When I first opened my eyes, the world was nothing but a blur. Everything I tried to focus on dissolved into red haze and distortion. I blinked, again and again, hoping my vision would clear—but it didn't.
I shifted slightly, realizing I was already leaning against something rough and massive. A tree. A giant one. My back was pressed to its trunk, and it seemed to stretch endlessly upward into the sky.
As my sight adjusted just a little, I look in my surroundings. A forest. But not a magical or peaceful one. It was silent… too silent. The trees were monstrous, their branches twisted like ancient, gnarled fingers clawing at the heavens. The light barely touched the ground here.
And then I noticed the red.
It wasn't mist. It wasn't sunset light.
It was blood. My blood.
It pooled around me, stained the earth, soaked my clothes. It dripped from my shoulders, slow and steady.
Pain flared as I tried to move. I pressed my hands against the wounds, wincing, trying to hold myself together. My vision blurred further, but I managed to glance upward. The sky glowed orange—sunset. Somehow, the world still moved on, even as I bled into its soil.
Then I heard something. Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Panic tightened my chest. If that person saw me like this… what then? I wasn't getting a good feeling—not from the silence, not from the pain, not from the blood. I closed my eyes, a whisper in my mind: *Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how it ends.*
I tried to think of happy memories to hold onto, but the few that surfaced were too hazy, too distant. And strangely… I didn't want to remember them.
So I stopped trying.
The sound of footsteps drew closer. Then, they stopped. Someone was in front of me.
I opened my eyes slowly. The first thing I saw were feet. Bare, old feet wrapped in cloth. I tilted my head up, pain flaring again. My blurry vision could just barely make out the figure of an elderly woman leaning on a stick.
She spoke softly.
"Oh, child… who did this to you?"
I said nothing—just stared at her, blinking, dazed. My lips refused to move. My body felt heavier by the second.
Darkness crept in.
The last thing I felt was the warmth of her hand grasping mine.
The last thing I heard:
"Can you get up, child? You need to…"
And then, everything faded.
------------
I opened my eyes. There was no blur anymore. Now I can see the world properly. And then I noticed,
A room. Quiet. Unknown.
I wasn't outside anymore. I wasn't bleeding. The pain was gone. The window beside me glowed with the deep amber of sunset.
*Sunset again?* I murmured, voice hoarse. "How long…?"
"You've been unconscious for five days," said a voice.
I turned. It was the old woman—the same one from the forest. She was placing a folded cloth on a wooden table.
Five days?
I blinked in disbelief. My shoulder… it didn't hurt anymore. The wounds were wrapped in soft white bandages.
She must've taken care of me.
"You were badly hurt," she said gently, as if reading my thoughts. "I brought you here because you needed help."
I nodded slowly, still absorbing everything. But a new thought troubled me—how did she carry me here? And more importantly… *where* was I?
"This isn't my city," I said aloud, looking around the room and out the window again. "It looks more like a village…"
She smiled kindly. "This isn't a village, child."
I turned back to her.
"This is a nation' capital," she said. "Trikalpur."
I frowned. *Trikalpur? A nation' capital?*
I'd never heard of it.
"Which country is it in?" I asked, still puzzled. "It looks like an Indian village."
Her expression shifted. Surprise flickered across her face, followed by concern.
She tilted her head slightly. "Don't mind me asking, child… but did you hit your head?"
"What…?"
She continued, softly:
"There is no nation called *India*."