Yarul rode out with a handpicked team of the Yaksha Clan's finest warriors.
They carried only what they needed—bows, spears, blades, and determination.
Since their settlement now had horses, the journey was easier.
The Yaksha used ordinary horses, sturdy and obedient.
But the Sambhalies rode monstrous stallions, wild creatures tamed only by their people—
larger, faster, and almost impossible for a Yaksha to control.
Yarul led the team on the smaller horses.
They hunted through forests, cooked meat over crackling fires, slept beneath cold starlight, crossed rivers, climbed ridges, and traveled farther than any Yaksha had traveled in a century.
They found distant tribes, spoke to them, showed their products, and slowly established trust.
By the banks of a muddy river lived the Toki Tribe—
quiet, hardworking artisans who shaped earth like it was butter.
They crafted strong clay pots, iron vessels, and handmade cookware.
In exchange for Yaksha clothes and animal hides,
they agreed to trade their pottery and metal vessels.
Farther ahead, Yarul discovered the Kowal Tribe—
warriors with soot-covered faces and iron-furnaces burning all day.
They forged powerful weapons, sharper and stronger than anything Yaksha clan had ever held.
A trade was formed.
The final settlement was the Arzt tribe—
keepers of mysterious herbs and ancient remedies.
Their medicines were unmatched.
Trade agreements took nearly two years to finalize, understand, test, and trust.
Finally, Yarul returned—
his caravan loaded with weapons, medicine, pots, iron tools, and rare items.
When he reached home, the entire community erupted in celebration.
Cheers filled the air.
Avhel himself stood at the gates, smiling proudly.
Yarul dismounted and embraced his childhood brother.
Behind Avhel stood Astrid and little Kasha toddling nearby—
both children giggling without understanding the excitement.
Risha ran to Yarul, arms around his neck, tears of relief in her eyes.
Little Uruvi clung to her leg, unsure who this strange man was at first.
People laughed at Uruvi's confusion.
It was the happiest day the community had seen in years.
That night, Yarul took the items to Sukal's home.
Sukal and Divya had been waiting.
The moment Yarul entered, Sukal hugged him tightly.
"You've returned… after so long," he said, voice thick.
"I missed you too, Chief," Yarul said.
Yarul explained everything—
the tribes, the journey, the negotiations, the risks.
Avhel was there too, listening, smiling proudly.
When Yarul finished, Sukal sighed in relief.
"You were careful. That matters most."
The weapons, pots, and medicines impressed everyone.
That night, Sukal hosted a grand celebration in Yarul's honor.
The entire settlement danced, sang, and feasted.
Uruvi and Kasha played together.
Avhel and Yarul sat together, laughing about old memories.
No one knew it was the last night peace would ever exist.
A year later, Avhel and Astrid had another son.
They named him:
Luka.
The same Luka who, in the present, had tortured Kasha with memories he never understood.
Kasha's stomach twisted.
The world dimmed around him.
Yarul nodded gravely.
"Yes… Luka was your brother.
And now I will tell you why I could never allow him to stay."
Kasha said nothing.
Yarul continued.
Every year, Yarul would travel again—
one community at a time—
to maintain trade.
His team had grown skilled at negotiation.
But one year, Risha fell ill.
She was four months pregnant.
Weak. Fragile.
So Yarul stayed home.
The trade party returned in three months, without anything beacuse people trusted Yarul more than his team.
Two months later came the night that changed everything.
It was an ordinary ritual night.
As always, every Sambhali went into their chamber to perform the elixir ceremony.
No Yaksha was allowed inside.
Everything was normal…
Until suddenly—
Screams.
Dozens of them.
Yarul ran outside.
The Sambhali ritual hall had burst open.
Red light flickered.
People surged out like rabid beasts—
their eyes glowing red,
blood leaking from their ears,
faces twisted,
bodies trembling uncontrollably.
Then—
They began killing Yaksha people.
Without mercy.
Without hesitation.
Yarul barely avoided an axe swing from a Sambhali man—
his eyes completely crimson, tears of blood dripping.
The man screamed like an animal and attacked again and again,
insanely strong, totally possessed.
Then he stopped.
His ears exploded.
Blood gushed.
His head burst apart—
and splattered across Yarul.
Yarul froze in horror.
"What is happening…?"
No answer came.
Outside, fire had engulfed homes.
Yaksha warriors were dying everywhere.
Sambhali men were killing them—
and Sambhali heads were exploding one by one.
A nightmare.
A curse.
Hell itself.
Yarul ran toward Avhel's home.
The scene froze his soul.
Sukal and Divya were dead.
Astrid—bleeding, torn open—
was fighting Avhel with a burning spear in her hand.
The children—Kasha and Luka—were inside a locked room.
"Astrid!" Yarul shouted, intercepting a blow from Avhel.
"What happened?!"
Astrid coughed blood but kept fighting.
"No idea… they came out mid-ritual… completely mad…"
The entire world outside had gone silent now—
every Sambhali except Avhel was dead.
Astrid collapsed.
Her stomach ripped.
Her life fading.
Avhel roared and attacked again—
but something snapped.
He saw the crack in the door.
Inside, he saw:
Kasha, asleep.
Luka, whimpering.
