Viransh's mother slowly opened her eyes, her breathing now steady, the warmth returning to her pale skin.
Seeing her alive, Viransh couldn't stop himself—he rushed into her arms, holding her tightly. Tears flowed freely from both their eyes, a mix of pain, love, and relief.
"You're okay, Ma… You're really okay," he whispered through sobs.
His mother gently brushed his hair with trembling fingers. "Viransh… My child…"
But the moment her eyes landed on the lifeless body of her husband, her tears turned into cries of grief. She clutched her chest, falling to her knees, screaming into the heavens.
"No… no… why…?"
Her voice echoed through the air like a broken song.
Later, once she had calmed down, the three of them—Viransh, his mother, and the healer—searched the ruined village, hoping, praying, that someone else might have survived.
Amidst the ashes and broken houses, they found a boy—curled up behind a shattered wall, shaking with fear. His clothes were torn, face smeared with dust and dried blood.
Viransh recognized him. He had seen this boy before, a silent child named Reevan who never stepped out of his house. They had never spoken a word.
Viransh knelt down. "Are you alone?" he asked softly.
The boy's eyes were full of terror. Tears spilled out as he nodded. "Y-Yes… they're all… gone…"
Viransh's mother stepped forward, her voice warm despite the sorrow in her heart.
"Come with us, child. You don't have to be alone anymore."
Reevan hesitated for a moment, then slowly stood and followed them.
That day, they buried the dead—the fallen villagers, Reevan's family, and Viransh's father. They dug graves with their own hands, placing each body in the earth with dignity.
There were no words that could truly say goodbye, only silence, tears, and the weight of loss.
Later, a small group of kind villagers—four or five people—offered help. They took Viransh's family and Reevan to their own village. Together, they helped build a modest home for them, providing food and support.
For some time, the three lived quietly, processing their grief in silence.
At night, they cried alone. But with time, they found strength in each other.
Viransh's mother began working—cleaning, weaving, doing anything she could to earn a little money. She became both mother and guardian to the two boys, raising them with love and strength despite her sorrow.
Peace returned—at least on the surface.
But inside, Viransh was burning.
He trained every single day—swinging his sword, running through the forests, pushing his limits. He would not forget what happened. He could not forgive.
He forced Reevan, now his companion, to train with him.
"I won't let you be weak," he would say. "We'll fight them someday. All of them."
Reevan—once silent and scared—began to change. Slowly, he grew stronger, braver. Though their personalities were different, a deep friendship formed between them.
In the village, Viransh rarely spoke to others. He was polite, respectful, and helpful—but distant. Yet, everyone admired him.
He helped the elderly, carried water, repaired roofs. He never sought praise—but earned everyone's respect.
Reevan, more open now, began talking to villagers, making friends, laughing. But he too respected and followed Viransh like a brother.
The village embraced both of them. They were no longer outsiders—they were family.
And through that pain… through that quiet life and fiery training…
A bond was born.
A bond that would someday shake the world.
To be continued...