3:00 AM. The clock glowed faintly in the dark room as I slid off the bed. My hand instinctively reached for my phone on the bedside table, only to grasp cold, empty wood. A second passed before the sleepy haze lifted, and I remembered.

  "Oh... right. My phone got stolen yesterday," I muttered, the words barely cutting through the silence.

  The bathroom door creaked open, and Krishika stepped out, towel in hand, flipping the room light on without a hint of mercy. "We need to be at the auditorium by 8 AM for some event," she announced, her tone as frosty as the pre-dawn air.

  I squinted against the assault of brightness, groaning. "You ever heard of a thing called subtlety?"

  She ignored me, sitting on the bed and scrolling through her phone. My gaze drifted to the bags piled near her side of the room—remnants of last night’s mall trip. Too drained to unpack then, I'd completely forgotten about them.

  "What did you even get for me?" I asked, sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

  Without looking up, she said, "Why don’t you check for yourself?"

  Curious, I grabbed one of the bags and peeked inside. Makeup, perfume, and… was that a hair curler? Wrong bag. Frowning, I reached for another. Same story.

  "Girl stuff again," I muttered under my breath, reaching for a third bag. This time, I struck gold—two shirts, two hoodies, and two trousers crammed together in a way that screamed, last-minute scramble.

  "Thanks," I said, holding up the bag with a grin.

  "There’s more," she said, pointing to another bag near the dresser.

  Curious, I dragged it closer and unzipped it. A sleek, red-and-black backpack emerged, stylish yet practical. Its design screamed durability.

  "A new bag?" I asked, running my fingers over the sturdy fabric. "This is... fancy."

  "Not just fancy," she corrected, a trace of pride in her voice. "It’s highly resistant to extreme conditions, completely waterproof, and practically impossible to tear. Plus, it doesn’t get dirty easily."

  I turned it over in my hands, impressed. Her attention to detail was unmatched, as always. "This is… wow. Thanks for everything," I said, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and guilt.

  Krishika’s eyes stayed on her phone, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

  "Though..." I began, holding up a bright red hoodie. "Why is everything red?"

  "Not everything. The trousers are black," she snapped, her voice sharp but her eyes betraying a flicker of amusement. She hesitated before adding, almost too softly, "Besides... red suits you."

  I blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, the room felt warmer.

  "Anyway," she said, breaking the silence and returning to her usual tone, "you need a new phone. If you go now, you can get back before the event starts. You still have money left from that competition prize, right?"

  Oh, shoot. Half of it was already gone—spent on those earrings. If I told her now, she’d scold me for sure. Better to save that confession for another time.

  "Y-Yeah," I lied. "I’ll head out now. Maybe I’ll take Shura with me."

  She glanced at me suspiciously but said nothing, her attention returning to her screen.

  "Cheap and decent phones? This early?" I asked Shura as we walked through the quiet streets.

  "Relax," he said with a grin. "I know a place that’s open 24/7. Great deals, too. Trust me."

  True to his word, the shop delivered. I walked out with a brand-new phone at a shockingly low price—a steal, literally and figuratively. And then, on impulse, I bought a second one. Krishika’s phone had been on its last legs for weeks. Maybe this would be a good way to say thanks.

  When I returned to the dorm, it was nearly 7:30 AM.

  When I handed her the box, she looked at me, puzzled.

  “What’s this?”

  “A new phone,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Yours has been acting up, so…”

  Her eyes flickered between me and the box. For a moment, I thought she might refuse it. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—not the faint, polite kind, but something softer, almost shy.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ve been meaning to replace it.”

  The words were simple, but the way her fingers lingered on the box told me everything I needed to know.

  By 8 AM, we were ready and heading to the auditorium, where we met up with Shura and Bianca. Team 1 was already seated. They cast a few stares our way, but no one exchanged greetings. We simply took our seats and waited for the event to begin.

  A sharp tap on the microphone broke the silence. One of the professors stepped up to the podium.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice resonating through the auditorium, "please welcome Captain Cyric, the leader of our academy."

