The paper in the Lord Commander's hand felt heavier than steel.
The seal pressed into the parchment burned crimson, as if the order itself carried heat—an authority so absolute it seemed to bend the air around it.
An order—
from the Lord of Kings.
Signed.
Accepted.
Sealed beneath five crowns.
There was no room for appeal.
"How?" Shaan asked quietly, though anger bled through the restraint in his voice.
"How did they all agree to something so… foolish?"
His eyes were sharp, searching Bhairava's face—as if hoping to find a crack, a single sign that this decision could still be undone.
Bhairava exhaled slowly.
"Because," he said, his voice low and steady, "a war between the World of Living and the World of Monsters is inevitable."
He folded the parchment once.
"It can begin at any moment."
Shaan clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tightening.
Bhairava continued, "If events unfold the way the poem predicts, then the monsters will take advantage of this."
A pause.
"This situation… favours them."
Silence followed.
Not the empty kind—
but the heavy, suffocating kind that pressed against the chest and refused to let go.
Then Shaan spoke again, his voice calm—but firm.
"Lord Commander, it is not only the Black Eye Clan that carries monster blood."
He paused briefly before adding,
"The Red Eye Clan bears that blood as well."
Bhairava raised his eyes, his expression unreadable.
"Hm… yes," he said calmly. "They are."
His gaze sharpened as he continued.
"But you forget—it has been a long time since they evolved."
Another pause.
"And when the First Mana Lock is broken," Bhairava said, his voice unwavering,
"only then will it be known which blood proves more dominant and what they truly are."
Shaan froze.
"And I suppose," Bhairava added, a faint, mocking smile tugging at his lips,
"the people of the Red-Eyed Clan are still human… aren't they?"
Silence returned.
Heavier than before.
After a long pause, Bhairava spoke again.
"If we understand the problem before it arrives," he said calmly, "then dealing with it becomes… easy."
Shaan's voice came out as a whisper.
"So, you already decided to do this."
Bhairava smiled.
Back to the present.
Bhairava stood before the gathered people of the Black Eye Clan, the parchment now unfolded in his hands. His voice rang clear—unshaking, merciless.
"By the unshaken decree of the Lord of Kings," he declared,
"under the seal of all five crowns—your fate is now bound."
"None may rewrite it."
His voice grew louder.
"From this moment—"
The air froze.
No one breathed.
Bhairava's words carved themselves into the silence.
"The Black Eye Clan's end is not approaching."
Faces locked. Eyes widened.
Bhairava lowered the parchment.
"It is already here."
The silence that followed was heavier than any sound.
The crowd's breath hung in the air—caught between disbelief and the crushing weight of finality. At first, there was nothing.
No screams.
No movement.
Just a suffocating pause where Bhairava's words felt too heavy to exist in the world.
Then it came.
A roar.
A thousand voices broke at once.
"You can't do this!"
The cry tore through the air from the front, a man's voice cracked raw by panic.
"We served the Crown!" another shouted, clutching his child so tightly the boy whimpered.
"Open the gate!"
"Lord Commander—show mercy!"
The crowd surged forward like a broken wave.
Hands scratched the iron gate, fingers slipping through the cold gaps. Some slammed their fists again and again until skin split and blood stained the metal. Others collapsed to their knees, palms pressed to the ground, heads bowed as they begged for a mercy that did not answer.
But the gates stood firm.
Like stone giants.
Unmoving.
Uncaring.
Women screamed. Children cried.
And in every face lived the same realization—
Death was coming.
"You're killing us!"
"Save us, Lord Commander! We are your people!"
The cries overlapped, tangled, desperate.
Above them all, Bhairava stood.
Still.
Unmoved.
His eyes were like twin shards of obsidian—dark, reflective, merciless. Not hatred. Not anger.
Just certainty.
Behind him, Shaan stood silently, his gaze fixed on the ground.
He did not want to see.
He did not want to witness the pain carved into their faces.
Each broken expression cut into Shaan. Deep in his chest, the pain twisted until it felt as though their suffering was his own.
Neel and Lava fell to their knees.
Once, they had believed they were beginning a new life. A fragile hope—built with trembling hands and quiet prayers. Now it shattered beneath them, collapsing into dust before it ever had the chance to grow.
Hopeless.
Kaal stood frozen, his heart pounding violently as he stared at his parents—both kneeling, both broken. Seeing them like this hurt more than the screams around them.
More than the sky above, heavy with an unseen threat.
Then—
A memory bloomed in his mind.
Not sudden.
Not violent.
It unfolded quietly, like something that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.
And with it came understanding.
A way.
Kaal smiled.
Not a desperate smile.
Not a forced one.
A small, genuine smile—because for the first time since the gates had closed, he truly believed they could still live.
"Mom… Dad," he said gently, "don't sit here."
Neel looked up. Lava followed.
"We have to go," Kaal continued, his voice calm now. "We have to move. Now."
Lava shook her head, her voice trembling.
"Kaal, my child… there is no way left. Every door is closed."
Kaal stepped closer.
"What are you saying?" he replied softly. "There is a way. There's still a chance. We're still alive."
He reached for them.
"Just stand," Kaal said. "Let's go back home. If you both believe in me… then do what I say."
For a moment—
The world held its breath.
Then Neel stood.
Lava followed.
The Gray family turned back.
They walked away—not in panic, not in despair, but guided by the quiet belief of a child who had seen something they had not.
Kaal's smile remained.
Real.
Fragile.
Because Kaal believed—truly believed—that his family was still safe.
As long as they were together.
As long as they kept moving.
As long as they trusted him.
That belief was enough to make him walk forward without looking back.
The Gray family disappeared into the path ahead.
Behind them, the gates stayed closed.
Above them, the sky remained unchanged.
And far beyond what Kaal could see—
this was what he chose to believe.
One step forward, toward the path of—
hope.
To be continued…