The afternoon sun hung low over Dand Valley, washing the rooftops and narrow lanes in a warm golden glow. It should've been beautiful — but the beauty was gone, crushed under the roar of battle. The air that once carried the smell of spice and baked bread now stank of smoke, blood, and dust.
Paras stood alone in the center square, a steady figure amid the chaos. Heat still rose off his bowstring from his last shot. Across from him, Ke'dil'cho — the flame-covered commander of the northern Rakshas troops — moved in slow, tight circles like a hunting beast, his eyes sharp and focused.Vid's chest ached — not from pain, but from something heavy forming inside him. A promise.
This valley, this town, these people — all of it was being crushed by the Rakshas as if their lives meant nothing. Paras stood alone against them, with nothing but his bow, his will, and his heart.
In that moment, Vid knew he wanted that same strength. No — he needed it.
The soldier with the chain charged again. Vid twisted to the side; the metal brushed his arm, leaving a burning sting. He didn't cry out. He just ran, heart hammering in his chest.
Paras saw him move and shouted, "Go! Get to safety!"
But Vid didn't run far. He hid behind the corner of a broken wall, eyes locked on the fight. He studied every move Paras made — every arrow he fired, every step that kept Cho's flaming blade from cutting him down.
The fight between Paras and Cho reached its peak — fire clashing against steel, arrows slicing through smoke, sparks lighting up the air. The sound was deafening. Roof tiles broke loose and shattered on the ground.
Some Rakshas tried to rush in to help Cho, but the commander snapped, "He's mine!" His voice was low and burning, like his blade.
Vid's hands shook — not from fear now, but from a strange fire inside him. I will learn, he thought. I will fight. I will master the bow. I'll be strong enough to protect… and I'll find Lord Vishwa, no matter what it takes.
Behind him, what was left of his home fell apart completely, swallowed by dust and flame. He didn't look back.
In the square, Paras blocked another blow, but his knees wavered for a moment. Cho pressed forward, grinning like a wolf.
Vid's promise grew stronger. This wasn't an ending — it was the beginning.
And even as the battle raged around him, something deep inside Vid had caught fire — a flame no Rakshas could ever put out.
The air in Dand Valley stank of blood and smoke. Paras's cry of pain still echoed in Vid's ears, fading under the chaos — swords clashing on one side, soldiers screaming on the other. But in that small, quiet space inside his mind, all Vid could hear was his own heartbeat.
He stood frozen, half-drawn bow in his hands, staring at Paras — stumbling, bleeding, still fighting Cho's burning blade. The ground trembled with every clash, but Vid's legs wouldn't move. Even when a spear flashed toward him, he barely reacted.
Why am I just standing here?
The thought was small, but it cut deep.
And then, suddenly, everything changed. The battlefield faded. The noise, the smoke, the pain — all of it melted away.
He was home again.
The smell of jaggery tea filled the air. His mother was humming softly as she worked. The small kitchen glowed with the warmth of evening light. Their clay walls, woven mats, the laughter outside — everything felt safe again.
That day, she had been telling him stories. Not the kind told by merchants or priests — hers were older, full of love and truth.
She had leaned close and whispered, "You know I am a devotee of Lord Vishwa. Find him, my son. He is the answer. He will protect you."
He had giggled then, asking if Lord Vishwa could bring him sweets. She'd laughed, that soft, kind laugh that made even sadness feel far away.
"Maybe," she'd said. "But more than sweets, he gives the strength to stand when no one else will."
Then came the night. The fire. The screams. The smell of death in the air. His father's voice shouting his name — once, and never again.
He remembered his mother running with him through the flames, coughing, bleeding, refusing to stop. When they reached the river, she knelt down, holding his face. Her eyes — fierce, full of love — met his one last time.
"Live," she'd said. "Find Lord Vishwa. He will protect you."
Then came the hiss of an arrow. The sound of it striking. And silence.
Vid gasped, and the present came rushing back. Paras was still fighting, but barely. Blood soaked the ground under him.
