The forest was quieter than before.
Not the natural quiet of nightfall — but the held breath of prey sensing a predator.
Lakshya slowed his pace, one hand brushing the iron scale in his pouch. The strength from the serpent still pulsed in him, but so did the Mandala's warning: "The one who listens is now the one who hunts."
Leaves rustled. No wind.
A shadow flickered between trunks, always at the edge of sight.
He didn't turn his head. Instead, he spoke into the air.
"Come out. Or keep stalking me and find out how bad an idea it was."
No answer. Only the faint creak of a bowstring.
Lakshya moved — two steps to the side — and an arrow sliced past his cheek, embedding itself in a tree.
The shaft wasn't wood. It was bone.
A figure stepped from the darkness.
Tall. Lean. Armored in strips of black hide stitched with silver thread, each seam marked with talismans that flickered faintly. The mask was the most striking thing — a featureless, polished surface reflecting moonlight, like a hunter who'd erased his face to erase all hesitation.
"You carry what does not belong to you," the voice behind the mask was low, almost… calm. "Return the tokens, and I will let you keep your heartbeat."
Lakshya smirked. "You're going to have to be more specific. My pouch is getting crowded."
The hunter tilted his head. "Banyan. Mandala. Serpent. All are claimed by the Silent Circle — and you walk with their pieces as though they were coins in your pocket."
The way he said Silent Circle made the hairs on Lakshya's neck rise. He had never heard the name, but something in the tone felt older than the forest.
He gripped his trishul. "Then the Silent Circle should've sent someone who can take them."
The hunter moved — faster than Lakshya expected. One heartbeat he was three steps away, the next his bow was already drawn, point aimed at Lakshya's throat.
Lakshya swung the trishul. Steel met arrowhead — and the forest lit with a burst of sparks. The force behind the shot was monstrous; even with the serpent's strength, Lakshya felt the impact in his bones.
But he didn't give ground.
"You're strong," the hunter admitted, lowering the bow slightly. "Stronger than the last three who carried the tokens. They screamed before they died."
Lakshya's eyes narrowed. "You've been following me since the banyan."
The hunter didn't deny it. "And I will follow until the Circle has what is theirs. But…" He paused, voice shifting from threat to something colder. "…you may yet serve a use."
Lakshya said nothing.
The hunter's head tilted again, as though studying prey worth keeping alive. "The path you walk leads to the Circle's gates. When you arrive, they will kill you. Unless…" A gloved hand extended. "…you let me guide you."
Trust a faceless killer? The thought was absurd. And yet — his knowledge of the Circle might be the difference between walking into a trap and walking through it.
Lakshya didn't take the hand. But he didn't attack, either.
"Guide me," he said, "and when we reach those gates, you stay out of my way."
The hunter's mask tilted in what might have been a smile. "Agreed."
Somewhere deep in the forest, a branch snapped — heavy, deliberate. The hunter turned his head, listening.
"We move. Now."
And for the first time, Lakshya realized the truth — they weren't alone in the hunt.
To be continued....