The war was over—for now.
Every Kara soldier had pulled back, leaving behind silence, smoke, and the broken remains of a village. The survivors, though tired and hurt, wasted no time. They started picking up stones, fixing broken walls, and helping the injured. Life, somehow, had to go on.
Parashu and Master Vishma walked through the village together. The streets were quiet, but the air still carried the weight of what had just happened. Parashu looked around—homes burned down, children crying, old men dragging planks of wood to patch rooftops. It was the most chaos he had ever seen.
Parashu asked, "Master... when we were on the battlefield, when our people were dying—where was our village leader?"
Master Vishma kept walking, his eyes scanning the damage. "As a leader, he's supposed to stay safe. If he gets captured or killed, everything could fall apart. That's why he should've stayed in his office."
"So... that's why he wasn't out there?" Parashu asked, still trying to understand.
Vishma nodded. "That's what I thought."
"But…" Parashu paused. "You said should be in his office. Are you saying he wasn't?"
Master Vishma looked down for a second, then said, "Strangely... he wasn't. His room was empty when I checked."
"Then where was he?" Parashu asked, confused.
"We'll have to ask him ourselves," Vishma said firmly. "When he returns."
At the village gates...
A man walked slowly through the entrance. The guards who once stood there had been killed during the Kara attack. No one stopped him as he entered. His clothes were worn, his face dusty from the road.
He walked straight toward Master Vishma.
"Who are you?" Vishma asked, stepping in front of him.
"My name is Davarshi," the man replied calmly. "I've come with an idea—something that could change this village."
"The village leader is not here," Vishma said. "He left during the battle. At a time when we needed him most."
Davarshi nodded. "Then let me speak to you instead."
"Go ahead," Vishma said, curious.
Davarshi looked around at the broken houses, the wounded villagers. "We live in a time where people don't know what's happening outside their homes. What if... we could gather all the important news and updates from around the village and share it with everyone? A simple way to stay connected, so no one is left in the dark."
Master Vishma didn't answer right away.
He just watched Davarshi quietly, unsure of what to make of this stranger who spoke of ideas, not war.
Wounds That Never Heal
The sky had cleared, but the silence between Asura and Daksha was heavy.
They sat near the old temple ruins, far from the noise of rebuilding. No words had been spoken for hours.
Asura's eyes were fixed on the ashes from the funeral pyres. "Too many villagers died," he finally said. "And this time... I wasn't alone."
Daksha looked down at his own hands—still bandaged, still shaking from the fight. "I came back this time."
Asura didn't answer. His breath was slow and cold. "But you weren't there when it truly mattered."
Daksha closed his eyes. "You think I don't carry that day with me? Every single night, I hear their screams. I hear her scream."
He meant Asura's wife—Durga's mother.
Asura's jaw clenched. "She died holding the gate. I was inside fighting. You were... where?"
"I was ambushed," Daksha said. "They attacked near the border. I fought. I bled. I survived. But I wasn't fast enough."
"That's your excuse?"
"No," Daksha said. "That's my curse."
A long silence followed.
"She blames you," Asura finally said. "Durga."
Daksha looked up slowly. "She's alive...?"
Asura nodded. "She's with the Kara Army. Their general promised to bring her mother back—if she served them."
Daksha's heart sank. "She's a child."
"She's not," Asura replied. "Not anymore. She's a weapon now. One they stole from me... from us."
The two warriors sat there, surrounded by memories heavier than any blade.
"We can't change the past," Daksha said. "But we can prepare for what's coming."
Asura stood. "Then tell me... if she comes back—our own blood—can you raise your sword against her?"
Daksha didn't answer.
He couldn't.