What kind of should we pair with this story—something Cyberpunk or more Traditional Indian fusion?

The transition hit like a physical wave. The traditional war cry— Aarambh hai prachand —was no longer a frantic call to arms; it was a rhythmic, inevitable march. The boosted bass rattled the frame of the ship, syncing with the steady thrum of the ion engines. "Initiating extraction," Aryan muttered.

He leveled out above the clouds, where the moon hung heavy and silver. The song began to fade into its ambient, echoed outro. The war wasn't over, but the beginning—the Aarambh —had been established.

In the neon-drenched sprawl of Neo-Kashi, the air didn’t just carry sound; it carried weight.

A Peacekeeper drone locked on, its red targeting laser painting Aryan’s dashboard. He didn't panic. He waited for the bridge—the moment where the ancient chant met the modern grime. Boom.

Aryan sat in the cockpit of his battered interceptor, the Vayu-7 . Outside, the megacity was a vertical labyrinth of flickering holoboards and rain-slicked chrome. He pressed a button on the dash, and the first low, guttural hum of began to bleed through the cabin’s subwoofers.

He pulled the flight stick. The interceptor dropped from the docking bay, falling through layers of smog. As the vocals deepened into that signature Polozehni swagger, the world outside slowed down. The sirens of the Peacekeeper drones behind him became mere background static against the crushing weight of the track’s low end.