Flaming Heels- Not all fire roars

Nobody knew why it happened.
On the morning of March 17, at precisely 06:06 AM IST, every woman on Earth-young, old, rich, poor, dead asleep or wide awake-felt a surge of energy ripple through their veins. The sky turned violet for six full minutes. Not pink. Not purple. Violet - the kind of color that whispers to your bones.
Then came the powers.
Some women burst into flame. Others melted into mist. Girls as young as six began speaking to the wind, commanding clouds to part. Grandmothers levitated teacups and accidentally short-circuited kitchen lights with a yawn. Empathy sharpened. Dreams bled into reality. The Earth shifted on its axis-not physically, but politically, spiritually, irreversibly.
Three Weeks Later - Sector 7, Bandra
Aaravi Mehra, 27, stood barefoot on the balcony of her crumbling apartment, overlooking a city still humming with disbelief. She hadn't left her block since Violet Dawn, partly because of the barricades, partly because... she was scared of what she'd become.
She didn't ask for this.
Then Came Zara
A knock on the door. Sharp. Rhythmic.
Aaravi opened it to find a tall woman in a worn black coat, a silver tattoo of an eye blooming on her neck.
"You're Mehra?" the woman asked, voice smooth like thunderclouds.
Aaravi nodded. Lie detector ping: none.
"I'm Zara El-Amin. I lead the Violet Vanguard. We're gathering the gifted - not just to survive, but to rewrite the world. You've got a rare type. We need you."
Aaravi blinked. "Rewriting the world sounds... dangerous."
Zara smiled faintly. "The old world was dangerous. For women. For truth. For voices like yours. Now we build something new."
Aaravi turned to Zara. "Okay," she said. "Where do we start?"
Zara's eyes glowed, faintly violet. "We start by making sure no voice is ever silenced again."