A new-born's cry pierced the quiet of the night.
From deep within the birthing chamber, the shrill voice of new life echoed down the stone corridor, sharp and pure. Outside the door, servants waited in hushed tension, shoulders stiff and eyes full of worry.
Then, with a creak, the heavy wooden door opened.
A maidservant stepped out, her apron marked with the stains of the night's efforts. Her breath was short, but her eyes sparkled with relief.
"Congratulations, Master," she said with a respectful bow. "You've been blessed with a healthy boy child. Congratulations, Master!"
The tall man before her stood silent for a moment. A flicker of emotion stirred behind his sharp, composed features. His lips curled faintly into something rare, something more than that, but reply came with just a smile.
Without speaking, he reached into the folds of his dark robe and drew out a glimmering precious stone, smooth and oval, with shifting colours like deep violet and blue fire within.
He placed it into the maid's palm.
She stared at it in awe, her hands trembling.
"Thank you, Master."
He nodded. "Today, I am happy. This is your reward. Let's go inside now."
"This way, Master," she said, lifting the lantern in her hand. Its flame flickered softly, casting a warm glow down the corridor.
Two guards in black armor followed behind him, silent and stern, their boots striking the ground with perfect rhythm.
As they moved through the passage, the stationed guards along the sides lowered their heads deeply in respect.
When they reached the door to the birthing chamber, the man raised his hand, commanding:
"You two, stay with them. I will go inside."
"Yes, sir," the guards answered in unison and took position at the door.
He stepped through alone.
Inside, the air was warmer. A soft mix of candlelight and incense swirled in the room. The bed at the center was draped in light silks, and on it lay a young woman—her skin pale from exhaustion, but her eyes bright and full of emotion.
Beside her, wrapped in pale-blue cloth, a small new-born boy rested, still letting out soft, hiccupping cries.
Another maid within the room stepped aside and bowed low the moment he entered.
The woman on the bed turned toward him, tears in her eyes.
"Hubby," she said softly, her voice quivering with joy. "We have our child."
His expression shifted again. The smile returned, fuller this time. He crossed the room in quick strides and knelt beside the bed. Carefully, he took the child in his arms.
He looked down at the small face. The tiny hands, barely formed. The faint wisp of dark hair.
"My child…" he whispered, voice low. "My little one… you're finally here."
"He's just like you," the woman said with a soft laugh.
"No," he said, chuckling lightly. "He's like you."
She gave him a look. "Come on… he's clearly got your eyes."
"Fine," he smiled. "Then he's like both of us."
The baby, whose cries had been soft and tired, now settled peacefully in his father's arms, his eyes closed, body still.
The woman looked at them both and whispered, "We'll make our life full with this. Just the three of us."
He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "We will. No matter what comes."
She exhaled deeply, resting her head back on the pillows.
A moment passed, filled only with the soft crackle of the lantern and the gentle breathing of the sleeping child.
"Alright," she said suddenly, teasingly. "Enough with the mushy lines. What about his name?"
"You choose," he said, looking at her.
She blinked. "Me?"
"Yes," he nodded. "You carried him. You should name him."
She gave it some thought, glancing at the baby's face. Her fingers brushed his cheek gently, as if memorizing every part of him.
"Then…" she said slowly, "his name will be…"
................................
7 years later…
Smoke filled the air.
Flames licked at the night sky, turning the peaceful manor into a furnace of ash and light. Screams rang through the courtyard. The once quiet halls were now echoing with chaos.
"FIRE! FIRE!" someone yelled. "Master—the house is on fire!"
A young servant stumbled through the inner gate, face covered in soot and panic. Behind him, the walls of the eastern wing were already collapsing, consumed by flame.
Another guard came running. Blood stained his armor.
"Black Troops!" he shouted. "They've breached the gates! The Black Troops are here!"
Inside the inner chamber, the master stood tall despite the panic around him. His face was calm, but his eyes burned with fury.
"Nidhi!" he turned sharply. "Take him—NOW. Get the boy out of here!"
Nidhi, a slender woman in a deep blue cloak, nodded without hesitation. She scooped up the seven-year-old boy, who looked back with wide, frightened eyes.
"But hubby..."
"Go!" the man roared. "We'll stall them here. Your job is to keep him alive."
The child clenched his fists, tears forming. But Nidhi turned and ran, cloak flowing like wings behind her.
"Guards!" the master shouted, drawing his sword in one smooth motion. "To arms!"
Dozens of soldiers in tiger-emblazoned armour formed in the courtyard, their weapons ready, their boots slamming against the stone with purpose.
