The wind had been restless since morning.
It moved through the trees of Palash in uneven bursts, carrying the faint scent of damp earth, as if rain was waiting just beyond the horizon.
Leaves rustled louder than usual, branches swayed harder than they should.
It wasn't a storm yet… but it was getting there.
Dharan noticed it.
But he didn't stop working.
The sound of wood splitting echoed through the quiet stretch of forest.
One clean strike.
Then another.
"Shouldn't you be in class?"
His voice came without looking back, slightly irritated, but not harsh.
The kind of tone that sounded like scolding, but wasn't really meant that way.
Rudrahan stepped closer, hands in pockets, completely unbothered by the wind.
"School's closed," he said flatly.
A pause.
Then, as if correcting something obvious—
"Today's Sunday."
Dharan exhaled through his nose, not quite
annoyed, not quite amused.
"…Right."
The wind picked up again.
This time stronger.
Even Rudrahan's gaze shifted slightly, not to the trees—but to how they moved.
Dharan rested the axe against his shoulder.
Then his tone changed.
Not serious.
But… different.
"Come here."
Rudrahan walked closer without question.
Dharan glanced at him once, then said,
"Time for a man to man talk."
Silence.
Rudrahan's expression didn't change.
But something clearly did.
"…I'm not old enough for alcohol."
For a second—
Dharan just stared at him.
Then—
smack
A light hit to the back of his head.
"Not that, you fool."
Rudrahan winced slightly, more from surprise than pain.
"…That hurt."
Dharan shook his head, muttering under his breath.
"Where do you even get these ideas…"
Rudrahan didn't answer.
Because in his mind—
it made perfect sense.
A memory surfaced.
A few years ago.
Night.
Voices.
His father and one of his friends sitting inside, talking in low tones. Then suddenly, both of them stood up and headed out.
Rudrahan had followed.
Of course he did.
But just before stepping out—
Dharan had stopped him.
"Man's talk. You stay."
That was all he said.
Rudrahan had accepted it.
At the time.
The next morning—
His father was found slumped at the door.
Drunk.
The memory ended there.
So naturally—
his conclusion stayed the same.
Back in the present, Dharan sighed and looked at him properly this time.
"I wanted to talk about your future."
Rudrahan didn't respond immediately.
"Your fifteenth birthday is close," Dharan continued. "Soon… you'll know whether your Astra Sūtra awakens or not."
A brief pause.
"And this is your last year at school."
The wind slowed for a moment.
As if listening.
"So,"
Dharan said, more calmly now,
"what do you want to do?"
Rudrahan's answer came without delay.
"Depends."
Dharan frowned slightly.
"On what?"
Rudrahan looked ahead, not at his father.
At the trees.
At their movement.
"On whether I awaken Astra or not."
His voice didn't carry doubt.
Just logic.
"If I'm weak…"
he added, after a pause,
"I'd rather study than waste time sweating."
Silence.
Dharan stared at him for a moment longer than usual.
Then—
he turned away.
Picked up the axe again.
"…Do what you want."
His tone sounded annoyed.
But there was something else in it.
Something lighter.
Relief.
The wind returned.
Stronger this time.
And somewhere in that restless air—
something was about to change.
Two days after his birthday, evening had settled quietly over Palash.
Rudrahan returned home like any other day, pushing the door open without much thought. The air inside felt warmer than usual.
"Maa… anything to eat?" he asked, dropping himself onto the chair near the table.
"Wait two minutes," Maitreyi replied from the kitchen.
Rudrahan leaned back slightly, looking up at the ceiling.
"…Why is the fan so slow?"
"It's at full speed," she answered.
He frowned faintly.
It didn't feel like it.
The air felt heavy. Sluggish.
By the time Maitreyi came out with a small plate of snacks, Rudrahan's head was already resting on the table.
"Rudrahan," she said, placing the plate down, "eat first."
No response.
She paused.
Then sighed lightly.
"Stop acting."
He had done this before—pretending to sleep just to avoid things.
She reached forward and lightly tickled his side.
"Enough now—"
Nothing.
Her hand stopped.
"…Rudrahan?"
No movement.
A slight unease crept in.
She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently.
"Get up."
Still nothing.
Her expression changed.
This time, she held his head and lifted it slightly from the table—
And froze.
His face was flushed.
Not just warm—
Burning.
Her breath caught.
"Rudrahan—!"
Panic rose instantly.
She quickly pulled him up, half-dragging, half-carrying him to the sofa. His body felt heavier than it should, like heat itself was weighing him down.
She rushed to the door, calling out to a boy nearby—the errand boy from the shop.
"Go! Call Dharan—now! Tell him Rudrahan fainted !"
The boy ran without question.
Maitreyi returned immediately, kneeling beside Rudrahan. Her hands trembled slightly as she touched his forehead again.
Too hot.
Way too hot.
She grabbed a cloth, soaked it in water, and began wiping his face, his neck, his arms—anything she could.
Her movements were quick.
But not steady.
Because her vision kept blurring.
She didn't notice when tears had already started falling.
"Rudrahan…" she whispered, her voice barely holding.
For a moment—
nothing changed.
Then—
a faint movement.
His lips parted slightly.
A weak voice escaped.
"…Moom…"
Maitreyi froze.
Then let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Relief.
Fear.
Both at once.
"Rudrahan… I'm here," she said quickly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
But the heat didn't go away.
If anything—
it was rising.
End of chapter