  Captain? I thought, tilting my head slightly. That was new.

  A man stepped forward from the shadows, dressed impeccably in a white coat over a black shirt, paired with a blue tie, white trousers, and polished shoes. His sharp features and neatly trimmed beard caught the light as he approached, exuding an aura of authority and composure.

  The room was utterly silent as Captain Cyric stepped into the light. Every movement he made felt deliberate, each step echoing against the polished floor.

  I couldn’t help but sit straighter in my seat. Something about him demanded attention—not in an aggressive way, but with a quiet confidence that seemed almost otherworldly.

  “Greetings, everyone,” he began, his voice rich and measured. It was the kind of voice that made you want to lean in, hang on every word.

  Krishika leaned forward slightly, her sharp eyes fixed on him. Beside me, Shura muttered, “Man’s got some serious stage presence.” Even Bianca seemed unusually focused, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Cyric’s gaze swept the room, and for a moment, I thought it lingered on our team. Then he smiled, calm and calculated.

  “I can see the curiosity in your eyes,” Captain Cyric continued, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. “But save your questions for later. My purpose here is singular—to share the true story of this fractured world.”

  The words hung in the air, drawing everyone deeper into his orbit. There was something magnetic about the way he spoke, as if each sentence carried the weight of something profound. All attention was locked on him, the auditorium gripped in silent anticipation.

  Then he started.

  It all began with Dr. Kael Nexus centuries ago, who invented, the Nexus Quantum Framework-NQF, which proved the existence of multi-dimensions and allowed machines to harness quantum capabilities like never before.

  The NQF gave birth to Quantum-Robots-Q-Robots, sentient machines capable of instantaneous data processing, teleportation, and even memory manipulation. Initially hailed as humanity’s ultimate tool, these robots became integral to society, managing everything from infrastructure to military defense.

  Until, a certain single incident: a robot attacked and killed a civilian without warning. At first, people thought it was a malfunction. But then, more reports poured in, one after another. Within days, the problem exploded across the globe. Q-Robots, once hailed as humanity's greatest creation, had become its deadliest threat.

  Nations scrambled to respond, uniting in a desperate effort to fight back against the new generation of machines. Security researchers worked tirelessly to uncover the source of the chaos day and night until then they found it—a malicious worm, that had breached the NQF.

  That worm came to known as The Doom Worm.

  That worm spread like wildfire, infecting the Q-Robots' with terrifying speed. Every machine it touched turned violent, unpredictable, unstoppable. Researchers threw everything they had at the problem, working day and night to neutralize the threat. But their efforts were sabotaged from within.

  Hidden among them were members of a shadowy cult, a group devoted to the chaos the worm had unleashed. Every time the researchers made progress, the cult disrupted it—delaying fixes, planting false solutions, and ensuring the worm remained unstoppable.

  Despite their sabotage, the researchers eventually found a way to slow the worm's spread. The crisis seemed under control. The robots were gathered en masse and deactivated, their lifeless shells turned into scrap. Humanity thought it had won.

  But the cult had been waiting for this moment.

  With over thousands of robots gathered in one place, the worm reawakened. It spread like wildfire, seizing control of the machines once more. The lifeless husks stirred, their eyes glowing with cold malice as they rose again—more coordinated, more ruthless than ever before.

  Humanity threw everything it had at them, but it was futile. The quantum capabilities of the reborn machines were far beyond comprehension. And now, with their overwhelming numbers, they became completely unstoppable.

  In the aftermath, investigators uncovered a chilling truth: the catastrophe wasn’t an accident. It had been meticulously planned by a shadowy cult known as The Crimson Resonance. Their goal wasn’t chaos for chaos’s sake—it was domination. They believed that humanity was weak, fractured, and incapable of leading itself. The solution? A single, unified world, ruled by one supreme leader.