"Form the Tiger Line!" one commander barked. "Do not let them past the third wall!"
"We are the fangs of the tiger!" another shouted. "Show them what it means to trespass into our den!"
"RAAAAAHHHHH!!" the guards roared, a collective battle cry echoing like a beast's growl through the burning sky.
"Strike with the might of the jungle!" a captain growled. "Bite through their steel, tear through their lies!"
The soldiers surged forward like a wave, blades raised, eyes filled with wrath.
From the high steps, the master gave another order: "You! Send the message—now!"
A soldier stepped forward, holding a scroll sealed with the crimson crest. With practiced precision, he tied it to the leg of a waiting eagle.
"Fly," he whispered. "To General Vaarn—tell him we can't hold much longer."
The eagle let out a piercing cry and launched into the sky, wings slicing the smoke like knives.
He ordered "You go with her make sure the boy escapes." Another maid nodded firmly.
"Good," the master said. "Buy them time at any cost. He must live."
Below the steps, the Black Troops had begun to break through the outer courtyard. Clad in obsidian armor and moving like shadows, they stormed forward, blades gleaming.
The Tiger Guards collided with the enemy like thunder meeting lightning. The clash of steel rang loud, the roars of warriors drowning even the blaze.
From above, the master watched, his sword crackling faintly with energy.
He turned once more toward the path where Nidhi had disappeared with the child. His voice was low, but filled with iron:
"You are the last hope. The blood of the... runs in you. Live, grow… and one day—roar louder than us all."
..........................................
Beneath the blazing ruins of the mansion, a hidden tunnel split open in the rock.
Out of it stumbled Nidhi, clutching a young boy wrapped in cloth, his face tucked into her shoulder. A servant followed close behind, arms full—carrying a large basket draped in fabric. The three of them were covered in soot, breathless from the smoke and the run.
They emerged on a hill behind the estate, just beyond the edge of the woods.
From that height, they looked down toward the village.
And what they saw froze their blood.
The village was in flames—nothing but fire, screams, and black silhouettes dancing in chaos. The sky glowed orange, smoke rising in thick clouds that swallowed the stars. Metal clashed with metal. Shouts of pain echoed into the night.
The sound of battle hadn't ended—it was only growing louder.
Suddenly — footsteps.
Crunch.
The servant's eyes snapped toward the sound, then widened.
"Miss," she whispered, voice shaking. "I think… they've found our route."
Nidhi's eyes narrowed. Her arms tightened around the child.
"Then we split up," she said instantly.
"That path," the servant pointed to a narrow trail veiled in shrubs, "leads to the river. If we're lucky, Simal might be waiting there."
Nidhi didn't hesitate.
"Go," the servant urged. "Run, Miss. I'll lead them the other way."
Before Nidhi could argue, the servant turned and vanished into the trees, basket still in hand. Nidhi turned the other way and dashed down the slope, cloak fluttering behind her like torn wings.
The boy stirred in her arms.
Still groggy, he murmured for the first time, "Mom… where are we going?"
She didn't stop running.
"We're going somewhere far, little one. Very far," she said softly.
"Why is everyone yelling?"
She looked at his innocent eyes, then forced a smile.
"Sleep now."
She pressed two fingers gently against his neck. His body relaxed immediately, and his head fell against her shoulder.
Just ahead, the river finally came into view.
Moonlight danced on the water, and a faint glow flickered from the bank. A lantern, burning low—its flame flickering like it was whispering a final tale.
A small wooden boat rocked by the edge. And on it—a man sat quietly, hunched, facing away.
"Simal!" she called out, relieved. "We have to leave, now!"
She ran closer—but something felt wrong.
The breeze stopped. The air turned unnaturally still.
She slowed down, heartbeat rising.
"Simal?" she said again, more cautious. She stepped onto the boat.
She reached out and shook his shoulder.
His body tilted.
But his head fell.
It dropped from his neck with a sickening thud, rolling to the side—his lifeless eyes locked on hers, still filled with the last trace of shock.
Nidhi gasped, stumbling back.
"It's a trap…" she whispered.
She spun around, clutching the boy, eyes scanning the forest edge.
Then she felt it. A presence.
She looked up.
Perched casually on the branch of a crooked tree, a figure sat watching her. Not hiding—waiting.
His body was still, relaxed. But on one hand, he lazily rolled a small black orb between his fingers—a polished sphere the colour of dried blood.
His voice drifted through the night, low and amused.
"Running's exhausting, isn't it?"
