A figure sat cross-legged in the shadows, partially obscured by the dancing flames. Whoever it was seemed to be adjusting the fire, using a long stick to rearrange the burning logs and send fresh sparks spiraling up into the darkening sky.
Aryan's throat felt like sandpaper, but he managed to force out the words. "Who... who are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
The figure across the fire straightened up, and as the flames danced higher, Aryan could make out more details. The person was young—probably around eighteen—with a chubby, round face that seemed naturally inclined toward smiling. Even in the dim firelight, there was something carefree about his posture, something that suggested he found amusement in the world around him.
"Oh hey, you're finally awake!" the stranger exclaimed, his voice brightening considerably. "I was honestly starting to think you weren't going to wake up until morning, and I was about to try something that... well, let's just say it probably wouldn't have been the smartest idea." He chuckled to himself, as if sharing a private joke.
Aryan's muscles tensed despite his exhaustion. After what had happened with Ranjir, trust didn't come easily. He kept his expression carefully neutral, his voice cold. "What do you want? Just answer the question."
"Whoa, okay, okay!" The young man held up his hands in a gesture of peace, grinning despite Aryan's hostile tone.
"Name's Varun, by the way. Varun Mathur, though most people just call me V, or sometimes 'that annoying guy who talks too much'—which, to be fair, is probably accurate. I'm eighteen, love good food, hate early mornings, and I have this terrible habit of rambling when I'm nervous, which I'm totally doing right now, aren't I?"
As Varun continued talking, a strange scent reached Aryan's nostrils. It was earthy and bitter, with an underlying sweetness that seemed familiar yet foreign. The smell was coming from his right shoulder, from the bandages.
Herbs.
These weren't just torn strips of cloth—they had been treated with something medicinal.
"Did you..." Aryan looked down at his shoulder in surprise, then back at Varun.
"Did you do this? why?"
Varun's grin widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Found you washed up on the shore about half a mile downstream," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the sound of running water. "You looked pretty rough, man. I mean, really rough. Didn't feel right just leaving you there to become fish food, you know? So I carried you here—which, let me tell you, was not easy. You're heavier than you look."
Varun shrugged, scratching his head.
"Well..., I found some herbs nearby—rare stuff, actually. Some of them I thought were extinct around here. Strange, right? But lucky for you, I managed to patch you up."
Aryan looked at himself, feeling the patches of the herbs around his body. Varun glance at him while adjusting the fire, sending a few sparks spiraling into the night sky.
He smiled an continued, "I'm not exactly a master of herbs, but my father always kept a stash. Said they were for emergencies. Miracle cures, he used to call them." Varun paused, the flickering firelight catching something distant in his eyes.
"I guess I picked up a few things from him."
Then, glancing at the bandage, he added with a sheepish grin, "Sorry about your shirt. Had to improvise. Couldn't find anything else to tie around your arm."
Something in Varun's casual tone bothered Aryan. The whole situation felt too convenient, too lucky. "Why?" he asked sharply. "Why did you help me?"
Varun tilted his head, looking genuinely puzzled by the question. "Why
wouldn't I?" he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I mean, seriously, what kind of question is that? I was just roaming around this place—and let me tell you, it's absolutely magical here with all these rare and extinct herbs growing everywhere like some kind of natural pharmacy—and then I found you. What was I supposed to do, just walk away?"
He shook his head, his expression becoming more earnest. "Look, I know the world can be pretty messed up sometimes, but that doesn't mean we have to be messed up too, you know? Humanity... it's not about what we take from each other. It's about what we give. When someone needs help, you help them. It's that simple."
The sentence echoed inside Aryan, heavier than it had any right to be, not because they were harsh, but because they were the complete opposite of everything Ranjir had said. He could still hear Ranjir's voice echoing in his memory, filled with rage and contempt.
Ranjir had seen humanity as a plague, a species defined by its capacity for cruelty and destruction. To him, people were nothing more than sophisticated animals driven by base instincts, incapable of genuine cooperation or selfless action.
He had rejected the very idea that humans could be better than their worst impulses.
But here was Varun, sitting across from him with dirt under his fingernails and herb stains on his clothes, talking about humanity as if it was something worth preserving. As if helping a stranger was the most natural thing in the world. As if kindness wasn't weakness, but strength.
Then Aryan remembered something that made his blood run cold. "The whispers," he said suddenly. "Did you... did you hear whispers? Have visions?"
For the first time since waking up, Varun's cheerful demeanor faltered. His eyes darkened, and he was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost its playful edge.
"Yeah," he admitted quietly. "I heard them. Something about... kill to survive, enemies all around, bla, bla, bla. Honestly, I can't remember all of it clearly. It was like trying to hold onto smoke." He stared into the fire, his expression growing distant.
"But I remember enough to know I had to make a decision."
Aryan's heart began to race. The dream, the voices, the green eyes—it was all connected somehow. "What kind of decision?" he gasped.
Varun looked up at him, and for a moment, his face was completely serious. Then, without warning, his expression broke into an incredulous grin.
"Fuck you whoever you are," he said with a laugh. "Do I look like a devil to you?" He gestured at his round, friendly face and slightly pudgy frame. "I mean, seriously. Look at me. I can barely hurt a fly without feeling guilty about it. When those whispers started giving me the unbearable pain, or worse, I basically told them to shove it. I am not doing anything."
Aryan felt something shift inside his chest. For the first time since waking up in this strange and mysterious place, a real smile crossed his face. Not the careful, calculated expressions he'd learned to wear around others, but something authentic and warm.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice carrying more weight than the simple words suggested. "For saving me. For... everything." He paused, realizing he hadn't even introduced himself properly.
"I'm Aryan, by the way. Aryan Mehta."
Varun waved a hand dismissively, though his grin widened at the gratitude. "Then Mr. Aryan It's nothing, really. I mean, maybe you would've done the same for me, right?"
Aryan caught the subtle emphasis on the word 'maybe' and couldn't help but chuckle despite everything. "Maybe?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you trust me?"
"Trust?" Varun's expression became more thoughtful, though he kept his tone light. "That's something rare here, don't you think?"
The question hit deeper than Aryan had expected. He opened his mouth to protest, to defend himself, but the words died in his throat. Varun was right. After what transpire with Ranjir's, after the whispers took him over, after everything that had happened—trust felt like a luxury he couldn't afford.
In this strange place where mysterious voices tried to manipulate their thoughts and decisions, where the very air seemed thick with secrets and danger, trust would be a rare commodity indeed.
"I mean... it is..." Aryan began, trying to find a way to explain the weight of recent betrayals, the complexity of surviving in a world where even your closest allies might push you off a cliff.
"Hey, just chill bro!" Varun laughed, holding up both hands. "I was just joking around. Don't overthink it. We're both stuck in this weird situation together, right?"
Aryan felt some of the tension leave his shoulders at Varun's casual reassurance. There was something disarming about the other boy's easy humor, his ability to touch on serious topics without making them feel heavy or threatening.
"Yeah," Aryan agreed, settling back against the tree trunk. "It is weird, isn't it? Being thrown into this place without really knowing how we got here. Everything feels... fragmented. Like trying to remember a dream after you've already started to wake up."
"Broken memories," Varun nodded, poking at the fire with his stick.
"That's exactly what it feels like. Pieces of things that might have happened, but nothing that makes complete sense." He glanced up at Aryan with curious eyes.
"What's the last thing you remember? Before opening your eyes here, I mean."