Their eyes met for a moment. Paras's voice echoed in his memory — the words he had once said by the fire:
"Be your own solution. Be the saviour you keep waiting for."
Back then, Vid had laughed. But now, those words felt heavier than the world itself.
His mother had told him to find a god. Paras had told him to become one.
Maybe both were right. Maybe finding Lord Vishwa meant learning to stand like him first. And if Vishwa never came — then Vid would still stand anyway.
He thought of his friends — the boy who shared his bread, the girl with the crooked braid — all gone. Everyone gone. Why had he survived?
Paras's grunt pulled him back to the moment. Cho's fiery sword came crashing down, sparks bursting in all directions. Paras blocked, barely staying upright.
Vid's fingers tightened around the bow. No more waiting. No more freezing. No more praying for miracles.
His mother's words weren't just a promise — they were a path.
"Find Lord Vishwa," she had said. But until then…
Be the bow. Be the arrow. Be the fire.
Vid drew the string to his ear. The world shrank to a single heartbeat — a single moment.
"I will find you, Lord Vishwa," he whispered, voice trembling. "But until then, I'll be my own Vishwa."
A horn sounded somewhere in the valley. Maybe friend, maybe foe. Vid didn't care.
He released the arrow.
It sliced through the air, clean and bright. Paras saw it coming — and for the first time that day, the old warrior smiled.
The arrow hit.
The battle raged on, but inside Vid, something had changed forever.
The sun dipped lower over Dand Valley, its light cutting through smoke and dust. Blood ran between the stones like rivers, soaking into the earth.
Paras stood at the center of it all. His breathing was ragged, his body shaking with exhaustion. Every wound screamed in pain, his tunic torn and soaked in red.
A cut above his eye blurred his vision, but he didn't stop. His gaze stayed fixed on Cho — the massive commander, still standing, flames flickering on his sword.
All around them, Rakshas soldiers circled, stomping the ground in rhythm like drums of war.
Behind Paras, Vid crouched low, his bow clutched tight, his thoughts a storm. He could barely breathe, torn between fear and awe.
Paras wiped the blood from his mouth and said quietly, "You've taken enough from me."
Cho sneered. "Old man, you've already lost. Drop your weapon before the dirt takes you."
But Paras didn't lower his blade. He shifted his stance — one foot sliding back, hands tightening, eyes hardening. The air around him changed.
Some Rakshas froze, recognizing the move. Their faces turned pale. They'd heard stories about this — the Festival Storm Arts.
Those were no myths. Paras was proof.
He closed his eyes, shutting out the noise and pain. The world went still. Only the wind and the faint crackle of burning wood remained.
He took a slow breath, reaching deep within himself — into that core of energy that had never left him.
When his eyes opened again, they glowed faint blue. The ground beneath him trembled. Dust rose and hung in the air. Even Cho stepped back, his grin fading.
Paras lifted his sword. His voice came low but clear.
"Festival Storm Arts…"
The air grew thick. Time itself seemed to pause.
"…Multi Cracker Burst!"
The valley exploded in light.
Dozens of blasts burst from Paras's blade, scattering like fireworks — only each one hit like thunder. The front lines were torn apart in seconds. Bodies flew through the air, armor shattered, the ground split.
Cho roared, charging through the chaos, his body bruised and bleeding. Paras met him head-on.
Their blades clashed, sending shockwaves through the valley. Paras turned, pain burning through his side, and slashed. His blade cut deep — not metal, but flesh.
Cho staggered, staring in shock at his severed arm. Blood sprayed across the field. Paras didn't stop. He unleashed another burst — three explosions that tore into Cho's chest and legs.
The great commander fell to his knees, his strength finally gone.
Around them, the Rakshas broke. Soldiers threw down their weapons and fled, tripping over the bodies of their own.
Paras didn't chase them. He just stood there — bleeding, swaying, but still standing.
The glow in his eyes faded, and the air grew quiet again.
