The wind howled like a mournful spirit, a relentless sculptor of the barren, high-altitude landscape. Nitin, once a proud knight, now stripped of his armor and burdened by the crushing weight of a past he couldn't outrun, stumbled through the treacherous mountain pass. Each breath was a ragged gasp in the thin air, his lungs burning, his muscles screaming for rest. But rest was a luxury he couldn't afford. Pursuit was relentless, unseen but felt, a chilling premonition that tightened his gut with primal fear. He didn't know who or what hunted him, only that it was inevitable, closing in with every weary step. His vision blurred, not just from exhaustion, but from the swirling memories of failure that plagued his mind, each one a sharp, stinging lash.
Desperation, cold and metallic, filled his mouth as he spotted it – a shadowed maw in the sheer cliff face, half-obscured by jagged rocks and whipping snow. A promise of temporary sanctuary, a momentary reprieve from the relentless chase. He plunged into the cave, the sudden coolness of the damp air a stark, immediate contrast to the burning in his lungs and the fever of his fear. The darkness inside was absolute, profound, consuming him whole. He stumbled forward, hands outstretched, trying to feel his way through the suffocating black. Deeper he went, the stale air growing heavy, until his foot slipped on an unseen, slick ledge.
A terrifying, dizzying fall ensued. His body, already bruised and battered, slammed against jagged rocks in a narrow, vertical shaft, each impact a jarring explosion of pain. He tumbled downwards, disoriented, the sound of his own desperate cries echoing mockingly in the abyss, until consciousness mercifully faded, consumed by the crushing black.
He didn't know how long he was out, but when his eyes fluttered open, it was to a sight that defied all logic, all reality. He was no longer in the dark cave, but in a vast, impossibly grand chamber. One entire side of the cavern was dominated by a shimmering, flowing river of molten, incandescent lava, casting an ethereal, pulsating orange glow across the polished obsidian floor. The heat was immense, yet strangely bearable, as if an invisible force shielded him from its searing intensity. This was the legendary City of Pillow Lava, a place of myth, a geological anomaly where the earth's raw power converged.
Below him, nestled in a small, deliberate path of cooled obsidian that led to a central platform, was a sword. Its blade was an impossible, vibrant blue, almost crystalline, shimmering with an inner light that seemed to hum with unheard power. It was stuck point-down in a weathered stone, as if waiting. A tangible path, almost glowing, seemed to beckon him towards it. Nitin pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest, but an unyielding purpose, a strange, undeniable pull, now filled him. He felt an instinct he couldn't explain, a profound sense of destiny guiding his aching limbs.
As he moved towards the sword, his gaze fixed on its radiant hilt, a sinuous, dark snake, thicker than his arm, uncoiled itself from around the hilt. Its scales were the color of volcanic rock, and its eyes, ancient and cold, gleamed with an unnerving intelligence. It gave him a long, appraising look, a silent, knowing gaze that seemed to pierce his very soul. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, it slithered down from the sword, disappearing into the deepest shadows of the chamber, as if its vigil was complete. Nitin reached the sword, his fingers trembling as they closed around the smooth, cool hilt. A surge of pure, raw elemental power, cool and crisp like mountain air, yet burning with the heat of the lava, coursed through him, making his very bones hum, awakening something deep within. He instinctively knew this was his weapon, chosen for him.
Just as this profound connection solidified, the distinct sound of approaching footsteps echoed from the passage he had fallen through. An Temple man, his figure silhouetted against the dim light of the tunnel entrance, emerged. It was Kapil, his face set with a practiced calm, though his eyes widened slightly as he took in Nitin, standing, sword glowing, amidst the ancient power. Kapil moved slowly, cautiously, his voice calm and even. "Boy," he said, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm here to help you."
But Nitin, still disoriented, his mind a maelstrom of fear, new power, and the lingering trauma of his fall, instinctively attacked. His new sword, a streak of blue light, lunged forward, powered by a raw, unrefined energy. "Stay away!" he yelled, his voice rough, fear and a burgeoning power driving his wild swings. He couldn't trust anyone, not after everything. Kapil, clearly superior in skill and experience, expertly dodged and parried Nitin's furious, untrained attacks. "You have no need to be afraid of me," Kapil tried to reason, blocking a wild, desperate swing with a parrying staff that seemed to appear from nowhere. "I've come to help you." Nitin, however, was past reason, past hearing. He continued his desperate assault, his body moving with a surprising, new agility his conscious mind couldn't control.
With a sigh, Kapil delivered a precise, measured strike to Nitin's stomach, just enough to knock the wind out of him, sending him sprawling against a rock. Nitin gasped, the pain momentarily eclipsing the fear and the surging power. Kapil closed the distance quickly, grabbed Nitin's arm, and firmly, yet carefully, pulled him to his feet. Nitin sagged against him, momentarily helpless. "What do you want from me?" he rasped, pain and utter confusion warring in his wide eyes. "Listen to me," Kapil said, his voice firm but not unkind, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You are a chosen one. And the world needs you." He then, with a subtle shift in his grip, firmly and effectively cut Nitin off from further protest, guiding him away from the active chaos of the cave entrance, sealing their immediate path and the knight's furious defiance.
D.nitin