Sleep didn't come easily.
It settled in fragments—thin, uneven, slipping in and out of awareness like something unwilling to stay. The room remained quiet, but not at rest. Every small sound seemed sharper than it should have been—the shifting of wood, the faint movement of air through the cracks, the distant stillness pressing in from outside.
Kabir turned slightly on the thin mattress.
Something felt off.
Not enough to wake him fully.
Just enough to linger.
A faint itch traced along his arm.
He shifted again, dragging his sleeve over the skin without opening his eyes. The sensation faded for a moment, only to return somewhere else—lower this time, near his wrist. Subtle. Irritating. Not painful.
He exhaled slowly.
Ignored it.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe longer.
The itch didn't stay in one place. It moved—slowly, almost deliberately—across his skin, brushing past his shoulder, slipping toward his neck, then vanishing again before he could focus on it. Each time it returned, it felt slightly deeper.
Less surface.
More… beneath.
Kabir frowned faintly in his sleep.
The air felt colder now.
Not the kind that sat on the skin, but the kind that seeped inward, settling somewhere under the ribs, spreading slowly outward. His fingers curled slightly against the thin fabric beneath him as his breathing shifted, uneven for just a moment before steadying again.
He didn't wake.
Didn't question it.
Just turned to his side, pulling the edge of the cloth closer without thinking.
And eventually—
the sensations blurred into nothing.
Morning didn't arrive with warmth.
It crept in slowly, pale light filtering through the narrow gaps in the wooden walls, carrying with it a quiet that felt no different from the night before.
Kabir's eyes opened gradually.
For a second, he didn't move.
Something felt… wrong.
He sat up.
The feeling came before the thought.
A dampness beneath his palm.
He looked down.
The cloth beneath him was darkened, soaked through in uneven patches that spread outward from where he had been lying. His fingers pressed into it instinctively, and the texture clung slightly before releasing.
Sticky.
Kabir's brows pulled together.
He brought his hand closer, not fully understanding why—
and then stopped.
The smell hit him.
Thick.
Warm.
Familiar.
His expression tightened slightly as memory caught up.
"No…"
He pushed himself back a little too quickly, the mattress creaking under the sudden movement. His eyes moved across the surface again, tracing the pattern, the sheen of it in the dim light.
It didn't look like water.
It didn't feel like it either.
Kabir swallowed once, then turned toward the door.
"R.. R.. Raghav."
No response.
He raised his voice slightly.
"Raghav!"
Footsteps came from the next room, measured, alert even in something as simple as movement. The door shifted open a second later—
and Raghav stopped at the threshold.
He didn't step in.
Didn't speak.
Just inhaled—
and immediately pulled back, his hand coming up to cover his nose.
"What in the damn is that?" he muttered, the words slightly muffled.
Kabir didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Raghav lowered his hand just enough to look properly, his gaze moving from Kabir to the bed, taking in the soaked fabric, the unnatural sheen, the way it clung instead of spreading.
For a brief second—
something sharp crossed his expression.
A thought.
Unspoken.
His eyes flicked toward the corners of the room.
Quick. Calculating.
Checking.
Nothing moved.
Nothing shifted.
No presence.
The silence remained unchanged.
Raghav stepped in slowly this time, cautious, controlled. The smell didn't lessen, but he ignored it, focusing instead on Kabir. "Did you hear anything?" he asked quietly.
Kabir shook his head once. "No."
"Feel anything?"
A pause.
Kabir hesitated.
"Just… uncomfortable," he said. "Maybe I didn't clean up properly yesterday."
The explanation came too easily.
Raghav held his gaze for a second longer than necessary.
Then he looked away.
"…maybe," he said.
But the word didn't carry certainty.
Only dismissal.
For now.
Kabir exhaled quietly, pushing himself up from the bed, his movements slower than usual as he stepped away from the damp surface. The smell lingered faintly in the air, clinging to the space between them, but neither of them addressed it again.
Not directly.
Because there was something else pressing closer now.
Something ahead.
And whatever this was—
it could wait.
Kabir didn't look back at the bed again.
He rinsed his hands longer than necessary, the cool water doing little to settle the faint discomfort still lingering along his skin. It wasn't as sharp as before. Just… present. Easy to ignore if he didn't focus on it.
So he didn't.
By the time he stepped out, the room had shifted into something more purposeful.
Harsh was already at work.
The soft, measured rhythm of metal against metal filled the space, each strike controlled, deliberate, shaping rather than forcing. The sharper axe lay finished to one side—clean, balanced, its edge catching what little light filtered in. Beside it, almost pushed away from attention, rested the other.
Thicker.
Uneven.
Heavy in a way that felt unnecessary just by looking at it.
Raghav stood near Aarohi, adjusting the cloth wrapped around her arm, his movements careful despite the tension that hadn't left his posture since the night before.
"She hasn't moved," Kabir said quietly.
Raghav didn't look up. "She will."
It wasn't reassurance.
It was a decision.
Kabir didn't argue.