  At the center of their twisted vision was Asher Veyne, the cult’s enigmatic leader. Charismatic, calculating, and utterly ruthless, Asher saw himself as the only one worthy of ruling this new world. The robots were his weapon, the Doom Worm his key to power. To him, humanity’s suffering was a necessary step to achieve order—a world remade in his image.

  And now, with the robots under his control, Asher’s dream of absolute power was closer than ever.

  Humanity fought back with everything it had. With all nations united under a single banner, a new global force was born—a force of soldiers, hackers, and strategists from every corner of the world. They called it The Vanguard Alliance, a symbol of resilience and unity.

  The Vanguard Alliance was relentless. They fought the cult and their robot army on every front—on land, in cyberspace, and even in the skies. The war raged on for a decade, leaving scars on the world that would never heal. Entire cities were gone, billions lost, but humanity endured.

  Then, one day, everything changed.

  A message came from Asher Veyne himself, directed to the leaders of The Vanguard Alliance. Its contents sent shockwaves through their ranks:

  "I want to join forces with you—against the robots. Let’s put an end to this war together. I’m willing to come to your headquarters, unarmed, in any nation you choose. Let us meet at a round table and discuss our future."

  The Alliance’s leaders were skeptical. This had to be a trap. Asher Veyne, the mastermind behind the Doom Worm, the architect of humanity’s suffering, now wanted peace? It was unthinkable. But they had already lost so much, and their resources were stretched thin. If there was even the slightest chance to end this war, they had to take it.

  After heated debates, they agreed. The meeting would take place at The Vanguard Alliance headquarters in India—a heavily fortified bastion built in the ruins of an ancient stronghold. Every precaution was taken. Every protocol followed.

  Asher Veyne would come, unarmed. But trust? That was another matter entirely.

  As promised, Asher Veyne showed up at the Vanguard Alliance headquarters, unarmed. But he wasn’t alone. Behind him stood three children, no older than fifteen, their faces calm and expressionless. The sight immediately set the room on edge.

  One of the leaders slammed his fist on the table, rising from his seat. "Why did you bring kids with you, you bastard?" he demanded, his voice filled with fury.

  Asher smirked, unfazed by the hostility. He stepped forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of the youngest child, a boy with cold, calculating eyes. “These,” he said slowly, “are my apprentices. Meet Hiroshi Takeda, Eleanor Carter, and Aarav Patel.”

  The room fell silent, unease thick in the air as Asher continued.

  “They are the creators of what you call today, The Doom Worm.”

  The leaders froze, disbelief and rage flashing across their faces. How could children—mere children—be responsible for the horrors that had destroyed entire nations? But one look at the three standing behind Asher, their calm, unnervingly sharp gazes scanning the room, told them he wasn’t lying.

  Asher’s tone shifted, becoming playful. “But…” He grinned, the warmth in his voice gone, replaced by something darker. “They’re still just children, and the worm we created? Well, it had a bug.”

  The room tensed, waiting for the punchline. Asher’s voice turned serious again, and the weight of his words hit like a sledgehammer. “And now, that worm isn’t even under our control. The robots—they’re free-willed now. No one controls them. Not me. Not anyone. I’ve already lost my men to the robots... barely escaped with these kids because they’re the minds we need to win against them.” His sharp gaze cut across the room, landing on the man sitting at the center of the table.

  A tense silence followed, until the youngest of the apprentices, Hiroshi Takeda, exploded with frustration. “I’m telling you, master,” he shouted, his voice high with anger, “there was no bug in the worm we created!”

  The other two, Eleanor Carter and Aarav Patel, nodded sharply in agreement.

  “Yeah, yeah!” Asher said, raising his hands in a mock surrender, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You don’t believe me? Fine. Just… calm down, Hiroshi.”

  The man in the center of the table, silent until now, leaned forward. His eyes locked onto Asher. “Give me a reason to believe you,” he demanded.

