Chapter 17: Phantom and Life-Force
Deep in the forest's heart, the night's silence wasn't empty; it was a held breath. Kiyan stood beneath the gnarled canopy of an ancient banyan, but his being was elsewhere. A strange agitation simmered in his chest—not a pain, but a sharp, hollow tugging, as if an invisible cord was hooked around something vital within him, pulling insistently. He pressed a hand over his sternum, his golden eyes scanning the dark, trying to diagnose this unfamiliar emptiness.
"This restlessness... this feeling... what is wrong with me?" he whispered into the stillness. "Why is my heart pounding like this?"
Then, without warning, the gold in his eyes ignited. Not the slow, sorrowful glow, but a sudden, violent flare—an internal alarm wired directly into his life-force. His breath hitched, caught in a vise of pure, primal dread.
Aarav.
As if summoned by the terror, a harsh, grating cry split the air above—"Kaaaw! Kaaaw!" It was no ordinary crow. The sound dripped with a venomous, knowing urgency. Kiyan's head snapped up. A massive, jet-black crow circled overhead, its eyes like chips of obsidian, cold and fixated on him.
Kiyan's eyes slammed shut. He drew in one deep, centering breath, gathering the wild energy coiling inside him.
When his eyes opened again, the gold was not just a glow; it was a conflagration. He pushed off from the forest floor. It wasn't a step; it was a detonation. Earth and leaves erupted around him as he became pure velocity. Trees blurred into streaking shadows. Above, the crow beat its wings frantically, trying to keep pace, but Kiyan's speed was an affront to nature, and the bird was soon left as a distant, frantic speck against the moon.
He burst from the tree line onto a deserted road but didn't slow. His eyes now blazed like twin miniature suns, casting beams of molten light that cut through the darkness. He glanced up—the crow was still there, a black arrow pointing insistently forward. A beacon. A marker.
Kiyan poured on more speed. He became a shockwave. As he streaked past a lone car puttering along, the displaced air rocked the vehicle violently, sending it swerving toward the ditch. The driver, wide-eyed, screamed at the unseen force, "What... what was that? A ghost! A ghost!"
Suddenly, tears streamed from Kiyan's blazing eyes—not watery, but viscous streams of liquid silver that sizzled down his cheeks, leaving faint, luminous trails. This wasn't grief; it was a ferocious anxiety so potent it bled from his supernatural essence.
And then he saw it. Ahead, moving at a casual, predatory pace, was the black car. The demon-faced statuette grinned from its grille.
A guttural snarl, ripped from the core of a wild thing, tore from Kiyan's throat. He unleashed the final reserves of his impossible power. In seconds, he wasn't just catching up; he was materializing directly in the car's path, a solid, furious barrier.
SCREEEECH! Tires screamed. The masked driver's eyes bulged in his rearview mirror. Four men in white coats tumbled out, their movements sharp, professional. They raised not guns, but devices that hummed with a sinister, crackling energy—stun prods.
"Contain it!" one barked.
Kiyan didn't speak. He simply raised his hands. In that moment, he was terrifyingly beautiful. His eyes were twin golden infernos. His long, dark hair streamed behind him like a banner of night. His black coat billowed like the wings of some fallen angel. And from his fingertips, his nails elongated into savage, crystalline claws that gleamed like blue steel in the moonlight.
"Take it down!"
Kiyan swept a hand through the air. An invisible force seized the first man, lifting him off his feet, suspending him mid-stride. Kiyan extended a clawed hand towards him. A shimmering, golden essence—vibrant, young, alive—began to stream from the man's mouth and nose. His skin desiccated in real-time, wrinkling, collapsing. His hair bleached to white. In the span of a choked gasp, he was reduced to a withered husk. Kiyan flung the empty shell aside like discarded rubbish.
The second and third met the same swift, merciless fate. They fired their prods; the crackling energy fizzled against an invisible barrier inches from Kiyan's skin. Their age, their vitality, was siphoned away in brilliant, agonizing streams.
The fourth man turned to run.
The masked driver, panicking, scrambled. He threw open the car's rear door, heaved a limp, unconscious form—Aarav—out onto the rough asphalt, then slammed the vehicle into reverse. Tires spat gravel as he fled back into the swallowing darkness.
Kiyan didn't give chase. All his fury, all his terrible light, condensed and extinguished as his focus zeroed in on the crumpled form on the ground. He was at Aarav's side in an instant. The monstrous aspect receded: claws retracted, coat settled, the solar fury in his eyes dimmed to a low, worried ember-glow.
He turned Aarav over. His face was pale, waxy. Kiyan's hand, now gentle, came up to cradle his head, fingers threading through his hair. The silver tears fell again, this time landing on Aarav's cheeks, where they beaded like mercury before soaking in, leaving a faint, cool shimmer.
Carefully, Kiyan gathered Aarav onto his back. He ran again, but this time with a controlled, purposeful speed, aiming not for the wilderness, but for the small, hidden hut he used as a refuge. Inside, he laid Aarav on a bed of soft, dry grass, kneeling beside him, his gaze a silent vigil over the rise and fall of his chest.
A vibration hummed from Aarav's pocket. Kiyan hesitated, then carefully retrieved the phone. The screen glowed: 'Didi ♥'.
He swiped. "Hello?"
"Arre, Aarav! Where are you? It's past nine! I was getting worried! Are you—" Arushi's voice was tight with fear.
"This is... Kiyan. Aarav's friend. He is... unconscious."
"What?! How? What happened to him?!" Her voice cracked, rising an octave.
"He is okay. Just... tired. Tell me your address. I will bring him."
Arushi rattled off the address, her voice trembling. Kiyan ended the call, slipped the phone into his own coat, and lifted Aarav once more. He moved with a swift, ground-eating pace that was less a run and more a sustained glide through the sleeping city.
Minutes later, he stood before the house. Arushi was pacing on the sidewalk, her face pale. She saw him, saw the burden he carried, and rushed forward, a sob catching in her throat.
"What happened to him? Oh god..."
"He is fine," Kiyan stated flatly, gently transferring Aarav into her waiting arms. "Just weak."
"Inside, quickly!"
He carried Aarav in, laying him on the living room sofa. For a moment, he just stood there, watching—the faint flutter of eyelids, the shallow but steady breathing. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out the still-open door.
Arushi was already on the phone to a doctor. When she turned back to thank the strange, intense boy, he was gone. Only the night breeze stirring the curtains remained.
The doctor came, prodded, shone a light. "In shock. Fainted from stress or exhaustion. This injection will help. He should come around soon." He left.
Arushi sat by her brother's side, holding his hand, the clock ticking softly in the quiet room. Hours bled into the deeper night. Then, a flutter. A sharp intake of breath.
Aarav's eyelids trembled, then opened. His vision was blurry, swimming with afterimages of darkness and terror. But one image was crystal clear, burned into his mind's eye—the last thing he'd felt before oblivion: a presence of impossible speed and fierce, golden light.
He tried to push himself up on the sofa, his voice a dry, urgent whisper in the hushed room.
"Kiyan?"
(Chapter End)