The wind over Green Valley smelled of pine and damp earth as it whispered through the grass. From the ridge, the land seemed at peace — a green sweep framed by the Blackfang Peaks to the west and the shadowed forest to the east. Wildflowers bent in the sunlight, yellow and white, as though bowing to a tune only they could hear.
A poet might've stopped to paint it.A shepherd might've sung.
Vid saw none of that.
The valley was too open. Too still.And silence, he'd learned, was never a friend.
Every step felt heavier than the last. His boots squelched in the drying mud, muscles aching from hours of running. A strip of cloth — once white — was tied around his arm, dark now with half-dried blood. He'd wrapped it fast, barely enough to keep the life in him.
He was sixteen, though the years had carved deep already. The sun and struggle had done what time hadn't finished. Sweat plastered his black hair to his brow. His knife — no longer than his forearm — hung heavy in his grip, slick with grime and fear.
A crow wheeled overhead, black against the sky.Vid's lips pressed tight. Crows only came where death waited.And death had already passed this valley once.
His satchel bounced against his hip — a poor man's inheritance. Inside: a strip of dried meat, a flint, and a small wooden talisman carved like an arrowhead. His father had made it long ago, saying it would one day point Vid toward his destiny. Now it felt more like a memory than a promise.
He kept to the creek, glancing toward the forest. Shadows there were thick even under the sun. Once, they said, the Rakshas had hunted in those woods — moving like ghosts. The thought of what might still linger twisted his gut.
Then came the sound.
A faint crunch — grass bending under weight.He froze.
Nothing behind him. Only the wind.He let out a slow breath. Fear makes every rabbit sound like a wolf, his father used to say.
But this wasn't a rabbit.
Another crack — heavier. Confident.Then the smell — musky, sharp, animal — cutting through pine.
The bear stepped from the trees.
Huge. Fur streaked with gray. Eyes small, cold. A scar down its snout, a notch torn from one ear. Each step landed with dull certainty.
Vid's heart thudded hard enough to hurt.He tightened his grip, though the knife suddenly felt like nothing at all.
The bear sniffed and growled — low, rolling, the sound trembling through the ground. Vid swallowed, forcing his memory to work.Don't run. Don't turn. Make yourself big. Shout.
But his throat was sand. His legs begged to flee.
The bear came closer.Vid raised the knife, both hands shaking. Pain flared down his arm.
Then the roar — a wall of thunder.The beast charged.
The world went to blur. Claws flashed. Pain tore across his ribs. He staggered back, slashing wildly, the blade barely scratching fur. He tasted blood. The thing was too fast, too strong.
And then—
Smoke. Screams. Fire.Twelve hours earlier.
He woke to the smell.
Not woodsmoke. Oil and burning flesh. The air was thick with ash.For a heartbeat, he thought it a dream — until the screams began.
"Rakshas," he whispered, dry-mouthed.
The horn sounded — deep and mournful, shaking the ground.
He stumbled from bed. Smoke slipped through the shutters, curling around the small wooden house. His mother's voice cut through the noise.
"Vid!"
She was in the main room, hands trembling as she threw dried meat, a waterskin, and his talisman into a cloth bag. Her voice stayed firm."Go — through the back, by the creek!"
He opened his mouth, but the door slammed open.
Two figures stood there — black armor glowing red in the firelight, faces hidden by beast-shaped masks. Their eyes burned faintly from within. One held a spear, the other a curved blade that shimmered with heat.
"Please," his mother said, stepping forward. "He's just a boy!"
The spear struck.
She shoved Vid toward the window. "Run!"
He fell through, hitting wet ground. Mud splashed up his legs as he scrambled. Behind him — a crash. He didn't look back.
The village burned. Roofs fell to flame. Shadows ran through smoke — villagers, Rakshas, the dying. A child screamed, then silence.
Vid ran.
A Rakshas soldier saw him, laughing as he gave chase.Vid hit the creek, splashing through, heart hammering. The world was fire and steel. When he stopped at last, the village was a red blur behind him.
He sank to his knees, knife shaking in his hand.Smoke rolled across the grass.The horn sounded again — distant, but not enough.
They wouldn't stop at Green Hollow.They never did.
If no one stood against them, Pascha would fall — like all before it.
He pressed his forehead to the dirt. "Gods… please. Stop them. Stop this."
No answer.
The bear's paw came like a hammer.He flew backward, ribs cracking against a tree. White-hot pain. The knife fell.
"Gods…" he gasped again.
The bear rose, a wall of fur and shadow.
And then — a voice.
"I shall call… the Infinite Astra of Samanya Nara."
A blinding light ripped through the valley.An arrow of pure brilliance split the air.It struck the bear's chest, and everything stilled. The air shimmered like after a storm.
An old man stepped from the trees. His beard was silver, his bow long and dark, carved with faintly glowing runes. He walked to the fallen beast, drew a plain arrow, and ended it cleanly.
Vid stared through the haze. "Lord… Vishwa…"
The man looked once, said nothing, and lifted Vid as though he weighed nothing.
Darkness closed in.
He woke to firelight and the smell of roasting meat.The old man sat nearby, bow across his lap, half lost in thought.
Vid pushed himself up. "Are you… the god Vishwa? The Prabram?"
A quiet laugh. "No, boy. Just an archer. A master, maybe — still a man."
"Then who are you?"
"Paras," he said. "And we're ten kilometers from the Valley of Dand."
Vid's stomach turned. "We can't stay. The Rakshas — they've crossed the sea! They've invaded Boomi!"
Paras looked into the fire. "So it begins, then."
"They'll take everything," Vid said. "There are twelve continents — five ruled by empires. Boomi holds Pascha, but the Rakshas rule Naraga. They're coming."
Paras met his eyes. His were old — older than time itself."The Rakshas have always hungered for more. One archer can't stop an empire."
He lifted Vid's talisman. "You carry this for a reason. Do you know why?"
Vid shook his head.
Paras closed his hand around it. "Then it's time you learned."
The fire popped softly. Far off, a horn echoed — deep, mournful.
The Rakshas were moving again.
And destiny was waking.