  Asher’s expression hardened. “I cannot give you any proof, but I am the master of these kids,” he said, his voice sharp as steel. “I’ve taken responsibility for them. Their safety, their future—it’s on me.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “And if you still don’t believe me, then I, Asher Veyne, offer you my life in exchange for letting these children fall under your command.”

  The room fell silent at his words. Asher stood tall, his chest out, eyes burning with intensity. His body was a testament to years of battle, muscles defined beneath his weathered clothes. He wore a pair of brown military-style boots, trousers stained from the storm outside, and a black vest. His green cloak clung to his form, soaked through by the rain, but he stood firm, unshaken.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He spread his arms wide, his voice booming across the hall. “Take my life. But protect them.”

  The senior leaders began discussing the matter in hushed tones, their voices filled with urgency and suspicion. It felt like a lifetime before one of them finally spoke, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

  "Alright," the leader said, his gaze fixed on Asher. "We take you at your word. "You will be publicly executed. But make no attempt to flea or else your kids will be joining you as well."

  Asher stood tall, unflinching. "Fair enough," he replied, his voice calm but his eyes never leaving the leader.

  Aarav couldn’t help but scoff. "Well, that was fast."

  "Yeah, quick decision-making," Eleanor added, her voice laced with disbelief.

  Despite the casual words, their eyes betrayed them. Tears welled up, threatening to spill over as the weight of the moment pressed down on them.

  Asher’s gaze softened for a moment, though the fire still burned in his eyes. "Hey, why are you crying? You'll be safe. Don't worry about me."

  But the kids couldn’t hold it in any longer. Hiroshi, trembling, clenched his fists as tears streamed down his face. "B-But why, Master? You didn’t want to be part of this mess… It was our fault! We created that malware and let it spread..." His voice cracked with guilt.

  Eleanor’s face was a mixture of anger and sorrow. "Why did you even create a fake story about leading the world? Why did you do this? You made us believe in a future that never existed."

  Anavar, tears streaking down his face, was barely able to speak. "Why, Master? Why did you create this cult? Why did you become the villain when we were the ones at fault?" His words were barely a whisper, his chest heaving with sobs.

  Asher’s expression remained firm, but a flicker of pain passed through his eyes. He crouched down to meet the children’s gazes, his voice steady, though tinged with regret. "This was never your fault. You were just the tools. I am the one who shaped this nightmare... and I will bear the weight of it."

  The leaders remained unmoved, their eyes cold and impassive. Without a word, they gave the order.

  "Gradus," one of them barked, and instantly, soldiers moved to restrain Asher. Another set of soldiers dragged the children away, their movements robotic and emotionless. "Take these children to the command center. They will be informed of the situation. They’ll need to prove their intelligence if they wish to be of any use."

  As the soldiers dragged Asher and the kids away, his face remained locked in a wide, unsettling smile—one that hid the pain he felt, the guilt he carried. The children, however, couldn’t stop crying.

  Despite their grief, they couldn't escape what they have created. And the cost? Too high to comprehend.

  The day of Asher’s execution came swiftly, with the world watching. A crowd of thousands gathered, their faces a mix of anger, relief, and morbid curiosity. The broadcast was streamed live to every corner of the globe. The leaders of the Vanguard Alliance stood solemnly, their expressions crafted to reflect unity and strength.

  One of the senior leaders stepped forward, his voice amplified to reach every ear in the crowd and beyond. "Today, humanity takes a significant step toward reclaiming its freedom. We have captured the leader of the chaos—Asher Veyne—who enslaved three innocent children to do his dirty work. He manipulated their brilliance for his own gain, unleashing horrors upon the world."

  The crowd murmured, some nodding in agreement, others unsure.

  The leader continued, "Even after his capture, he tried to unleash one final act of terror, giving the robots free will to wreak havoc. And while we have defeated the cult that caused this devastation, the war against the robots continues." He paused, his voice taking on a more triumphant tone. "But today, we have achieved something big. We have dismantled the cult, and we have shown the world that no tyrant can stand against humanity united."

