Shadowflame rising

---

The flames in the war room had dimmed, but Jalandhara hadn't moved. He stood alone, staring at the map. The weight of loss pressed heavy—but his eyes held something darker now. Cold resolve.

A soldier entered, bowed low.

"He's here."

Jalandhara nodded once. "Let him in."

The door creaked. A figure stepped into the chamber—face hidden beneath a hood, robes stitched with strange symbols that moved like smoke.

No name was spoken.

No greeting exchanged.

Only silence. Heavy. Dangerous.

Jalandhara raised his head.

"We need more souls."

The figure chuckled softly. His voice was like wind through a graveyard.

"I thought you'd never ask."

They moved to the map. Jalandhara pointed to a small village—no name, no defenses, far from the central borders.

"No one important lives here. No warriors. No legend. Just common people."

The hooded man traced a finger over the village.

"Perfect. Their fear will ripen the souls faster."

Jalandhara nodded.

"I want it done quickly. No survivors. No witnesses. And don't let the Council hear of this."

"It's already forgotten," the man whispered.

And like smoke, he vanished.

---

Outside, soldiers trained in silence, unaware of what had just been planned. Unaware that a storm was coming—not of fire or blade, but of screams.

The Kara Army was moving again.

And this time, they were hunting the innocent.

The wind was gentle that morning.

Children laughed near the river. Women cleaned rice by the fire. An old man fixed a broken fence, humming a song that had no words. The village was alive—but calm. Peaceful.

They didn't know death was already on its way.

---

Just before sunrise, the shadows arrived.

Not with war horns. Not with banners.

Only silence. And a crawling chill.

The Kara Army moved like wolves in the mist—dark armor, hollow eyes. No mercy. No reason.

One by one, the torches were lit.

And then…

Screams.

The air split apart with terror as villagers ran, carrying nothing but their children and prayers. But no god answered.

Jalandhara stood at the edge of the burning houses, arms crossed.

"Burn everything," he said. "Even their names."

Behind him, the hooded man reappeared—hands raised, drawing the souls from the dying into a black crystal. It pulsed with light—red and blue and hollow.

"The soul count rises," he whispered.

"But it's not enough."

Jalandhara's jaw tightened.

"Then we move to the next one. We won't stop until we've gathered enough power to crush Master Vishma, Asura, Daksha, and Parashu in one blow."

The flames rose higher. A child cried for her mother, but only ashes answered.

---

In a nearby hill, an old farmer watched the fire from afar, tears rolling down his face.

"Gods… someone stop them… someone…"

But the gods had gone quiet.

Only the Kara Army spoke now.

And they spoke in blood.

---

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