Scene 1: Mani's Quiet World
[At Ishan's Home...]
Snow whispered beyond the wooden shutters of Ishan's small stone house, tapping gently like old memories wanting back in. The fire burned low in the hearth, its warmth clinging to wool blankets strewn over the bench and floor. Shelves stacked with tools, rations, and old scrolls lined the walls organized with quiet discipline.
Near the window, Mani stood perched on the edge of a worn stool, both hands pressed against the cold glass. His oversized coat hung past his knees, and a scarf swaddled the lower half of his face. But his sharp blue eyes far too old for five years remained focused beyond the frost-kissed plane.
Outside, faint rustling stirred the treeline.
Ishan stepped into the room, drying his hands on a rough cloth. He glanced at Mani's small frame by the window and offered a smile filled with quiet affection.
Ishan (warmly):
"You're always at that window before the wind settles, huh?"
Mani didn't turn. He nodded slightly. His eyes remained fixed on something in the far distance something only he could see.
Ishan (joining him at the window):
"I remember the first time I saw you... just a bundle in torn wool, buried in snow. Veer found you, remember? Five winters ago."
Mani's hands curled slightly against the glass. He blinked slowly, unsure.
Ishan (gentle now):
"He carried you back during a blizzard. Three moons old, half-frozen. Didn't even stop to call for help just stormed into the hall with you in his arms like the world had cracked open."
A moment passed. The fire crackled behind them.
Mani's scarf shifted as he parted his lips. His voice, when it came, was quiet barely audible.
Mani:
"...He doesn't talk about it."
Ishan (sighs, almost bitterly):
"He doesn't talk about much anymore. Not since... that day."
Mani glanced up at him.
Ishan:
"He still walks like a soldier. Still breathes like one. But his mind..."
(He paused, searching for the words.)
"Some days, I think part of him never came back from that mountain."
A gust of wind rattled the window.
Mani shifted. His mouth twitched like he might speak again something about the forest, about how the trees sometimes whisper. But before he could gather the words, a knock echoed on the wooden door.
Tarun's voice (from outside):
"Ishan! You're due at south post! Beasts stirred near the eastern ridge!"
Ishan gave Mani a quick pat on the shoulder, distracted by the urgency in his comrade's voice.
Ishan (hurrying):
"I'll be back before moonrise. Keep the fire alive, alright?"
Mani gave the faintest nod.
The door creaked open. Cold air swept in, brushing Mani's coat. Ishan stepped out into the snow-shadowed dusk, his form soon vanishing into the swirling white.
Left behind, Mani remained by the window. Still watching. Still listening.
And outside, somewhere deep beyond the trees, something watched back.
---
Bridge Scene: From Hearth to Snow
The village was wrapped in pale silence, disturbed only by the crunch of boots on packed frost.
Ishan stepped out of his home and pulled his shawl tighter around his shoulders. Behind him, the window flickered dimly with firelight. He cast one last glance over his shoulder—Mani's small face still hovered behind the glass, more a shadow than a child.
He smiled faintly. Then turned.
Tarun (mock grumbling as he approached):
"Late again. I was about to report you missing. Blame your little snow ghost?"
Ishan (chuckling):
"Careful, Tarun. That ghost sees more than both our eyes combined."
They shared a short nod the kind that needed no explanation. The kind only those who had braved blizzards and beasts together understood.
Snow drifted down around them like sleep. Ahead, the towering spire of the eastern watch post pierced the sky its upper windows glowing faintly. A patrol runner zipped past them, leaving a trail of boot-marks and steaming breath.
Tarun (as they walk):
"He was staring out again, wasn't he? Mani."
Ishan:
"Always. Like he's waiting for something."
Tarun:
"Or remembering something. That boy's eyes… they don't blink like ours."
Ishan (quietly):
"They belong to a different storm."
They reached the base of the tower. Snow crunching. Bells chiming low at the outposts as the hour changed.
Then, without fanfare, they climbed into duty step by practiced step.
---
Scene 2: The 100 Sentinels
Wind howled against the high wooden spire as Ishan and Tarun reached the top of the east watchtower. From here, Shitrantar lay spread like a breath in the snow lanterns flickering, smoke trailing from chimneys, and children's footsteps forming fresh trails across rooftops.
Tarun (scanning the ridge):
"No shift in the northern shadows. Ridge beasts must've moved west."
Ishan (narrowing eyes):
"Still. That tremor two nights back something stirred."
Below them, the hunting squad was already in motion.
At the forest's edge, Niren, captain of the hunting squad, crouched near a half-buried paw print. His fingers hovered inches above the snow, sensing warmth that should've vanished long ago.
He tapped twice on a carved bone whistle. A soft trill echoed through the white silence.
Instantly, two hunters shifted positions from the branches above eyes sharp, breath steady. One notched a signal arrow, the other whispered coordinates into a palm-crystal that glowed briefly with stored breath.
On the village's southern border, the patrol unit swept past makeshift fences six pairs in harmony, backs to each other, eyes scanning outward. They moved with the rhythm of trained intuition, speaking only when needed.
Each of the 100 Sentinels was born with just a little more. A sense sharper. A heartbeat faster. Reflexes that whispered before thought.
They were not superhuman. Just... tuned.
Tarun (gazing at the synergy below):
"Sometimes I think we don't need words anymore. Just steps and signals."
Ishan:
"Words slow you down. Look at Niren he knows what's coming before it breathes."
Tarun laughed.