Harsh's work slowed, then stopped. He straightened slightly, wiping his hands against the rough fabric at his side before glancing between them. "That's as good as it gets with what we have," he said.
Kabir stepped closer, his attention shifting to the sharper axe first. He lifted it carefully, testing the balance, the weight settling naturally into his grip. "This will work."
"It has to," Harsh replied.
Raghav moved next.
His hand closed around the same axe for a brief second before he set it down again, his gaze shifting instead toward the heavier one. He bent, lifting it with a firm grip, testing its weight.
Harsh frowned immediately. "Leave that."
Raghav didn't.
"It's too dense," Harsh continued. "You won't be able to move properly carrying that and her."
Raghav adjusted Aarohi's weight slightly against his shoulder, steadying her before tightening his grip on the weapon. "I'm not planning to move properly," he said.
Harsh's jaw tightened. "You'll slow yourself down."
"And if the other one fails?" Raghav shot back, his tone still even, but edged now.
A brief silence followed.
Harsh didn't answer.
Because there wasn't a clean answer to give.
Raghav didn't wait for one.
He secured the weapon against his side, his stance already adjusting to the imbalance without complaint.
Kabir watched the exchange quietly, then shifted his focus back to the sharper axe, tightening his grip around it.
"Let's go," he said.
No one argued.
The door opened with a low creak, the outside air meeting them with the same stillness it had held since the day before. Harsh stepped out first this time, his eyes scanning the empty path, the scattered figures in the distance unmoving in their quiet, unnatural patterns.
"They won't react unless you draw attention," he said without turning. "Don't give them a reason."
Raghav stepped past him without responding, Aarohi's weight steady against him, his focus already ahead.
Kabir followed.
For a moment, Harsh remained where he was.
Watching.
Then he spoke, not loudly, but enough.
"Come back alive."
Raghav didn't stop.
Didn't turn.
Didn't answer.
Kabir hesitated just for a fraction of a second, glancing back once—not at Harsh, but at the house—before continuing forward.
The path narrowed as they moved away from the village, the silence stretching thinner, replaced slowly by the muted presence of the forest ahead.
With each step, the air changed.
Cooler.
Heavier.
Kabir adjusted his grip on the axe slightly, his fingers tightening as a faint irritation brushed again along the back of his neck. He lifted a hand briefly, scratching once before letting it drop.
It was nothing.
Just a distraction.
He ignored it.
Ahead, the trees waited.
And this time—
they weren't walking in blind.
The forest didn't welcome them.
It held.
Still. Watchful.
Raghav slowed first.
Not enough to stop—but enough to signal.
Kabir caught it instantly.
They were close.
The clearing opened ahead, just as it had before. The same broken light filtered through the canopy, the same uneven ground layered with dry leaves and scattered roots. Nothing had changed.
And that was wrong.
Raghav stepped forward, careful, placing each step with intention before lowering himself slightly, easing Aarohi's weight down against the base of a thick tree. He didn't let go completely—just enough to free one arm.
Kabir moved without being told.
He slipped toward the edge of the clearing, crouching low, pulling a thin layer of leaves over himself, the sharp axe angled close to his body. His breathing slowed, controlled, eyes fixed on the space ahead.
Time stretched.
No movement.
No sound.
Just the forest holding its breath.
A minute passed.
Then another.
The stillness began to press in again, heavier than before, creeping under the skin in a way that made everything feel sharper, too aware. Kabir adjusted slightly, the leaves shifting barely enough to settle again. His fingers tightened around the axe.
A faint itch brushed along his neck.
He ignored it.
A sound broke through.
Soft.
Barely there.
A hiss.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Unaware.
Kabir's focus snapped forward.
Raghav straightened slightly where he stood, his grip tightening around the weight of the axe at his side, every muscle coiling without movement.
The sound came again.
Closer.
A slow, fluid shift followed—leaves brushing, something moving just beyond the line of sight. Not rushing. Not hunting.
Just… there.
And then—
she stepped into the clearing.
No rush.
No hesitation.
The same presence as before—controlled, silent, her form catching fragments of light as she moved, scales dark and edged, reflecting just enough to make their texture visible without revealing too much.
She hadn't seen them.
Not yet.
Kabir didn't think.
He moved.
The leaves burst upward as he launched forward, his body cutting through the stillness in one clean motion, the axe raised high, aimed directly—precisely—for her neck.
For a fraction of a second—
it would have worked.
Ahiara's head shifted.
Not in panic.
In awareness.
Her body followed instantly, her movement faster than his, fluid and effortless as she twisted just enough to avoid the strike.
But not completely.
The blade connected.
A sharp, scraping sound cut through the air as metal dragged across scale, force meeting something harder than expected. The impact jolted through Kabir's arms, the strike losing its depth as it slid instead of cutting.
He landed, breath sharp—
the axe still in his grip.
Ahiara didn't move away.
She turned.
Slowly.
Her gaze settled on him.
Steady.
Unshaken.
For a moment—
nothing else existed.
Then—
she spoke.
"You made a mistake… kid."