The rain, having executed its brutal will, was now clearing. Patches of the inky sky were visible between the canopy, though the darkness had fully descended, thick and absolute. Periodical, distant thunder still reverberated, a somber drumbeat marking the profound silence that had fallen over the small forest clearing.
The only consistent sound was the rhythmic plop, plop of water droplets falling from the sodden leaves—a lonely, relentless metronome counting the seconds of Rudraksha's grief.
He remained slumped beside his mother's body, her cold, still weight his only anchor in a world that had just shattered. He clutched her hand, his young soul desperately searching for a flicker of warmth, a phantom pulse.
For a few minutes more, he allowed himself the silent luxury of his sadness, curling up against the tree bark, trying to calm the violent tremors in his mind and body. The coldness seeped into his bones, and beneath the coldness, a new, mundane sensation arose: hunger.
It was the brutal call of survival, interrupting the sacred moment of mourning.
Rudraksha forced himself to stand. His legs felt shaky, and his back, where the horse had thrown him earlier, ached fiercely. He glanced at Zarakan's body, a mound of dark clothing and shadow a few meters away, and the cold, rational mind Gauri had cultivated in him took over.
He walked stiffly to the Zarakan's corpse and, steeling himself against the fresh, coppery smell of blood and death, began to rummage through his clothes. After a few minutes of searching, his fingers finally located a corner pocket stitched near the leg of the tunic. Inside, he found a small quantity of dry rations—a compact mix of dried grains, nuts, and sweetened flour, designed for Saka warriors on long campaigns.
He took a bite. It was coarse, heavy, and somewhat edible—a fuel, not a delicacy. The small amount he found was precious.
He walked to the only surviving horse, still docilely tied to a tree, and located a strange, hardened leather pouch attached to the saddle. He worked at the complicated leather stopper for a few minutes. In his small, impoverished village, water was carried in heavy earthen jars or metal buckets. These convenient, flat leather canteens were alien technology to him. Once opened, he brought the spout to his lips and took deep, long gulps. The water was metallic and cold, but it was life.
As he satisfied the immediate needs of his body, the depressive thoughts returned, heavier now that he had physical strength.
How do I survive this? Taxila is very far away.
He tried to get onto the horse, managing to loosen its tether, but as he mounted, the horse, spooked by his scent and the lingering violence, violently shook its body. Rudraksha fell hard, soothing his aching back as the animal dashed off into the thicket, disappearing forever.
He sadly accepting the loss. He had never practiced riding; bullock carts were the only transport in his village. Waiting for help was useless—it was the heart of the Varsha (rainy season), and people were stocked indoors.
He tried one last time to retrieve the horse, calling softly into the darkness, but the thunder and the smell of death had driven the animals far away. He sighed, the sound hollow in the vast forest.
I can't even get out of here, Maa. How will I reach the great city and conquer an empire? It's Impossible for me.
He curled up near her body again, a brief relapse into childhood despair.
But the promise was a razor-sharp command, cutting through his weakness. He had to survive the night. He had to be practical. He had to be the shadow.
The most immediate goal was to move his mother. He stood and looked back at Gauri, covered in mud and blood. Cremation, the respectful ritual for the dead, was paramount. He needed to get her out of this place of death.
He got up and began the meticulous, gruesome task of collecting the spoils of war. He walked a few meters away, then he dragged and decided to hide the bodies of Chaman, Devak, Sumer, and Kaji beneath a heap of leaves and branches after searching their bodies.
It took a long time. He carefully stripped each body, taking their remaining dry rations, small, durable water jars (now realizing the Saka carried two types of liquid containers), and, most importantly, large pieces of their heavy tunic clothes. These thick, wool-blend materials would offer vital insulation against the night chill. He also collected the fallen swords, two daggers, and a knife. After being satisfied with the spoils, he then hided their bodies.
When he finally returned to Gauri's side, the sky was completely dark, the last vestiges of daylight erased.
His first, most sacred task was to protect his mother. He carefully spread the pieces of Saka tunics over Gauri's body, covering her completely. He paused before covering her face, gazing at her one last time. He touched her cold, bruised cheek. He memorized the final, peaceful sternness of her expression, etching it into his heart—the last image of the woman who had died to birth his destiny.
He covered her face gently.
He then looked down at the bundle he still held: her severed arm, and the small pouch containing the broken pieces of her sword—the one taken from Zarakan, the one that had cut him down. He decided to let the arm rest near her as it's impossible to carry and only this small pouch is with him.
His heart was still heavy with despair, but his mind was cold and rational. He had to spend the night here. The forest was deadly after dark.
Rudraksha glanced around the clearing. It was a miracle that the intense thunder, coupled with the sudden, violent activity, had kept most nocturnal predators away. The greatest danger was the smell of blood.