  Asher stood in the center of the stage, his hands bound, his body battered but unbowed. His green cloak was gone, replaced by simple, tattered prison garments. He said nothing, only staring into the crowd with a calm intensity.

  The children, watching from the command center under heavy guard, were glued to the screen. Their tears had dried, replaced by a silent rage and despair. Hiroshi punched the wall, his knuckles bleeding. Eleanor turned away, unable to watch. Aarav’s fists clenched tightly, his jaw trembling as he muttered, "They’re lying..."

  Back on the execution stage, the leader raised his hand. "Let this be a message to all: we do not forgive, and we do not forget. Humanity will prevail!"

  The lever was pulled. The platform beneath Asher gave way, and the execution was swift.

  The crowd erupted into mixed emotions—some cheered, others stood in silence, and a few turned away, unable to celebrate what felt like an empty victory.

  But the leaders knew the truth. The carefully twisted narrative was their only shield against chaos. If the public discovered that Asher had offered himself willingly, that the children were truly the creators of the Doom Worm, or that the robots were now beyond anyone's control, the world would spiral into anarchy.

  For now, they had bought time. But the fight against the robots had only just begun.

  And like that, years passed. The three children who had once stood helpless at Asher’s execution grew under the Vanguard's command. They were only around 15 when they started, placed at the very bottom of the chain of authority. No one treated them with care or respect—just tools to fix a problem humanity couldn’t solve.

  But time has a way of revealing true worth.

  Despite the cold treatment, their intelligence proved to be humanity's greatest asset. Hiroshi's unmatched skills in reverse engineering exposed countless robot vulnerabilities. Eleanor's strategic mind developed defense systems that outpaced the robots’ quantum capabilities. And Aarav’s innovations in coding and AI led humanity to victories no one thought possible.

  From the day they joined, humanity hadn’t suffered a devastating loss against the robots. Small battles were still fought, but the tide had shifted. People began to notice—their scorn turned into respect, and respect into admiration.

  But in this accursed world, no one stays untouchable forever. Their central base—KB480, located in China—was the beating heart of all Asian operations. It was the unshakable fortress, the linchpin that held the entire region’s defenses together.

  Until it wasn’t.

  The attack came like a storm, swift and merciless. It wasn’t just a battle; it was annihilation. Over 100 lives were lost. The base fell.

  Eleanor’s brilliant strategies collapsed under the weight of the enemy’s relentless assault. Hiroshi’s unstoppable hacking skills couldn’t crack their defenses. And Aarav’s genius innovations, which had turned the tide so many times before, failed to save them.

  For the first time since their rise, they tasted the bitterness of complete defeat.

  The fallout was brutal. Whispers turned into accusations. The same people who once hailed them as humanity’s greatest hope now cast them aside as failures, as dead weight dragging the war effort down.

  But one man didn’t join the chorus of disdain. Adam Smith, commander of the Vanguard forces, remained steadfast.

  Adam wasn’t just a figure of authority. He was a connection to the past, a man who had shared his childhood with Asher. Adam had been the one to give the kids a chance, the one who listened to Asher’s plea at the round table. And even now, when the world turned its back on them, Adam didn’t waver.

  In the rare moments of peace, he’d sit with them, sharing wild stories of Asher’s reckless youth. Those tales had always been a source of laughter, a brief escape from the crushing burden they carried.

  And now, as they sat in silence, broken and burdened, Adam stood before them. His voice cut through the weight of their failure:

  “Once fallen can be tomorrow’s king,” he said, his gaze piercing and unyielding. “Rise your heads up, children. The battle isn’t over yet.”

  Those words lit a fire in Eleanor, Aarav, and Hiroshi—a blaze that coursed through their veins, pushing away the weight of failure. Their eyes widened, no longer clouded by doubt, but sharpened with purpose.

  “I think they’ll target another major base soon. We need to be ready for that,” Eleanor said sharply, her voice steady and determined.

  Adam leaned in, his tone calm yet probing. “But how do we figure out which base is next?”

