he quickly glanced at the watch he had made sure to cover. To his dismay, there was a slight gap in his foray, and it was enough for the Captain. That is how sharp-eyed the man was.

"Don't bother," the Captain said with another puff.

Sidharth pressed his lips into a strained smile.

As if catching the cue, Captain Daniel pulled up his sleeves and pointed at his watch. It was at five minutes to midnight. "I apologise if my tone was provocative; it wasn't my intention, but information is a stringent commodity, thus you need to make sure you have the right one."

A dam of questions rushed through Sidharth's cognition. The Numerologist's reveries and Arya's argument both came back. He was sure they had made no mistakes; the equations were accurate, and the calculations impeccable. Then how?

"We lost the town's name at quarter to midnight…I suppose that was a month ago or maybe longer, I can't really recall." The Captain continued, his gaze cast over the vermillion grid-marked valleys. The elated hiss from their incursion was a distant hum, but the Captain's cold, simmering stare made him question otherwise.

Shaking his head, Sidharth retorted, "The calculations can't be wrong. The numerologists from the camp below—"

Letting out a hearty yet demeaning laugh, the Captain gazed at him with sunken eyes. It was a contrast from the optimism they had mirrored. Now it felt hollow with only a trace of ire.

"The centre's Arcanists, and Numerologists, drowned in their myopic sight long ago." The Captain rolled the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it carefully, not to touch the whitewashed wall. "If they even cared about us, you two would have arrived weeks ago, if not months. As for the ones below," he pointed downwards, towards the bottom of the hills, "they won't even bother to step into the affected zone," He scoffed. "I wouldn't trust their judgement if I were you, and I am sure your master agrees. Because if she doesn't, then no one can save us, that is, if there is anything left to save."

Captain Daniel finished as the minute hand progressed again with a click. The chatter behind Sidharth drowned out as the faint whirring of his own watch synchronised with the Captain's. It was quiet, yet he could hear even the slightest reverberation, making him tremble. This town was not weeks, but only days away from Dissolution.

In a loud grumble, the floor shuddered under the echoing chime of the church bell. Sidharth hitched his breath, frantically glancing above. The grey morning skies quivered and dazzled under a beam of concentrated Miasma. It streaked past the mountains and, in a parabolic arc, curved towards them. Then, in a roar, it clashed with the archaic barrier the town of Arcanists had erected decades ago. The light shed by this exchange was blinding. Sidharth had to force his lids to stay open. It was painful.

Soon, the beam dispersed with a cackle, and from its wake arose abhorrent bodies of vermillion flesh. They crawled over the spherical, seven-layered barrier, using their Miasmic discharge to penetrate the last defence of the town. Sidharth's stomach churned into knots as the wave of nausea he had fought back for hours returned. His amber eyes were plastered over these incogitable monstrosities, which possessed neither a face nor a discernible anatomy.

Holding the wave of bile in his throat, Sidharth glanced at Arya. She stood amongst the trembling officials with a poised elegance, her arms crossed and her pastel lips curled into a measured smile. Antithesis of life, that is how she had explained Miasma in her class years ago. Today, once again, he saw why it was called so.