The air on Trikoot Peak wasn't just cold; it was thin. It stole the breath from their lungs and replaced it with a silent, watchful dread. Jagged rocks clawed at the bruised sky, and the crevices between them weren't just gaps—they were hungry, black mouths waiting for a misstep. Every footfall sent a skitter of pebbles into the void, a tiny prelude to a long, silent fall.
Neer's voice, usually so full of easy confidence, was tight. "Be alert, Agni… Gurudev's warnings weren't just stories."
Agnivrat didn't reply with words. A single, sharp nod was his answer, his profile like stone against the grey mountainscape. His calm was a living thing, a deliberate stillness that seemed to push back against the mountain's malice.
They climbed, muscles screaming, fingers raw from finding purchase on unforgiving stone. Then, it happened. A rock, slick with invisible frost, betrayed Neer's boot. His balance vanished. For a heart-stopping second, he was nothing but weight and momentum, hurtling toward the cliff's edge.
"Neer!"
The name wasn't a shout; it was a blade of sound. Agni moved not with thought, but with instinct. His hand shot out, closing around Neer's wrist with a grip that felt like forged iron. Neer's free hand scrambled, fingernails tearing on rock until he found solid ground again. He hung there for a moment, suspended between Agni's strength and the abyss, his chest heaving air that tasted suddenly, incredibly sweet.
"Thank…" The word was a gasp. "Thank you, Agni."
Agni said nothing. He just held on, his gaze locked on Neer's until he was sure, truly sure, Neer was secure. In that silent look was a library of unspoken things fear, relief, a promise. It was more solid than the mountain beneath them.
When they finally dragged themselves over the last ridge onto the peak, Neer's laugh was a breathless, triumphant thing. "We made it. Now, let's see what demon has the poor taste to pick a fight with us."
The mountain answered. Not with a roar, but with a sigh. A ghostly, white mist began to weep from the very stone, curling up around their ankles like cold serpents. In seconds, it was a wall. Then a prison. Neer vanished from sight, swallowed whole.
"Agni!" His voice was sharp, edged with a panic he'd never admit to. "Where are you? This mist… I can't see my own hands! Say something!"
"I'm here." Agni's voice cut through the cottony silence, calm and anchored. "Don't listen to the fog. Listen to me."
Then, the laughter came. It didn't echo; it unfolded, layer upon layer of cruel amusement that seemed to vibrate in their bones. The mist parted like a rotten curtain.
Bhrantisur.
It was a nightmare given form. Three heads, each a mockery of a face, with eyes that burned like embers dumped from a hellfire. One hand held a sword, curved like a smile. The other held a whip that didn't just move—it seethed. The air around it twisted, tasting of metal and decay.
Neer's fear crystallized into a brilliant, defiant anger. He stepped forward, his chest swelling. "Who are you to block our path? Stand aside!"
The demon's laugh was a physical slap. "Life? You beg for life from me? Do your knees not shake? Does your heart not stutter?"
"I am a Kshatriya!" Neer's fists clenched, his voice ringing with a purity that defied the gloom. "Your kind are stains I wipe from the earth. You are next."
Agnivrat's voice was a low, dangerous thread. "Gurudev warned us of filth like you. This is your only chance to flee."
The demon's heads swiveled. And then, the world broke.
The mist convulsed. One moment, Agni saw Neer. The next, he saw Bhrantisur lunging at him with Neer's face, Neer's eyes filled with murder. He raised his sword to block, his heart a frantic drum of no, no, NO.
Across the peak, Neer cried out as Agni or a thing wearing Agni's form attacked him with terrifying ferocity.
"Agni! Is that you?" Neer's voice was a torn thing, equal parts fury and despair.
The demon's laughter was the soundtrack to their hell. "Fight! Slay the demon before you!"
And they did. Steel shrieked against steel, sparks flying like dying stars in the oppressive white. They were dancing with phantoms, each parry a betrayal, each strike a potential tragedy. Hours bled together. Agni's arms grew heavy, not from the fight, but from the soul-crushing weight of possibly harming his friend.
Then, Neer saw it. A flicker. A jewel, pulsing with sickly light on one of the demon's heads. It felt wrong. An anchor in the chaos. Gurudev's words… illusions have a source… a heart of lies.