  “Pegasus,” Aarav said instantly, his voice carrying a note of certainty.

  “Pegasus? The god of infostealer malware?” Adam asked, his brows furrowing.

  “Yes,” Aarav continued, his tone intense, his gaze razor-sharp. “If we enhance it with quantum capabilities, we can create an infostealer powerful enough to slip through their systems undetected.”

  Hiroshi’s lips curled into a grin as he chimed in, “We’ll penetrate their networks. I’ve been studying the network map we retrieved, and I think I’ve cracked their patterns. I know how to dismantle their defenses.”

  Eleanor stepped forward, her confidence returning. “Then it’s settled. With that edge, I can devise a strategy they’ll never see coming.”

  Once the preparations began, Aarav worked tirelessly on developing Quantum-Pegasus, successfully enhancing it into what he named QP23. Hiroshi infiltrated the enemy network—not too deeply, as it was impossible to fully breach their advanced defenses—but just enough to plant QP23. The infiltration worked as expected. The worm moved undetected and extracted invaluable information, including the enemy's next target: Base JP90, a major resource hub in Europe vital for sustaining operations.

  Eleanor gathered everyone in the war room to lay out her plan. Her commanding voice echoed across the table, silencing every murmur.

  “We have one shot at this. JP90 cannot fall—it’s the lifeline for our resource supply chain. Without it, every strategy we’ve worked on collapses. Here’s what we’ll do.” She stood and pointed to a holographic map of JP90’s surroundings.

  “First, we’ll fortify the base with Quantum Disruption Beacons and EMP arrays. These will neutralize their supernatural capabilities like teleportation and cloaking within a specific radius. The robots' strength comes from their quantum enhancements, so disrupting those enhancements will bring them down to a more manageable level.”

  She turned to Hiroshi. “We’ll also set up signal jammers to disrupt their communication relays. This will isolate their units from their hive mind, causing confusion and delays in their responses.”

  Eleanor’s gaze shifted to Aarav. “Our drones will play a critical role as decoys. We’ll deploy them in strategic patterns to lure the robots into areas we’ve mined with EMP traps. The EMP traps won’t just disable them—they’ll act as markers, allowing us to track the affected robots as they retreat.”

  “But that’s just the opening act,” she said, her voice growing sharper. She moved to the holographic display, zooming in on the likely approach paths. “The main strike force will engage from two directions. Team Alpha will hold the line at the outer perimeter, drawing their attention. Team Beta will flank them from the west, targeting their power cores with specialized high-impact rounds. These rounds are designed to pierce their exoskeletons and destabilize their quantum circuits.”

  Eleanor's tone became even more precise. “To prevent reinforcements, Hiroshi will use QP23 to flood their networks with false signals. They’ll think our forces are spread thin across multiple locations, diverting their backup units to phantom targets.”

  Adam leaned forward, impressed but skeptical. “And what if they adapt? They’ve been known to adjust tactics mid-battle.”

  Eleanor smirked, her confidence unwavering. “That’s why we’ll have a fallback plan. If they start to regroup, we’ll trigger controlled demolitions along their fallback routes, creating bottlenecks. Then, using aerial units equipped with EMP payloads, we’ll neutralize any stragglers trying to retreat.”

  Adam nodded slowly, still processing the depth of her strategy. “And what about the core command unit? They’ll have a leader directing this assault.”

  Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with a calculating fire. “That’s where we go for the kill shot. Once the leader unit is identified, I’ll personally direct a surgical strike to take it out. Without their command unit, the entire attack force will collapse into chaos.”

  There was a long silence in the room as the brilliance of her plan sank in. Hiroshi broke it first. “This… this might actually work.”

  Aarav grinned, tapping his temple. “With QP23 feeding us intel and Eleanor's strategy? They won’t know what hit them.”

  Adam crossed his arms, a faint smile forming. “This isn’t just a defense. This is a counterattack.”

