Aryan looked into those cold, dead eyes and saw his own future reflected there—saw what he would become if he let this place turn him into something unrecognizable. The waterfall's roar seemed to grow louder, calling to him like a siren song.
He glanced toward the massive cascade of water, its mist rising like smoke. It was perhaps two hundred yards away—across broken ground, loose rocks, and uncertain footing. But it was movement. It was choice. It was anything but surrender.
"I'm sorry, Ranjir," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I'm sorry for whatever they did to you to make you like this."
Then he turned and ran toward the waterfall, his feet slipping on the loose stones as Ranjir's roar of rage echoed behind him like the cry of a wounded beast.
"Running is useless, Aryan!" Ranjir's voice thundered across the rocky terrain, his fury echoing off the cliff face. "Face me like a man! Don't show me your back again, you pathetic coward!"
Aryan's lungs burned as he scrambled across the uneven ground, loose rocks sliding under his feet with each desperate step. The waterfall grew larger and louder before him, its thunderous roar drowning out everything except the pounding of his own heart. Spray from the cascade began to dampen his face, and the air grew cool and heavy with mist.
He reached the edge of the waterfall and stopped, his chest heaving. Before him, the water plunged into an abyss of white foam and swirling mist. Behind him, he could hear Ranjir's steady approach, his footsteps confident and measured on the treacherous rocks.
"Well, well," Ranjir called out, his voice carrying easily over the water's roar. "Look what we have here. The great philosopher, cornered at last."
He emerged from the mist like a demon, his claws gleaming wet with spray. "You have exactly two choices, Aryan. Plunge down to the waterfall, or turn around and let me finish what we started. Either way, this ends now."
For a moment, Aryan stared into the churning white void below. The water called to him with its promise of escape, of an end to the fear and violence. But something inside him rebelled against the idea of surrender.
He turned slowly, raising his sword with both hands despite the tremor in his arms.
"No,"
His voice barely audible over the waterfall but carrying absolute conviction. "I am tired of running. But don't come any closer, Ranjir. I am warning you."
Ranjir's laughter was harsh and delighted. "Still making threats? Still playing the warrior?" His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp in the evening light.
"You've been running like a crybaby this entire time, and now you want to pretend you have spine? What a fall."
"I said don't come closer!" Aryan shouted, but his voice cracked with exhaustion and fear.
Ranjir took another deliberate step forward, his feet finding purchase on the slick rocks with predatory ease.
"Or what? You'll actually try to kill me?" His eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "That's all I ever wanted, you know. But you kept running, crying, begging—like some lost child."
The insults hit like physical blows, but they also ignited something in Aryan's chest—a spark of genuine anger that burned through his fear.
"I won't back down without a fight," he declared, his voice steadying as he found his resolve.
Ranjir paused, tilting his head with what might have been genuine surprise. Then his smile returned, wider and more approving than before.
"Finally," he said with satisfaction. "Finally, you sound like a man."
The attack came without warning. Ranjir lunged forward with speed, his claws slicing through the misty air where Aryan's head had been a split second before. Aryan threw himself sideways, his feet sliding on the wet rocks as he barely avoided plunging into the waterfall.
He let go of his hesitation and started fighting, guided by instinct.
The fight that followed was brutal and desperate, conducted on a stage of slippery stone and churning water. Every step was treacherous, every movement a gamble with death.
Aryan found himself fighting not just Ranjir, but the environment itself—rocks that shifted underfoot, spray that blinded his eyes, and the constant threat of the abyss just inches away.
On the other hand Ranjir looked better than before.
He moved like a creature born to this violence, his claws whistling through the air in deadly arcs while his feet found impossible purchase on the treacherous surface.
More than once, Aryan saved himself from death by mere inches—ducking under a strike that would have opened his throat, rolling away from claws that sparked against stone, stumbling backward from the waterfall's edge as Ranjir's assault drove him toward the void.
The thunderous roar of falling water provided a primal soundtrack to their deadly dance. In the fading light, they were shadows fighting shadows, their struggle playing out against a backdrop of natural grandeur that dwarfed their human conflict.
Then Ranjir's right claw found its mark. The metal tore through Aryan's shirt and bit down deep into his shoulder, sending fire racing down his arm.
He screamed—a sound lost in the waterfall's roar—and stumbled backward, his sword wavering in his suddenly weakened grip.
Blood flowed freely from the wound, mixing with the spray and making his grip even more precarious. But even as pain threatened to overwhelm him, Aryan refused to yield. He gritted his teeth, tried to raise his sword again, tried to find the strength to continue fighting.
"Admirable," Ranjir said, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect. "But futile."
Before Aryan could recover and even process what was happening, Ranjir yanked his claw backward with vicious force. Rattled his bones.
The metal tore free from flesh and muscle with a wet, horrible sound that Aryan felt more than heard. The agony was indescribable—white-hot fire that turned his vision into a blur of stars and darkness.
He collapsed to his knees on the slick rocks, his sword clattering away into the mist. His right arm hung useless at his side, blood flowing freely between his fingers as he pressed his left hand against the wound.
"Not bad, huh." Ranjir said, examining the blood on his claws with clinical interest.
Aryan struggled to rise, his legs shaking with effort and shock. But before he could find his footing, before he could even get a full breath, he felt Ranjir's bare feet slam into his chest with crushing force.
Time seemed to slow as he fell backward. He saw Ranjir's satisfied smile, saw the evening sky wheeling overhead and the edge of the waterfall rushing up to meet him.
Then he was falling, tumbling through space and spray toward the churning white chaos below.
As consciousness faded and the roar of water filled his world, he thought he heard Ranjir's voice one last time, the words carrying through the mist like a final judgment:
"Not everyone wants to be a hero, Aryan," Ranjir said. "Some admire villains. If you survive… play to win next time."
*
Aryan found himself suspended in complete darkness, caught between sleep and something far more profound. The dream began as they always did—with whispers echoing through the nothingness.
At first, the voices were nothing more than a gentle murmur, like distant conversations carried on an morning kiss. Then, cutting through the absolute blackness, a single thin line of light appeared beneath his feet.
The line pulsed. Once. Twice.
Then began to multiply.
One became ten, ten became one hundred lines of brilliant white light crisscrossing beneath him, and within moments, those hundred lines expanded exponentially to over a thousand, weaving together to form a floor of pristine white marble cut into perfect squares.
As his awareness sharpened, so did the clarity of his surroundings. He now stood upon this floor that stretched out in all directions, each tile gleaming with an otherworldly presence, creating a checkerboard pattern that seemed to pulse with it's own rhythm.
The floor extended far beyond what his eyes could perceive, but at its edge—somewhere in the distance—there was an absolute darkness.
Not the gentle darkness of night, but something far more consuming. It was as if the very concept of light ceased to exist beyond that boundary, creating a wall of nothingness that made his skin crawl with unease.
The voices grew louder, more insistent. What had begun as whispers now became a songs of overlapping conversations, each voice distinct yet blending into a cacophony that made his head throb.
He strained to understand the words, but they seemed to slip away like water through his fingers, leaving only the impression of urgency and desperation.