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The war was over.
The sky, once filled with fire and fury, now wept gently as rain kissed the blood-soaked soil. Bodies of fallen villagers lay scattered like withered petals. Those who survived whispered a single name—Parashu.
He had saved them.
Just as silence was settling over the ruins, the old village leader returned.
He had rushed back the moment he learned of the attack, only to find he was too late. Ashes greeted him. Grief wrapped around his throat like a noose. He walked through the remnants of homes and dreams, heart heavy, until he found the surviving villagers gathered near the shrine.
Parashu stood there, wounded and furious.
When their eyes met, there was no warmth.
"You don't deserve to be a leader," Parashu said, his voice quiet but sharp like broken glass. "Where were you while your people burned? Soldiers died protecting a village their leader abandoned. Step down. Give this role to someone who's willing to bleed for it."
The village leader didn't respond at first. His eyes trembled. And then, softly, he said:
"I wasn't running. I was trying to bring something back... someone who could revive the dead soldiers from our last battle. I never imagined the Kara Army would strike again so soon."
With that, he turned and walked away—his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
But Parashu was not done.
Before he could speak again, the village leader's assistant stepped forward. "If you don't know the full story, Parashu," he said sternly, "you should listen. Or stay silent."
Parashu's eyes narrowed. "I know about the stork. The one who died protecting your leader."
The assistant shook his head. "Not all of it."
---
He continued.
"A long time ago, when war first came to this land, our village was in chaos. That was when our leader was just a child. He entered the village with a strange white stork—wounded, trembling.
The villagers thought he was an outsider. A curse. A threat.
So they did what frightened people do.
They killed the child."
Parashu's eyes widened.
"But the stork stayed behind. When the mob was gone, the stork tried to bring the boy back. He wasn't a true stork clan member then—so his revival failed. But he sacrificed his life for that child.
As he died, a blinding light burst from his feathers.
The stork clans came, drawn by the loss of one of their kind. When they heard what happened... when they learned he had died protecting an innocent soul—they accepted him, posthumously, into their sacred lineage.
Before they vanished, they made a promise:
If that boy ever called upon them again, they would answer. But at a cost—his own life.
That boy is our leader.
And after the last war, when so many villagers died, he left—not to flee—but to search for the storks again. To bring them back. To offer his life in exchange for the ones we lost."
---
Parashu stood silent.
The truth hit him like thunder.
"He knew he would die if he tried," the assistant whispered. "But he still went. He didn't abandon us. He chose to die for us."
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