The crashing through the undergrowth was getting louder, a chaotic symphony of snapping branches and panicked, wheezing breaths.
I didn't bother to look up from the half-rotten mango I was prodding with a stick.
Sindhu burst into the clearing like a startled deer, his usual princely composure gone—eyes wide, immaculate hair full of leaves, and his "pranna-spear" was held more like a lucky charm than a weapon. He skidded to a halt in front of me, chest heaving.
"You!" he gasped. "There you are! We have a—a situation! A catastrophic tactical complication!"
"A situation?"
I took a slow, deliberate bite of the good part of the mango. Juice ran down my chin. "Let me guess — you tried negotiating with a tree for more shade and it refused?"
"This is no time for your peasant wit!" Sindhu snapped, though his terrified glance over his shoulder ruined any authority in his voice. "There's a Rakshas! It's..." His voice cracked. "It's reevaluating our situation!".
A deep, guttural roar rolled through the forest that shook the leaves. Much closer now. Sindhu flinched so hard his focus cracked; the spear splintered beneath his grip and showered in pale fragments.
Color drained from his face. The bravado, the arrogance, the unearned pride—all of it cracked away, leaving nothing but raw, undiluted fear.
He looked at me, and for the first time, there was no condescension in his eyes. Only a desperate, pleading shame. "Look... I..." he stammered, the words fighting their way out. "I'm sorry. All that... that talk. About blood and weight and slowing me down." He swallowed hard, another roar cutting him off. "I was wrong. I'm not... I'm not what I said I was. Please."
The word please hung in the air, thinner and more fragile than a blade of grass. I sighed, tossing the mango aside.
"Stay here. Try not to get eaten. I'll see if I can find a bigger 'reassessment' to help you."
His face fell. "You're leaving?!"
"I'm seeking leverage,"
Turning to melt back into the forest. "Just wait." I didn't look back, but I heard his shaky exhale, a prayer to whatever gods might be listening.
The ground convulsed, splitting open; and erupted in a geyser of molten rock. This was pure, animal survival From the smoke stepped the Rakshas, its fist already lifted for a crushing blow.
The air screamed with the smell of brimstone and burned earth. Sindhu yelled, throwing himself sideways in a clumsy, desperate roll. He scrambled up, pranna-spear now little more than a splintered stick, and backed against a thick banyan. There was nowhere left to run.
Sindhu pressed against the banyan's trunk, trapped. The demon advanced, molten claws scraping earth.
This was it. He closed his eyes.
The demon swung.
Whoosh — a sound so clean it sliced through the fire and the pounding in my chest.
A blur of motion of a streak of luminous gold that moved faster than thought.
The Rakshas never finished its swing.
For one heartbeat, the Rakshas stood whole—until the line of light through its core began to breathe. Then it came apart, collapsing into two pyres of embered ash.
Standing between them, back to Sindhu, was a figure cloaked in shadow. In his hand hummed a blade of solidified sunlight; its runes faded from furious glow to a steady pulse. He didn't look back. He just stood in the settling ash, as still and terrible as a rooted stone.