He had nothing left to give. But he had done enough.
And as long as he stood, Dand Valley would remember his name. what do you think about this
For the moment, Paras had the edge. His precise strikes were keeping Cho at a distance. But all around them, the battle was turning uglier. Soldiers in black armor clashed with the last of the town's defenders. Steel rang, wood splintered, and every now and then a scream was cut short — a brutal rhythm that filled the valley.
Out of the corner of his eye, Paras noticed movement. Three Rakshas soldiers had broken from the fight, heading down a side street. Their gazes were locked on something. Paras's gut twisted.
They had seen Vid.
The boy — small, wide-eyed, and terrified — was peeking from behind a shattered door in an old hut. Paras's attention flickered toward him for just a second, but it was enough.
Cho lunged.
His flaming sword sliced through the air faster than thought. Paras turned to block, but just a moment too late. The blade's edge grazed his shoulder — not deep, but enough to burn through leather and skin. The pain shot through him like fire. He gritted his teeth, stepping back, but Cho's smirk said it all.
"You're distracted, old man," Cho growled, pressing forward with a rush of blows.
Paras raised his bow to deflect a strike, then snapped an arrow straight at Cho's chest from point-blank range. Cho dodged easily, flames trailing behind his blade as if it were alive.
But Cho wasn't the biggest danger anymore — the other soldiers were.
They were closing in on Vid.
The boy stumbled backward, his feet scraping against loose stones. He could hear their low, growling breaths as they came closer. One carried a jagged spear, another a cracked sword, and the third swung a heavy chain around his arm.
Paras wanted to move — to protect the boy — but Cho's relentless attacks kept him pinned. He blocked high, ducked low, twisted away from another slash. Every motion made the pain in his shoulder worse, the edges of his vision blurring.
Vid's breathing was fast and shaky. His hands clung to the broken doorway so hard his knuckles turned white. This wasn't a dream or a story anymore — it was real, bloody, and right in front of him.
One soldier broke into a sprint toward him. Vid thought about hiding deeper inside, but the second soldier's chain whipped forward, smashing the doorway to splinters. Bits of wood flew across his face.
Paras saw it — saw the boy trapped — and something inside him snapped. He shoved Cho back with all his strength and shouted, "Stay away from him!"
In one smooth motion, he drew three arrows and fired. Two hit — one in the chest, one in the thigh — but the third Rakshas, the one with the chain, kept coming.
And that brief overreach cost Paras.
Cho struck again.
The commander's blade came low and fast, slicing across Paras's ribs. The flames burned before the steel even touched. Blood poured out, dark against his tunic.
Paras stumbled back, his breath catching, the heat and pain blurring the edges of everything.
Vid's hut couldn't take another hit. The next swing of the chain ripped the door apart. Half the roof collapsed, filling the air with dust.
Vid coughed, stumbling into the open. His eyes watered, but he didn't run. He froze.
The soldier raised his chain again.
"NO!" Paras roared. He planted his feet and raised his bow despite the pain ripping through him. His aim wavered — too much blood, too much loss.
Cho laughed, "Your fight is with me, Paras!"
He lunged again, forcing Paras to block. The bowstring quivered violently under the pressure. Paras could feel the flames eating through it. Every second, every movement hurt.
From where he stood, Vid could see it all — the old man, bloodied and struggling, still refusing to fall. This was the same man who had fought Cho like a storm, who had faced an army alone. And now, because of him — because Vid had been seen — that man was bleeding.
Fear still filled Vid's chest, but under it, something else began to burn.
The Rakshas soldier swung again. Vid ducked, the chain slicing through the air just above his head with a loud snap. His body trembled — but he didn't back down.
He could have run. He could have screamed. But instead, his eyes stayed locked on Paras.
Paras and Cho were locked together, bow against sword, flames eating away at the string. Cho's grin was wide and wild, certain that victory was close.
Vid clenched his fists.
"I will not be useless," he whispered.