The night smelled of blood and ash.
Just hours ago, the same air had been filled with the fragrance of sweets, roasted corn, and flowers tied into garlands for the festival. Children had laughed. Women had sung. Arjun had run barefoot in the courtyard, chasing his cousins, his little sister clutching a clay lamp and giggling every time he stumbled.
Now—silence broken only by fire crackling, broken only by faint moans of the dying.
The ground was wet. Red. Sticky.
Arjun's small hands trembled as he pushed at his mother's shoulder.
"Ma… Ma, wake up. Please. Just once. Say something, na?"
His voice broke. He shook harder. Her bangles clinked faintly. But her eyes remained shut, her face pale.
His elder brother Dev was lying not far. Half his body covered in dust and blood. His cousins—motionless. The festival lanterns that had glowed so warmly now swung in the smoky wind like mockery.
From the broken temple steps, the surviving few of their clan gathered. Bloodied, wounded, coughing. The air was thick with grief, but also something else—rage.
"Where is Dadaji?" one of the men cried, his voice hoarse.
Arjun turned. His grandfather—the clan leader—was kneeling at the far end of the courtyard. His silver hair glowed faintly in the firelight, his body scorched, his hand pressed against his chest.
He had used forbidden energy. Everyone knew it. Everyone felt it. That surge—unnatural, burning, almost divine—had forced the attackers to retreat. But the cost was clear.
"Children… survive…" his grandfather whispered, voice broken but firm. "The flame… must not die. Even if my life ends, our bloodline continues. Arjun—"
His eyes, dim yet piercing, landed on the boy.
Arjun froze. Something inside him stirred, an ache in his bones, a pulse in his veins. He didn't understand. He only stared, tears still rolling, as his grandfather's hand rose tremblingly and then fell to the earth.
"Dadaji!" voices screamed.
A heavy silence followed, broken by cries, broken by fists slamming the ground.
Arjun's father, blood running down his arm yet still alive, staggered close and lifted his son by the shoulders. His voice was raw, torn.
"Arjun… listen to me. Remember tonight. Never forget. These flames, these screams… they must live inside you until the day comes when you burn our enemies to ash."
Arjun's throat tightened. "But… why us? Why them? Why kill everyone?"
"Because we are not ordinary, beta," his father said bitterly, coughing blood. "Our clan… carries gifts the world fears. Powers that others lust for. Tonight was not random. Tonight was betrayal. But you—" he pressed his forehead against Arjun's, desperate, "—you will carry our oath."
Other survivors gathered. Some wept quietly, some clenched weapons that were now useless, some muttered prayers to gods who had not answered.
The smell of ghee lamps still lingered faintly, mixing cruelly with the smell of blood. Somewhere, a tabla that had been played in celebration was cracked, one side torn, lying in the mud. The contrast was unbearable.
Arjun's small fists tightened. His nails dug into his palms.
Inside him—something flickered. His body shivered as if something ancient, something vast, was locked beneath his skin. But he didn't understand it. Not yet.
"Who were they?" he whispered, voice shaking.
One of the elders spat in the dust. "Shadows of the North. Hired blades. But behind them—someone more. Someone who knows our secrets."
Another survivor muttered, "They carried a mark. A serpent, coiled around fire. I saw it carved on their blades."
At that, Arjun's father's face darkened. His voice dropped like thunder. "The Serpent Order… they have returned."
The words sent a chill across the courtyard. Even children, even the wounded, froze at the name. Old stories. Old hatred.
Arjun blinked. The Serpent Order. He did not know their history. But the way everyone reacted, he understood one thing—these were no ordinary enemies.
Suddenly, laughter echoed from the far side of the ruins.
The attackers hadn't all left. A single figure stood at the edge of the firelight, hooded, blade still dripping. His voice was sharp, mocking.
"Pathetic. Even with your 'strongest' elder burning his soul, you still crawl like worms."
The survivors turned, eyes wide, some raising what little strength they had left.
The figure tilted his head, his words echoing.
"Remember this night, children. Remember your screams. We will come again. When the serpent coils fully, none of you will remain."
Then he vanished into smoke.
The courtyard fell silent again.
Arjun's chest burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run after the man, tear his hood away, make him pay. But he was just a boy. Weak. Powerless. His small hands shook against his father's chest.
Still, something strange happened—just for a moment. His eyes glowed faintly, a golden-red shimmer. The ground beneath him cracked faintly as if reacting to his rage. Nobody noticed, not in their grief. Nobody but his father, whose own eyes widened briefly before he hid the reaction.
Later, when the flames had died and bodies were gathered, the survivors formed a circle. Injured, broken, but united. They placed their hands on the earth, where blood had mixed with ash.
"We swear," the elder said, his voice hoarse. "We swear that this blood is not spilled in vain. That the Serpent Order will be hunted until none remain. We swear an oath of fire."
One by one, voices joined.
"We swear."
"We swear."
Arjun's father's hand guided his small one to the ground. "Repeat it, beta."
Arjun's lips trembled, but he spoke.
"I swear… I will burn them all. Every last one."
The words were shaky, the voice still childish. But something in the air shifted, as though even the night itself heard and trembled.
And from somewhere deep within Arjun, a power stirred awake—ancient, restless, waiting for the right moment.
Far away, under the moonlight, a serpent-shaped shadow slithered across the ground. Watching! Waiting.