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Ruins of the Forgotten Village – Dawn
The first light of morning spilled across the ruins like a secret whispered too late. Sunlight kissed the jagged edges of broken homes, casting long, crooked shadows. The wind stirred vines that had crawled across the wreckage, weaving silence through cracked stone and splintered wood. The village still breathed—but only in echoes.
At the heart of it all stood Master Vishma, cloak rustling in the breeze. Beside him, Asura stood rigid, arms crossed, gaze heavy. Parashu lingered nearby, his eyes full of quiet empathy. A short distance away, the boy—the stranger—stood rooted to the earth, like the past refused to let go of his feet.
"You've stayed here long enough," Vishma said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "This place can't hold you anymore. You're coming with us."
The boy didn't move. His jaw tensed, defiance flickering in his eyes. "This is my village. My past. I belong here."
Parashu stepped forward, his tone calm but cutting through like a warm blade. "A home isn't bones and ash. It's people. Family. Laughter. This…"—he glanced around at the lifeless remains—"this is a ghost. Not a future."
The boy's eyes darkened. "The spirit inside me—it's not done growing. It festers. Spreads. Every time I try to be close to someone, it pushes them away. I'm cursed. And I won't be your burden."
Vishma didn't blink. His voice held the stillness of someone who'd stood before darker doors. "We're not here to pity you. We're here because we need you. The Kara Monster Army is moving again. We're not just looking for survivors—we're searching for the one who can stand against them. And whether you like it or not… that might be you."
A long silence stretched.
The boy's shoulders slumped slightly, something in him bending—just enough. "If… if you find the one you're looking for," he muttered, "then I'll come back here. But until then, I'll go."
Vishma nodded, nothing more.
And without another word, they turned from the ruins and began to walk—four shadows against the dawn, one of them still dragging chains of memory behind him.
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Outskirts – Later That Day
The road had cracked with time, a dry scar running through empty land. Dust clung to their boots, and the sky above had turned pale, like it had forgotten how to hold color.
As they crested a ridge, a lonely field stretched out before them—wide, still, and far too quiet. At the center stood a single weather-worn house. Its walls sagged with age, and its windows stared blankly at the world.
They stopped at the ridge's edge.
By the house's entrance, a man knelt in the dirt, watering a tiny plant pushing through the dry ground. His hands moved with care. His left sleeve fluttered in the breeze—empty.
Parashu tilted his head. "That's him? The one-handed man?"
Asura didn't answer right away. His expression softened, like an old wound had just itched again. "Yeah. That's Daksha. But it looks like he hasn't forgiven himself."
The man looked up. Squinted into the sun. Recognition sparked slowly in his face.
"Asura?" he asked, voice raw from disuse.
Asura stepped forward, faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Still growing plants, old friend?"
Daksha stood, brushing dust from his robes. The empty sleeve swayed beside him like a ghost. "And you're still dragging trouble behind you."
He nodded toward the others.
"They're with me," Asura said.
Daksha's smile faded. "You came looking for me?"
Asura's tone shifted—heavy now. "We need you. But first—your hand. You're Naagvanshya. You're supposed to regenerate. Why… why didn't it grow back?"
Daksha turned away. Pain rippled across his face. "Because I chose not to let it. I wanted to remember. The moment I lost it. The people I failed. That pain… it keeps me awake."
Asura's voice grew sharper. "You're still holding on to that guilt?"
Daksha didn't answer right away. His voice was low when it finally came. "They're all gone, Asura. Because of me."
"No," Asura said firmly. "They're gone because of the war. Because of the enemy. Not because of you."
Daksha's eyes shimmered. "Durga…?" His voice cracked. "Did she…?"
Asura nodded slowly. "She's alive."
Daksha's breath hitched.
"But she's not with us," Asura continued. "She's with the Kara Army. And we're going to bring her home."
Daksha turned his face, shoulders shaking beneath years of silence and sorrow. "I can't do this again. I can't lose her too."
"No one's asking you to be a hero," Asura said, stepping forward. "We're asking you to stand."
Daksha gave a dry laugh—empty and worn. "And what if I fall again?"
"Then fall next to us," Asura said, voice unyielding. "Not behind us."
Daksha looked up, eyes narrowing against the sun. "If you're planning to fight the Kara Army again… you know you're still not ready."
He hesitated.
"You'll need him."
Asura's brows lifted slightly. "So you haven't forgotten."
"No one who's seen him could forget," Daksha said, his voice almost reverent. "If he joins you… maybe you have a chance."
Parashu stepped forward, watching the exchange with quiet awe. "Who are you talking about?"
Daksha didn't answer.
The name was left unsaid.
But the sky felt heavier. Like something old had just stirred.
The wind shifted. The earth held its breath.
And somewhere—far away—that name waited.
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