The jungle did not answer when Aqsa finished speaking.
It remained still, sealed in ash and glass, as if the world itself had decided that what had happened here would not be undone easily. The statues stood where they had fallen — Mira kneeling inches from Harun's last position, Ishan twisted in defiance, Kunal mid-charge, Omair leaning forward as if still protecting someone.
Harun looked at them for a long moment after Aqsa said, "Big bro… you must be tired. Let's go to my house."
Tired.
The word almost felt wrong.
Exhaustion was too small for what pressed against his chest.
His body hurt — yes. The creeping stone still webbed along his ribs and shoulder. His leg dragged slightly when he shifted his weight. His breathing was uneven, sharp around the edges.
But that wasn't what weighed him down.
It was the sight of them.
Still.
Silent.
Paused in failure.
He swallowed slowly and made a decision.
"Until I fix this," he said quietly, almost to himself, "they're not staying here."
Aqsa did not argue. She did not ask how. She did not question whether he was strong enough.
She simply nodded.
Harun stepped toward Mira first.
The moment he bent down, pain shot through his side so violently that his vision blurred. The petrification inside him had not fully disappeared. Fine cracks still traced his skin like frozen lightning. His muscles resisted bending, stiff and uncooperative.
Still — he slid one arm carefully beneath Mira's stone form.
She was heavier than he expected.
Not because of the stone.
Because of what she meant.
He lifted her slowly.
His arms trembled immediately. His injured ribs protested with every breath. The weight pressed against his spine as though gravity itself had doubled.
He did not stop.
"I'm taking you somewhere safer," he whispered under his breath. "You don't have to apologize. You did everything you could."
He adjusted his grip and began walking.
Aqsa walked beside him in silence.
When they crossed the boundary of the jungle into Bhouldera, the air shifted again.
The village looked untouched.
Smoke rose lazily from chimneys. Doors stood closed. Life continued.
But the moment Harun stepped into the street carrying a petrified teammate in his arms, everything slowed.
People saw.
They absolutely saw.
A curtain shifted behind a cracked window. Two men near a cart fell silent mid-sentence. A woman drawing water from a bucket froze, her hand suspended in the air.
No one spoke.
No one moved forward.
No one offered help.
They knew what had happened. They had seen the phoenix burn the sky. They had felt the pressure roll through the ground.
But Bhouldera survived by choosing stillness.
Harun kept walking.
His arms shook harder with every step. Sweat ran down his forehead despite the cooling evening air. His injured side burned like it might split open again.
He lowered his eyes to Mira's frozen face.
"You don't get to say sorry," he murmured quietly. "You fought until the end. I should be the one apologizing."
His voice almost cracked, but he forced it steady.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I couldn't stop Raj. I'm sorry I underestimated them."
Aqsa glanced up at him, but she didn't interrupt.
They reached her house — small, fragile, tucked between two cracked stone structures like it was trying not to be noticed.
Harun stepped inside carefully and lowered Mira against the far wall.
He adjusted her position gently, almost instinctively, as though she might feel discomfort.
Then he stood back for a second.
Her stone fingers were still extended.
Still reaching.
He clenched his jaw.
"I'll be back," he whispered.
He turned and walked out again.
The second trip was harder.
His body had already begun to weaken from the first.
When he reached the clearing again, the silence felt heavier — like the jungle was watching.
This time he approached Ishan.
He paused for a second before touching him.
Ishan's expression had been set, determined even in the final moment. His jaw was tight. His posture forward.
Harun placed his palm against the stone at Ishan's chest.
"You were still standing," he said quietly. "Even when everything was collapsing."
He slid his arms beneath the heavier statue and lifted.
The strain nearly brought him to his knees.
His injured leg buckled for a fraction of a second before he corrected himself.
He did not let Ishan fall.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, breathing hard. "You trusted me to lead."
He carried him back the same way.
Again, eyes followed.
Again, no one spoke.
Again, doors closed slowly.
By the time he returned for Kunal, his vision blurred at the edges.
Kunal was heavier than both of them.
The mechanical limb had fused partially with the stone, adding awkward weight to one side. Harun struggled to find balance before lifting.
The moment he did, pain tore through his spine so sharply he nearly dropped him.
