Shadowflame rising

---

The flames had died, but even like a curse the smoke still clung onto the bones of the village.

Jalandhara did sit alone upon a jagged stone. The stone was almost half-buried within the blood-soaked earth. His sword rested near him. It was silent now. His armor, scorched. Battle was not the source of his trembling hands.

Memory's storm engulfed all of his being.

> Vrinda…

The name was echoing within his head as if it was a wound that never healed.

Her laughter toward her smile at the sky her voice like she trusted it.

Gone. Stolen.

Though she still lived, she was no longer his own.

"General!"

A Kara soldier did approach with face pale under the black helm. "We're done here in that the village is completely purged."

Reality snapped Jalandhara back with a blink. All of the world around him hardened just like iron, then it blurred. He rose slowly.

He said with coldness that they would move. He stated it as "We move again." "Another village. Another harvest. "We must act expeditiously."

The soldier hesitated. "But, sir, the men—"

Jalandhara snapped, "If they're tired, they'll die during the next raid." "See who deserves to live, let's."

The soldier saluted. "Yes, General."

Jalandhara didn't look back. He didn't need to.

He walked into the smoke like a ghost who never left the fire

---

Elsewhere… At the Shrine of Stones

Master Vishma tightened the straps on his traveling robe. The air was tense. Parashu stood barefoot on the stone floor, sweat running down his face from training.

"You're leaving?" Parashu asked.

Vishma nodded, eyes distant. "Another village was attacked. No survivors. The Kara Army moves faster now. I must go see what was taken… and what they left behind."

Parashu clenched his fists. "Let me come."

"Not yet," Vishma said firmly. "You're not ready. And if you lose control again, if she takes over your body… we'll lose more than just a village."

Parashu looked down, jaw tight. The thought of Yakshini—the cursed force inside him—terrified him more than death.

"Stay. Train. You're the only thing standing between what's coming… and what we still hope to save."

---

At the Old Well — Daksha and Asura

"Rest," Daksha said quietly. His voice was rough but sincere. "You've done enough. Your wounds won't heal overnight."

Asura sat beside the well, one leg bloodied, fingers stained with dried black from his last fight. He lit a cigarette with trembling hands, inhaling like it was the only cure he believed in.

"Nothing ever heals," Asura muttered. "We just bleed in slower patterns."

Daksha sighed. "If you're done being poetic, we should leave. Vishma's gone. And this village won't be safe for long."

Asura didn't move. Smoke curled from his lips like ghosts leaving the mouth of the damned.

Finally, he stood. "Then let's go. Before my luck runs out again."

The two warriors walked away from the village.

The wind carried whispers behind them.

War was coming.

And this time, even the ghosts wouldn't survive it.