The ground was scorched, the trees splintered, and smoke curled in lazy spirals above the ruins. Rain fell in sheets, cloaking the forest in a veil of grey. A sharp gust of wind swept across the clearing, tugging at Parashu's cloak as he stared at the stranger before him.
He was young—barely older than Parashu himself—but stood with the quiet poise of someone who had faced monsters before and learned to fear nothing.
Parashu panted, chest heaving. "Who are you?" he asked, voice raw. "You're just a kid… my age. Why would you risk your life for me?"
The stranger tilted his head slightly, a half-smile tugging at his lips. His eyes, faintly glowing, held secrets far older than his face betrayed.
"Maybe," he said, "it's time we stopped asking who we are… and started deciding who we want to be."
Parashu's knuckles tightened around his sword hilt. "Then let's survive this first. After that—you'll tell me everything."
Without another word, the stranger stepped forward—and transformed.
A radiant light burst around him. His lean form shifted, muscles rippling beneath newly armored skin. Wings, neither fully angelic nor demonic, flared behind his back. A power surged from within him, ancient and terrible.
The monster, snarling at the edge of the clearing, hesitated. Its instincts screamed what words could not: this boy was no longer prey.
With a shriek, the creature turned and fled into the shadows.
Moments later, two figures emerged through the rain—Master Vishma and Asura, their expressions tense. They scanned the battlefield in silence, eyes resting on the two boys standing amid the wreckage.
"What happened here?" Vishma asked quietly. "Are you both unharmed?"
The stranger gave a slight nod. "We're fine."
Asura's brow furrowed as he stepped closer. "You," he said, his voice low, suspicious. "You smell of demon blood. Tell me—are you bound to a Yakshini?"
The boy smirked, unfazed. "So you've heard of her."
Vishma's expression darkened.
"Yakshinis," Asura muttered, turning toward his master, "are nature spirits. Some protectors. Some deceivers. But if this boy is carrying one inside him, we tread on dangerous ground."
Parashu blinked, confused. "What's a Yakshini?"
"They are spirits born of the forests," Vishma said. "Guardians of ancient places… or, sometimes, hunters of mortal flesh. They don't follow rules. They don't make promises."
The stranger met Vishma's gaze without flinching. "I don't serve her," he said. "But we… share something. For now, our goals align."
Vishma studied him for a long moment, then turned to Asura. "We'll watch him closely. Trust is not given—but earned."
A breeze passed through the clearing, carrying with it the smell of damp ash and broken earth.
They walked deeper into the forest and soon arrived at the village's edge—or what was left of it.
Charred homes leaned like broken teeth. Statues, once proud, lay toppled in the mud. The silence felt like a scream too long held in.
"What happened here?" Vishma asked softly, his voice caught between wonder and grief. "This place was once alive."
A shape emerged from the mist—a cloaked figure, quiet as shadow.
"Because of the monster," he said. "This village was thriving. Until it wasn't."
He stepped forward and looked directly at Parashu.
"You… your name is Parashu, isn't it?"
Parashu gave a cautious nod. "I am."
"You feel different," the stranger said. "That creature—it was no ordinary monster. He belongs to the Kara Army."
Parashu's shoulders tensed. "Kara… the monster army?"
"Yes. And not just a soldier—he's their leader. He's the one who reduced this place to ruin. He killed its people… and stole their souls."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Vishma's hands curled into fists. "I've heard rumors of the Kara Army," he muttered. "But nothing this…"
"Then ask yourself," the stranger said, eyes locked on Parashu, "why did their leader target you?"
Before Parashu could speak, Asura cut in, voice grim. "Because they want his soul. They need it."
The stranger's gaze sharpened. "Why? What's inside him that's worth that much? They've taken thousands of souls already."
He looked down for a moment, the fire in his voice quieting to embers.
"They came for me once too," he said. "Wanted mine for what lives inside me—a cursed spirit. But every time they tried, the curse lashed back. They couldn't consume me. And now… they fear me."
Parashu looked at him with a new weight behind his eyes. "So your curse… protects you?"
Asura nodded slowly. "Then maybe… Parashu has something inside him too. Something they need. Or fear."
The wind rose again, pulling at their cloaks as the ruins whispered secrets of the dead.
Then, Vishma turned, his voice cutting through the storm.
"Parashu is different. He belongs to Clan Vetala. And more than that… he is the son of Maharathi."
Asura froze. "Maharathi? The one-man army?"
Vishma nodded. "His true name was Jamadighini."
At that, Asura's face twisted in rage. His blade slid halfway from its sheath.
"You knew this?! He's the son of a traitor! Why protect him? Why not end his cursed bloodline right now?!"
"Because the crimes of the father," Vishma said sharply, "are not the crimes of the son."
Parashu stepped forward, trembling. "I never knew him," he said quietly. "Not even his face. I was just a child when he vanished. But the way people look at me—the way they hate me… maybe they're right. Maybe I shouldn't even exist. If you believe I deserve death—do it."
A voice spoke from the shadows.
"No matter what we do," it said, "people will always judge us for where we come from."
Another boy stepped out—same age, same worn expression. But his eyes… they burned with something deeper. Hurt. Fire. Memory.
"I know what that feels like," he said. "My uncle was the village leader. Everyone respected him. But he hated me—because of who my father was. And I hated him back."
Parashu stared. "You said 'was.' You killed him?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. Rain traced lines down his face, too slow to hide the pain.
"My grandfather was a healer," he began. "Loved by all. When war came, he helped the wounded. When the old leader died, the village made my grandfather the new one. And when he passed, they chose my father—his eldest son—to lead next.
"But my uncle… he wanted power. He murdered my father in the dead of night. Framed me. Had me thrown into a cell beneath the village."
Parashu's voice dropped to a whisper. "Your own blood betrayed you?"
"They all did. And when the Kara Army came, they slaughtered everyone. The only reason I survived was because of the curse inside me. It awoke. It fought. It saved me."
He turned to Asura, his voice steel now.
"And when I crawled from that cell, I found my uncle still alive—untouched by the soul reapers. That's when I knew.
So I killed him."
Asura narrowed his eyes. "You were in prison before the Kara Army came. But then… how did the devil spirit enter your body?"
The boy stared back—and said nothing.
Only the wind answered, whispering of war, of curses, and of truths still buried beneath blood and ash.
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