He tightened his grip instead.
"You trusted me," Harun muttered through clenched teeth. "You followed me into that fight without hesitation."
His breath grew uneven.
"I'm sorry, Kunal. You believed in me… and I couldn't protect you."
Step by step.
Slow.
Shaking.
He carried him back.
By the time he returned for Omair, the sun had nearly vanished.
The clearing looked darker now — more final.
Omair stood slightly apart from the others.
Still angled forward.
Still protective.
Harun stared at him for a long second.
"You saved me in that court," he said quietly. "You told me to destroy the Dragon Seal. You told me they were dangerous."
His jaw tightened.
"I underestimated them."
He lifted Omair last.
His muscles screamed in protest. His injured side felt like it was splitting open. His leg dragged harder now.
Still, he walked.
"I promise," he whispered under his breath as he carried him, "I'll fix this. I'll protect this village. I'll remove their fear. Gautam. Raj. Kareena. Azaldera. Whoever stands behind this… I'll deal with them."
When he finally placed Omair beside the others inside Aqsa's house, his arms gave out.
He fell to his knees.
Aqsa quickly brought cloth — old sheets, worn but clean — and together they carefully covered each statue.
They did not treat them like objects.
They treated them like sleeping bodies.
When it was done, Harun sat down between Mira and Ishan.
He leaned back against the wall and stared ahead.
How do I fix this?
The question echoed in his head with no answer.
The Solar Eclipse inside him remained silent.
Not responding.
Not guiding.
Just… present.
Aqsa stepped back inside quietly.
"Big bro," she said gently. "You must be hungry."
He looked up slowly.
She placed a small plate in front of him.
Two chapatis.
Half an onion.
A little salt.
The same simple food as before.
Familiar.
Normal.
It almost hurt more than everything else.
He didn't speak.
He picked up the chapati and ate quietly.
No complaint.
No expression.
He drank water afterward.
By then, night had settled fully.
They spread thin mattresses on the floor.
Aqsa lay down near the doorway.
Within minutes, exhaustion claimed her.
Her breathing softened.
Harun lay on his back between the covered statues.
He closed his eyes.
Sleep did not come.
Every time he let his mind drift, images returned.
Raj's fist.
Kareena's calm smile.
The phoenix burning the sky.
Mira crawling.
Ishan standing.
Kunal charging.
Stone spreading.
He turned to his side.
Then to his back.
Then again.
His chest tightened.
His throat burned.
And suddenly — he broke.
Tears slipped silently from the corners of his eyes.
"Why?" he whispered into the darkness. "Why did you send me on this mission?"
His voice shook now.
"And if you sent me… why make me leader, Gohan?"
His hand clenched into the mattress.
"I can't even protect my own team. I'm this weak… so why me?"
His breathing grew uneven.
"How am I supposed to fix this? They trusted me. They believed in me. And I couldn't do anything."
The room remained silent except for Aqsa's quiet breathing.
—
Far away.
Beyond Bhouldera.
Beyond the desert winds and fractured ridges.
Inside a tall chamber carved from pale stone, a man stood near a large window.
Gohan.
He faced the direction of Bhouldera, though it lay far beyond visible distance.
"I know how they feel right now," he murmured quietly. "Especially Harun."
His reflection in the glass looked older than his actual age.
"He must understand that the world is not as simple as it appears. When the weight of others rests on your shoulders… the pressure reveals everything."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"This is their first true step. If they manage this… they will grow."
—
Back in the small house, Harun's tears continued silently.
Another thought surfaced.
Sahil.
His jaw tightened.
Why did he choose to leave?
Why did he volunteer for a separate mission? Why join Team C?
We didn't even fight.
He stared into the darkness.
He felt alone.
The weight of leadership pressed heavier than the stone ever had.
"I can't handle this alone," he whispered to himself.
Outside, the wind shifted faintly.
—
Somewhere far beyond the fractured lands.
Beyond council walls.
Beyond deserts and silent villages.
The ocean stretched endlessly under a dark sky.
A small boat moved across its surface.
Alone.
On it stood a young man facing the horizon.
Sahil.
The wind tugged at his coat.
The sea did not answer him either.
But he kept moving forward.
And the distance between him and Harun grew wider with every wave.