Tarun:
"Yeah, but he's never smiled once in ten winters. Can't be healthy."
Back in the trees, Niren's hand signaled halt. His pupils dilated, nostrils flared slightly. He pointed at a tree scar.
Beast claw. Fresh. And deep.
Niren (to his squad):
"It's back. Same beast from the southern bend. Twice the size now."
His second-in-command didn't argue. They simply moved—like wind and branch, disappearing into the white gloom with fluid grace.
---
Scene 2: Part II — Whispers Beneath the Snow
From the watchtower, Ishan and Tarun continued their silent vigil, eyes scanning for motion, for disturbance, for anything that didn't belong.
But below, the real dance was already in motion.
The hunting squad vanished into the treeline, Niren leading like a shadow. Each step was calculated, each glance echoed by another's, until the squad moved as one beast instead of five men. They didn't chase. They tracked. They anticipated.
A sharp breath escaped Niren's lips more instinct than command. Ahead, a creature's trail bent into the thicker part of the woods. Snow was shallow here. The tracks told a tale.
Niren (under his breath):
"Still limping. Three claws instead of four. Same beast."
His words were not spoken loudly. But the squad heard. They always did. Just as he had trained them.
At the edge of the northern fence, the patrol unit picked up a faint vibration. Not sound. Not movement. Just something… off. Like a skipped heartbeat in the forest.
Two guards pressed their backs against the frost-covered logs of the outer wall.
First Patrolman (low):
"Sector 12 pulse just one beat. Could be wind shift."
Second (shaking head):
"No. Felt wrong. Southbound echo. Might be watching us."
And still no panic. No raised voice. Just precision.
They sent up a smoke, pulse faint blue, designed to vanish within seconds seen only by those trained to look for it.
From the watchtower, Ishan leaned forward slightly.
Ishan:
"Sector 12?"
Tarun (already lifting his scope):
"South echo, faint. Patrol knows. They'll confirm in under thirty."
He didn't even need to finish the thought.
This was what it meant to be one of the 100. No magical gift. No divine power. Just discipline, instinct, and something just barely tilted toward the extraordinary.
Back in the woods, Niren's team had stopped near a frozen creek. One of the hunters, a lean woman named Kaari, knelt beside the ice. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Kaari (whispering):
"The wind here... curled. Something passed, then doubled back."
Niren watched her quietly. Kaari's hearing was different not just acute, but emotionally tuned. She could read intent in the rhythm of leaves.
She opened her eyes.
Kaari:
"It's hunting. But not for us. It's circling the village... for something smaller."
Niren's jaw tensed. His hand moved in rapid signs.
Scatter. Tight circle. Trap, not chase. Protect the center.
In moments, the hunters vanished again—silent as falling ash.
---
At the same time, atop the tower
Tarun (curious):
"Hey. Ever wonder if we're the shield or the bait?"
Ishan (without looking):
"If done right… we're both."
And still, no alarms. No panic.
Just a hundred souls in harmony with the land, the cold, the breath of threat and silence. They weren't elite. Not in the way myths spoke of warriors. But they were the edge between survival and ruin.
And tonight, that edge was sharpened once again.
---
Scene 3: The Quiet Flame
The cold deepened with twilight, blue shadows stretching like long fingers across Shitrantar's snow-dusted ground. The skies had turned the color of bruised steel, soft flakes drifting down in spirals. In the heart of the village, smoke curled gently from chimneys, and doors were sealed shut with practiced ease.
The Sentinels returned like ghosts.
From the forests, the hunting squad dissolved into shadow. Niren gave one last look to the woods before stepping through the east gate, his furs heavy with frost. From the towers, Tarun and Ishan descended slowly, their boots crunching faintly against the packed snow.
Tarun (pulling his hood tighter):
"No movement after the flare. Probably just one of those ashfoxes again."
Ishan (quietly):
"Doesn't feel like it. But it passed."
They exchanged no more words. Sometimes silence was a better companion.
As the village lamps flickered to life dim orange orbs casting halos into the swirling cold one figure stood quietly between two stacked crates near the storehouse, unnoticed.
Small, cloaked, motionless.
Mani.
Wrapped in thick layers, scarf up to his nose, eyes gleaming blue in the falling dark. The same spot every evening. Observing. Waiting. Breathing in more than the air.
The kind of stillness that wasn't absence it was presence under control.
Ishan spotted him first. He didn't call out, didn't wave. Just nodded faintly.
Mani didn't nod back, but he stepped out from the shadows. A single stride forward.
Behind him, the faintest echo a subtle creak. A loose hinge? A branch moving? Mani turned slightly, eyes narrowing. His gaze moved between alleyways, rooftops, and beyond, to the treeline no one else paid attention to.
Mani (murmuring to himself):
"...not gone."
But no one heard it. Or, more accurately, no one listened long enough.
A woman passed by with her child, holding a wooden tray of dried meat.
Woman (muttering):
"Strange boy... always watching."
The child looked back. Mani didn't react.
Not until the madman passed.
Veer.
Wrapped in mismatched coats, beard wild, eyes flickering like candlelight in a storm. He wasn't walking. He was drifting. No words. No destination. But as he passed Mani, he paused just barely and tilted his head.
Their eyes met.
No conversation. No recognition.
But a flicker. In both their eyes. A sense neither could explain.
And then the moment passed.
Mani turned, retreating into the space between storehouse and stable.
Veer shuffled off.
And the wind continued to fall with the snow.
---
Chapter 2 Ends here...