Nidhi's grip tightened on the boy. Her foot shifted slightly, readying for a burst.
But the man didn't move. He just smiled and let the orb drop… only to catch it again.
"Go on then," he said, voice like silk over steel.
...........................................
Beneath the fractured moonlight, cloaked in smoke and blood, the man in the black hood stood at the edge of the tree line.
His mask was a twisted contradiction—half white, half black, split down the centre like a cruel joke of balance. One side held a smiling lip curled upward; the other, blank and void. Upon the edges of his hood, faintly glowing symbols shimmered—one sun, one moon, opposing each other like eternal enemies.
And behind him… two shadows.
No. Not shadows.
Things.
At first, they seemed like crude heaps—balls of flesh, grotesquely stacked like malformed puppets. But then they moved, unfurling into abominations that crawled forward on four legs.
They weren't animals. They weren't men. They were mockeries of life.
Each limb was vaguely human, but stretched, bent wrong. Their bodies bulged and twisted, covered in countless human faces, eyes frozen mid-scream, mouths sewn or stuck in endless expressions of agony. From every inch of their warped flesh, a black fog leaked out like cursed steam—thick with sorrow.
It wasn't just a mist.
It moaned.
It wept.
And worse—it laughed.
Not the laughter of joy.
The laughter of many souls who had seen too much. A haunting blend of grief and insanity that made the heart shrink and the mind recoil.
The masked man tilted his head, smiling wider behind the mask.
"Kill both of them."
The monsters answered in a cacophony of garbled speech, voices made of many:
"Huuann… ahhabb… adfhhwere…"
And then they charged.
They moved like beasts. No—worse. Like something that had forgotten how to be human and tried to imitate movement through madness.
They galloped forward, limbs cracking, eyes twitching, fog thickening like a cloak of despair.
Nidhi closed her eyes.
There was no time to escape from there.
The boat was behind her and the river was too shallow. She was ready to die here but the boy should survive at any cost.
She waited for the end.
As they almost approached her, just a few inch from her neck
She opened her eyes suddenly and something changed.
In that instant, her hand moved like a dancer beneath the full moon.
A single elegant sweep.
And then—
Boom!
The monsters' bodies burst mid-air, torn apart in invisible arcs. Four chunks of flesh scattered across the forest floor, sliding into the dirt with wet slaps.
But her expression didn't change.
Because she know real threat was not them, was him.
But then a crackling sound came from those torn bodies.
From the scattered remains, something writhed.
Then the broken limbs reformed—flesh pulling together like stitched nightmares.
Nidhi narrowed her eyes.
She whispered under her breath, "Kṛtimamāṁsajanmā… artificial flesh-borns…"
An ancient curse. Something that shouldn't be alive.
She reached into her hair and pulled free a single silver pin, twisting it between her fingers.
The air pulsed.
Her fingers curled into the Mudra, two fingers extended.
The monsters leapt once more.
And then—she moved.
One smooth arc.
Her hand swept through the air, tracing a crescent like a blade of moonlight.
A glowing line followed her motion—one line became four, splitting like mirrored fangs, piercing the creatures through the body.
Their screams shook the trees. They fall on the position when the line struck.
And then—a seal lit up beneath them..
Glowing runes appeared beneath their twitching limbs, circular, drawn in threads of blue fire.
The flame turned black.
Twisting. Devouring.
The fog recoiled.
The monsters stopped.
The cursed bodies started to contradict, as the black fire burned into their very souls, dragging them down into silence.
Nidhi stepped back and her grip on the child firm.
It was over. But only for them. A sudden sound made her remember something, she also stares at that.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Slow. Mocking. Echoing like stones dropped into a crypt.
The man in the mask was clapping, leaning forward like he was watching a play, his fingers drumming together with glee.
"Well, well, Miss…" he said, voice laced with something dangerous. "As I thought. You're from that place. Weren't you?"
Nidhi didn't answer.
"You know, I really didn't want to fight you. It's such a bother, dealing with people from..." His fingers spun the black orb again, that same sphere of dried blood she had seen earlier.
"But still…" he let the orb drop and catch again.
"I have to. Orders are orders. Seeing you, I got something interesting to remember... And that is fate… oh, fate is a greedy thing. Too greedy. It never takes only what it's owed — it snatches what you cherish, what you hide, what you've already bled to protect. It doesn't knock when it enters; it crashes through with blood on its hands and a smile carved from regret. You give it a piece, and it demands the whole. You run from it, and somehow, it still arrives before you do. And here I am the fate, hunter and you are just a..."
Both of them moved at same time.
To be Continued...