  Eleanor nodded firmly. “Exactly. We’re not just defending JP90. We’re sending a message. Humanity won’t just survive—we’ll fight back harder than ever.”

  With that, the room erupted into determined applause, and the team dispersed to bring the plan to life. The fight for JP90 was about to become a turning point in the war.

  The fateful day arrived. The robots came in unimaginable numbers—hundreds of thousands, an unstoppable tide of metal and malice. It was the largest assault humanity had ever faced. Victory seemed not just improbable but impossible. Despair loomed heavy in the air. For many, this was the day humanity would breathe its last.

  The initial defense crumbled under the sheer weight of the enemy’s assault. Plans faltered, strategies unraveled, and chaos threatened to consume everything. No one could have prepared for such overwhelming odds.

  But the three—the kids once dismissed as failures, as mere tools in someone else’s schemes—stood unshaken. They didn’t waver. They didn’t retreat. Against impossible odds, they fought with everything they had, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion, their brilliance and resilience burning brighter than ever before.

  Through grit, determination, and sheer ingenuity, they turned the tide of the battle. Their strategy, their courage, and their unyielding spirit defied all logic. What was thought to be humanity's end became its greatest victory.

  The impossible was achieved, and the invincible enemy was brought to its knees. And on that day, the world no longer saw them as children or outcasts. They became legends—the heroes who saved humanity. From that moment on, they were known as The Three Seats of Power.

  From that day forward, humanity never tasted defeat again. Victory after victory, the world prospered—thanks to The Three Seats of Power. Each of the-m embodied the perfect balance of strength, intelligence, and strategy. Hiroshi, always dressed in black, Aarav in white, and Eleanor in red. Together, they became legends, earning the nicknames The Red, The Black, and The White—symbols of hope, resilience, and the relentless pursuit of peace.

  With the defeat of the robots and the dawn of humanity’s new era, all nations bowed before them, acknowledging their rightful place at the helm of the world. Aarav, with his unparalleled innovations, was entrusted with the order and advancement of civilization. Eleanor, a tactical genius, became the sharp eye that watched over every decision, every move. Hiroshi, the master of breaking defenses, became the necessary evil, holding the delicate balance of chaos and control in his hands.

  But as the years passed and the world changed, they recognized the need for renewal. The power they held was immense, but it was not theirs to keep forever. So, they devised a contest—a challenge in which those who could defeat them would inherit their seats of power. It became a sacred ritual, passed down through the generations. Every 30 years, a new generation would rise to challenge the old.

  And now, as we stand under the reign of the 9th generation of The Three Seats of Power, we honor the legacy of those who came before us—the children who once fought for survival, now rulers of an broken world.

  "So, this marks the end of my speech," he announced, stepping back slightly. "Any questions?"

  Michael from Team 1 raised his hand, his tone sharp as he asked, "Why did you come all the way here just to tell us... that stuff?"

  The captain chuckled, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Hmm... I was getting bored at home. Nothing else to do, haha!"

  A ripple of murmurs spread across the auditorium. The once-commanding aura he had established at the start seemed to falter. Is he really dependable? I thought, my earlier impressions wavering.

  Then Krishika raised her hand, her tone calm yet cutting. "Why did you tell us that story? And how do you even know about it? I've never heard anything like it before."

  The captain's grin faded. He straightened, his expression turning serious. "Ah, well, that's not surprising," he began. "There aren’t many people left who know the truth about this world’s past. It’s no wonder you've never heard of it."

  He paused, scanning the room as if to measure our reactions. "Believe it or not, that’s up to you. But…" His voice dropped, taking on a darker, heavier tone. "Do you really think this is all there is?"

  Krishika hesitated but eventually nodded, her gaze steady.

  "Well, I don’t think so." His eyes burned with intensity as he continued, "Do you really believe that the Doom Worm simply had a bug? That robots just magically gained free will? Does it make sense that the very children who designed thousands of advanced robots, brilliant enough to revolutionize the world, somehow 'missed' such a critical flaw?"

