The wind screamed like a warning the world itself had chosen not to speak out loud.
Outside, the ancient trees bent violently, their branches scraping against the walls of the house like skeletal fingers. Rain lashed sideways, turning the quiet residential street into a chaotic blur of shadow and silver. Thunder rolled in a continuous, low growl, as if the sky was restless—uneasy with a transformation that had already begun.
Inside the house, warmth fought a losing battle against the storm.
The living room was illuminated by soft yellow lights, but the space was cluttered with the tools of obsession rather than comfort. Open laptops hummed, research papers were scattered across every surface, and data tablets were stacked precariously near the couch. Handwritten notes were taped to the walls, filled with equations that replaced the space where family photographs should have been.
At the center of this organized chaos stood Dr. Prakruthi.
She looked like she was made of glass—fragile and translucent with exhaustion. Her hands trembled as she pulled off her lab gloves, her gaze fixed on the small capsule resting on the wooden coffee table.
The capsule glowed.
It wasn't a harsh light. It was a rhythmic, emerald pulse, like a living heart at rest. Beneath its transparent casing, the fluid shimmered with the movement of tiny, spiraling galaxies.
Prakruthi exhaled, a sound of pure relief. "Finally…" she whispered, rubbing her aching temples. "The tests are complete. We'll publish the findings tomorrow. I just… I need to sleep for a century."
Across the room, Dr. Rakshit collapsed onto the sofa with a bone-deep groan. "Hahh… I swear," he said, rubbing his lower back, "my spine aged ten years just today."
They shared a weary smile—the silent bond of two people who had just touched the face of a miracle. Neither of them noticed the subtle vibration of the house as a fresh gust of wind slammed into the front door.
Neither of them saw the capsule roll. Just an inch. Just enough.
The front door creaked open, letting in a swirl of cold mist.
"Mom! Dad! I'm back—"
Mokshit stepped inside, dripping wet. A muddy football was tucked under his arm, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Lightning flashed behind him, casting his long shadow across the floor. He was shivering, his lungs still burning from the cold air outside.
He stopped mid-sentence. The room felt... thick. It was as if the air had become energized, vibrating at a frequency his body could feel in his teeth.
His eyes immediately locked onto the table.
In the dim light, the capsule looked less like a scientific experiment and more like a piece of candy—a glowing, emerald treat that seemed to hum a low note meant only for him.
"Ohh, nice!" Mokshit grinned, his teenage curiosity instantly overriding his exhaustion. "New energy drink flavor? Is it green apple or something?"
He reached out. His fingers brushed the cool glass.
Prakruthi turned around, her tired eyes widening. Her heart stopped. "Mokshit—no!"
But he was already sixteen and impulsive. He had spent his whole life watching his parents invent things that helped people. He didn't hesitate. He picked it up.
"MOKSHIT, DROP IT!" Prakruthi's voice was a scream of pure terror.
Too late.
The capsule cracked softly between his teeth. Before a single thought could form, before logic could intervene—he swallowed.
The room went deathly silent.
Lightning split the sky outside, painting the room in a jagged, electric white. For one heartbeat, nothing happened. Prakruthi stood frozen, her hand outstretched. Rakshit's glasses slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp clack.
"Oh no…" Rakshit whispered, his face turning a ghostly pale. "Oh no, Mokshit… what have you done?"
Mokshit blinked, looking from his mother to his father. He felt a strange, metallic tang on his tongue. "Uhh… wasn't this a vitamin? Why are you guys looking at me like I just ate the car keys?"
Prakruthi's voice broke. "That wasn't a vitamin, Mokshit. It was… it was the Prana Serum."
Mokshit let out a nervous, shaky laugh. "Nature… what? Is it going to give me a stomach ache?"
The laughter died instantly.
His chest didn't just hurt—it thumped. It was a heavy, tectonic sound, as if a giant was knocking on his ribs from the inside.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
His knees buckled. The football rolled away across the floor.
"Mom…" he gasped, clawing at his throat. "Dad… why is it so hot? I'm… I'm burning up!"
Green light began to pulse beneath his skin. It wasn't on the surface; it was in his veins. Glowing, emerald lines raced up his arms and around his neck like climbing ivy.
"STAY WITH ME!" Prakruthi rushed forward, catching him before his head hit the tiles. "Focus on my voice! Breathe, Mokshit! Just breathe!"
Rakshit was on his knees beside them, his fingers pressed to the boy's neck. "His pulse is off the charts! It's not just merging… it's rewriting his cellular structure! The serum is feeding on his energy!"
Mokshit didn't hear them anymore. He screamed—a sound that wasn't just human, but carried the roar of a hundred storms.
The walls of the house groaned. Furniture rattled and shifted. A massive emerald shockwave burst from his chest, shattering the windows and sending research papers flying like white birds in a hurricane.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the light vanished.
Mokshit went limp in his mother's arms, unconscious. The only sound left was the rain tapping against the broken glass.
TWO DAYS LATER
Mokshit's eyes fluttered open to the sound of birdsong.
It was too loud. Every chirp felt like a physical touch against his skin. The sunlight streaming through his bedroom window was blindingly rich, turning every speck of dust into a diamond.
He sat up, his head spinning. He felt... heavy. Stronger, but unanchored.
"What happened?" he whispered. His voice sounded deeper, resonant.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. As soon as his bare heel touched the wooden floorboards—
SHRRRRPT.
Green sprouts erupted from the wood. In a split second, thick vines unfurled, curling around his ankles like loyal pets before turning brown and brittle.
Mokshit froze, his heart hammering. "What the—?!"
He took another step. More leaves bloomed. Flowers burst from the carpet, vibrant and impossible.
"NO! NO, NO! WHAT IS THIS?!"
He stumbled into the hallway, his touch turning the wallpaper into a trellis of climbing roses. He felt like a walking garden, a freak of nature. He burst into the living room where his parents were waiting, their faces etched with a mixture of guilt and awe.
"I heard the trees talking!" Mokshit shouted, his voice cracking with panic. "I stepped on the floor and it grew hair! Tell me I'm not a monster!"
Prakruthi stood up slowly, her eyes wet with tears. "You're not a monster, Mokshit. You're a miracle."
"The serum contained the Spirit of the Earth," Rakshit added, stepping forward. "We spent years trying to find a way to stabilize it. We thought it needed a machine. We were wrong."
Mokshit looked at his hands. He could see the faint green glow fading back into his skin. "So what am I?"
Prakruthi hugged him, her voice a whisper in his ear. "You are the first human bonded with the Prana. You are the Guardian the earth has been waiting for."
Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves of every tree in the neighborhood. They weren't just moving; they were bowing.
The promise he had made to the Banyan tree was no longer just a boy's dream. It was a blood-bond.