He remembered the lessons from their secluded life: Height equals safety.
Using the skills he had honed in childhood games—climbing the trees in their village for fruit or for fun—he found a massive, ancient tree nearby. He climbed with practiced ease, finding a large, high branch where he could sit comfortably, high enough to be safe from most terrestrial threats.
He settled in, the captured tunics providing a rough cushion. He was now the silent observer, perched above the scene of the massacre.
He didn't brought the swords due to their heaviness so he took out collected knife and daggers. He observed their shape, their balance, and their deadly sharpness. He practiced the grip, the silent, lethal weight of the steel in his hand. He then looked at the hilt of his mother's broken sword, the small, leather-bound handle he had kept. He knew he had to master these weapons, to become the true assassin his mother was, and more.
Hours passed. The cold seeped in, despite the layers of tunic. When his hunger returned, he ate sparingly from the dry rations. Finally, exhaustion, the ultimate balm, claimed him. He checked the perimeter one last time, saw nothing, and let his eyelids drift closed.
The forest reached the deepest part of its slumber. Midnight crept past, and Rudraksha slept, his body finally shutting down from the trauma.
But the storm had only scared off the clumsy predators. The smell of fresh blood—the scent of an easy, abandoned feast—was a siren call to others.
Far off, low to the ground, an animal moved. It was silent, stealthy, and driven by instinct. The beast was a hyena, a massive scavenger. It had a dog-like appearance, but its body was frighteningly robust, with powerful, disproportionately muscular front legs designed for tearing and crushing bone. Its coarse, light-brown fur was matted with mud.
The hyena stopped directly in front of Gauri's covered body, sniffing the rich, dark scent of human and Saka blood. It was alone—a sign that its pack had been scattered by the thunder—and it was ravenous.
The beast began to work, its strong jaws and claws gently pulling at the edges of the rough Saka clothes Rudraksha had used to cover his mother. Slowly, deliberately, it uncovered the body, starting with Gauri's legs.
The hyena was wholly unaware of the small, sleeping figure perched on the branch just above it. It lowered its head, preparing to feast on the remains of the 'witch.'
Suddenly, in the pitch black of the midnight forest, a pair of young eyes snapped open.
Rudraksha, woken not by a sound but by a primal, internal alarm, directed his gaze below the branch. A massive, shadowy beast was doing something to his mother's body.
.....
Far away, in the ancient, scholarly city of Taxila, the rain was still falling softly but was rapidly drawing to a close. Perched on a distant hill overlooking the city was a humble cottage, surrounded by the quiet tranquility of nature.
Inside, a few Shastri (senior disciples, or Naishtika Brahmachari) were engaged in calm debate, having dedicated their lives to mastery of the Vedas and various sciences.
Outside, under the simple cottage shade, sat an old man. His hair was completely white, yet his eyes were bright, his face serene and filled with profound knowledge. This was Maharishi Dhruv, the renowned sage, teacher, and Headmaster of the great Taxila Vishwavidyalaya (University).
Maharishi Dhruv was not just a scholar of conventional wisdom. As his title suggested, he possessed profound esoteric knowledge in various fields, including the mastery of celestial observation—the study of star patterns and constellations to determine the fate of the world. He was known to predict major weather events months in advance, a feat deemed impossible by lesser minds.
He was calmly watching the sky, noting the breaking clouds and the visibility of the heavens. As the stars began to appear, his serene expression cracked. An unfamiliar pattern was emerging.
After a few seconds of connecting the dots, Maharishi Dhruv's heart began to beat wildly, a sudden, terrifying possibility occurring to his mind.
No. No, it cannot be.
He whispered the unthinkable: "Did that girl die? Her destiny was immeasurable, a force meant to reshape empires, but how was it cut short?"
But the pattern was undeniable. The sudden, violent shift in the cosmos was not a sign of Gauri's peaceful death, but of an ignition. Her demise, far from snuffing out the destined path, had sparked a much greater, more terrible force.
"This is more than a calamity. The world is in chaos. A new era must emerge with that person… but who? Is it related to her?"
He sighed, the weight of a dying age settling upon his shoulders. He knew he had to inform all of the disciples of this event. The grief was personal, but the mission was global. There is someone who is one of his disciple but was also the girl's teacher that cared about her most and it will be hard when delivering this news.
"I must guide that person if the opportunity arrives," he thought, his gaze now focused and determined.
He chuckled softly to himself, a sound of grim wonder. "A person rising through storms and thunder like a fairy tale, huh."
He continued gazing out into the distance, his mind already formulating the necessary steps to prepare Taxila for the upheaval that was surely coming.
The star alignment spoke of death and rebirth, a terrifying celestial upheaval that now signaled the end of one life and the beginning of a relentless, world-changing journey.