Avhel froze.
His red eyes cleared.
He fell to his knees.
"Kill me…" he begged.
"Before I lose control again…"
Yarul's tears fell.
He drove the sword into Avhel's heart.
His brother.
His best friend.
His world.
Gone.
A shadow moved behind Yarul.
A masked man stepped forward—smiling.
Blood-covered knife in his hand.
He dropped it at Yarul's feet.
Behind him stood three more figures—
And one small figure:
Luka.
The masked man knelt.
"Son… those were your parents, right?"
Luka, crying, nodded.
"And they died… killed by Yaksha scum, didn't they?"
Luka nodded again, broken.
"Come to me," the masked man said gently.
He lifted Luka.
Then Luka fainted.
Two men carried him away.
They dragged Yarul into his own home and tied him so tightly his wrists bled instantly.
Risha sat in the corner, trembling, her swollen pregnant belly rising and falling in panic.
Uruvi clung to her leg, confused, scared, too young to understand death standing at his door.
Yarul tore at the ropes until his skin split.
"Please… kill me if you want… but leave them.
PLEASE… leave them!"
The masked man only smiled, a cold, dead smile, the kind that belonged to someone who had forgotten what humanity felt like.
"Bring the boy," he commanded.
Two men carried Luka inside.
But this Luka…
was not the baby they loved.
Not the sweet boy they named with hope.
His little face was drained of color.
His veins were black, bulging beneath his skin.
His eyes—
blood-red, glowing like burning coal.
Blood dripped from his ears and nose—
not flowing, dripping thick, like tar.
He snarled as they lowered him, like an animal dragged into a slaughterhouse.
The masked man knelt beside him, placed a dagger in Luka's tiny shaking hand.
The blade was longer than Luka's whole forearm.
Fresh blood still clung to it—
Avhel's blood. Astrid's blood. Sukal's blood. Divya's blood.
The masked man lifted Luka's chin.
"Do what you were born for."
Then he pointed toward Uruvi.
Risha screamed, "NO! NO PLEASE—NOT HIM! HE'S JUST A BABY!"
Luka moved.
Not like a child—
but like a starving beast.
He lunged with a shriek—
a shriek so sharp Yarul felt it slice through his chest.
The dagger stabbed into Uruvi's belly—
THUMP
Uruvi froze.
His small mouth opened, but no sound came.
He looked up at Yarul, eyes wide… confused… betrayed by the world.
Then Luka ripped the blade upward, slicing through flesh and bone as if he wanted to carve the child open.
Blood sprayed across the walls, across Luka's face, across Risha's trembling hands.
Uruvi collapsed in Risha's lap like a broken doll, eyes still open, mouth still trying to call "Ma…" but only choking on blood.
Risha screamed—
a sound so raw, so primal, the entire house shook.
"STOP! PLEASE STOP! THAT'S OUR SON—OUR SON!"
Luka didn't even hear her.
He stabbed again and again—
in the neck, chest, face—
until little Uruvi's tiny body was nothing but shredded flesh and bone.
Yarul screamed until his throat tore,
but the rope didn't move.
"URUVI! URUVI! NO! PLEASE NO—MY SON—MY SON!"
He could taste his own blood, he was screaming so hard.
The masked man held his chin, forcing him to watch.
"We are not done."
Risha tried to crawl backward, holding her stomach, sobbing hysterically.
Luka turned slowly toward her—
the dagger dripping red threads of Uruvi's life.
"No… no, please… PLEASE…" she begged.
Luka leapt.
The first stab plunged into her abdomen—
right into the womb.
Risha screamed in such agony the windows rattled.
Luka twisted the blade, cutting deeper, searching—
And then—
he sliced her belly open.
Yarul saw it.
He saw everything.
Her stomach tore, spilling hot blood down her legs.
Luka reached inside—
his small hand sinking into flesh—
And he pulled out the unborn baby, still forming, still warm, still alive enough to twitch in his hands.
Risha collapsed backwards, sobbing, choking, her hands reaching helplessly toward her ravaged stomach—
"My… baby…"
Luka cut the baby's throat with a jerk of his hand.
It made a wet, horrible sound.
Then he drove the blade into Risha's heart—
one blow, two, three, four—
until her chest cave collapsed and her eyes rolled lifeless.
Yarul felt something break inside him—
not a bone, not a muscle—
his soul.
His vision blurred with tears and blood.
He couldn't even scream now.
His voice was gone.
Luka turned toward him next—
blood-soaked, panting, animal-like—
ready to kill the last witness.
Yarul closed his eyes, ready for death.
But the masked man grabbed Luka by the neck.
"Not yet."
Luka thrashed, snarling, screaming like a damned creature until—
THSSSST
A needle pierced his neck.
Luka's body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
And he collapsed on the floor, twitching in a pool of blood.
The masked man turned to Yarul, wiping blood from his mask with Avhel's torn clothes.
"You will live," he said softly.
"You will live with this memory.
You will live with this pain.
You will live long enough to watch your entire world burn… piece by piece."
And he walked away, leaving Yarul tied beside the corpses of his wife… his son… his unborn child.
Yarul didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He simply stared—
broken, empty, dead inside—
As the last pieces of his family lay butchered in front of him.