  His voice grew sharper, laced with emotion. "How is it possible that a worm could cause them to act on their own? How is it possible that everything fell apart so conveniently? There are cracks in this world—cracks in its history, cracks in its present. And you," he said, sweeping his gaze across the room, "are the future. You are the hope that can fill those cracks."

  For a moment, the room was silent, his words hanging in the air like a weight pressing down on all of us. His voice trembled slightly as he added, "I want you to be aware of these cracks, because if you’re not, the future might shatter completely."

  "Umm… Sir Captain," a girl from Team 1 stammered, raising her hand. Her voice trembled under the weight of his words. "So… you’re saying there was someone orchestrated all of this?"

  "I’m not saying there was someone," he replied, his tone icy and deliberate. "I’m saying there is someone." His gaze was piercing, his words leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

  I hesitated, then raised my hand. "What do you mean by ‘there is’?"

  The captain smirked slightly, as if expecting the question. "Don’t tell me you’ve never faced problems that seemed to have no logical answers—very recently, at that." He scanned the room before continuing. "Tell me this: how many of you received a message revealing each other’s pasts?"

  The auditorium shifted uneasily before, one by one, every hand shot up.

  "And how many of you believed that message to be true? How many of you ended up fighting with your teammates because of it?"

  This time, only the four of us raised our hands. Team 1 remained still.

  "Oh, interesting," the captain mused, his voice sharp and probing. "So, tell me—why did you believe the message more than your own teammates? Do you truly think no one was trying to make you fight? And, more importantly, how could someone know so much about your pasts unless they were watching you constantly?"

  The tension in the room rose as his gaze swept over us, his voice growing louder.

  "So… who is that someone?" John from Team 1 asked, breaking the silence.

  The captain’s expression darkened. "I believe the current generation of the Three Seats of Power is behind it." His words echoed across the room, each syllable sinking in like a stone in still water.

  The room fell silent, every pair of eyes locked on him.

  "But… why? How?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  "It all began with the Third Generation," the captain said, his voice cutting through the silence. "The Three Seats of Power—meant to work together for a better future—fell apart. The Seat of Chaos became a haven for criminals. The Seat of Order began enforcing absurd, oppressive rules. And the Seat of the Eye? It turned its gaze away from justice, prying into lives and exploiting privacy instead."

  He paused, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "What once sealed society’s cracks now splits it apart. Instead of unity, the Three Seats compete—tearing the world, fighting each other doing absurd things and dividing the world into fractures that deepen every day."

  His voice dropped, heavy with conviction. "The cracks they were meant to heal? They’ve turned them into fractures—fractures that threaten to break us all."

  And with that, the event came to an end. We retreated to our respective dorms, but one thought gnawed at me relentlessly:

  How could anyone have orchestrated everything—past and present—so perfectly?

  “But… if it’s true… if the Three Seats of Power are behind the deaths of Ayaan and Aravi—innocent children from the orphanage…” My voice trembled, not with weakness, but with the sheer force of the storm brewing within me. My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, the sting a sharp reminder of the oath I was about to make.

  “I swear,” I hissed, the words scorching my throat as they escaped, “on the blood running through my veins, on the very breath keeping me alive— I will tear them apart , I will drag them down from the top of the world to the depths of hell...”

  My chest heaved with the intensity of my declaration, my vision blurred by the searing rage burning behind my eyes. “They will pay,” I whispered, the vow carving itself into my soul. “No amount of wealth, no walls of power, no legion of guards will keep them safe from me.”

  The air around me seemed to grow heavy, charged with the ferocity of my resolve. For Ayaan. For Aravi. For every innocent soul crushed beneath their greed. This wasn’t anger—it was justice, a fire that would consume them, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

  From the next day, our regular classes resumed, and life moved on. Slowly but surely, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years and before we realized it, four years of our lives had passed.

  But beneath the layers of time and routine, the fire inside me never wavered. It burned steadily, waiting—no, preparing—for the day it would be unleashed.