He stopped. He closed his eyes, shutting out the horrific sight of Agni-as-demon. He thought of shared meals in the Gurukul, of Agni's silent watchfulness during his watch, of the hand that had hauled him from the cliff. Trust. It was the only weapon he had left.
He opened his eyes. The water-energy in his blade responded to his clarity, glowing with a soft, blue light. He didn't strike at the illusion before him. He struck through it, aiming for the jewel on the distant, true demon.
The stream of liquid energy cut the fog like a knife. The illusion of Agni shattered like glass.
"AGNI! STOP! IT'S ME!" Neer's true voice, raw and real, pierced the remaining deception.
Agnivrat blinked. The monstrous visage before him melted, revealing Neer panting, determined, real. The relief that flooded him was so profound it felt like pain.
But Bhrantisur wasn't finished. The mist coiled again, and now Agni saw Neer attacking him. His mind screamed that it was fake, but his eyes betrayed him. He hesitated, his sword dipping.
It was all the opening the demon needed. The whip lashed out, its tail biting into Agni's shoulder. White-hot fire bloomed across his skin, and he grunted, stumbling back.
The pain was a clarion call. It burned away the last of the confusion. He reached not for his sword, but inside. To the core of himself, where a quiet, eternal flame always burned. Agni-tattva.
Heat erupted from him. Not the heat of rage, but the pure, cleansing heat of a sacred hearth. Flames, golden and brilliant, wreathed his arms and lit the peak, driving back the mist and shadows. In that light, the final illusion of Neer burned away, revealing the cowering, twisted form of Bhrantisur.
"NEER!" Agni roared, a command and a summoning.
Neer was already moving. He tore through the remnants of the mist, his eyes only on Agni, on the blood staining his shoulder. He didn't stop to fight the demon; he ran to his friend. His hands flew to Agni's face, turning it toward him, his own eyes wide and wet.
"Agnivrat! Look at me! It was never me! I would never…" His voice broke as he saw the depth of the wound. "So much blood…"
Agni's hand came up, gripping Neer's forearm, the connection solid and undeniable. "I know… I know it wasn't. I just… needed to see you."
Neer's defiance crumbled into something softer, ashamed. "I… I doubted for a second too. Forgive me."
"Nothing to forgive." Agni tried to stand, to show he was fine, but his leg buckled. The adrenaline was gone, leaving only wreckage.
Neer's expression shifted in an instant. The worry didn't leave, but a stubborn, tender resolve took over. "See? Heroics are over. Now, practicality." He moved without embarrassment, turning and guiding Agni's arms around his shoulders. "Up. I'm your chariot now."
He hoisted Agni onto his back with a careful strength, adjusting his grip to avoid the wounded shoulder. Every step down the mountain was deliberate, measured. Agni's head rested against Neer's back, the steady beat of Neer's heart a better medicine than any herb.
In the forest below, dappled sunlight finally found them. Neer lowered Agni against the broad, merciful roots of an old tree with the focus of a master healer. He vanished into the green and returned with leaves, crushing them between stones with frantic, gentle urgency.
The silence between them as Neer worked was full. His fingers, smeared with green paste, were feather-light as they smoothed the poultice over the angry whip marks. When they brushed over the older, fire-shaped scar on Agni's arm, they lingered for a heartbeat. A silent question. A silent acknowledgment.
Agni let out a slow breath, the tight lines of pain around his eyes finally easing. "Thank you," he murmured, the words feeling too small for the ocean of gratitude inside.
Neer didn't look up, focusing on his work, a faint, shy smile touching his lips. "Don't thank me. Just promise you'll be more careful. My heart can't take the spectacle."
Agnivrat's own lips curved, just slightly. It was answer enough.
Around them, the forest breathed. The memory of the mist and the three-headed horror felt like a bad dream. Here, there was only the rustle of leaves, the scent of crushed herbs, and the solid, unshakeable reality of the boy bandaging his wounds, and the boy trusting him to do it.
They were wounded. They were exhausted. But on the cold, treacherous peak of Trikoot, they had faced the most insidious demon of all—the one that turns a brother into an enemy and they had won. Not with just sword and flame, but with a trust that proved thicker than any mist, and stronger than any illusion.