The valley was silent.
Not the silence of night, nor the silence of a breath held in fear — this was the silence of something that had already devoured sound, leaving only hollow echoes to wander.
Lakshya stood on the ridge with the Hunter, looking down at the deep gorge below. Pale mist crawled through the trees, clinging to stone and root. Every gust of wind carried whispers — faint voices that did not belong to the living.
The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "The Valley of Echoes… no one enters twice with the same soul."
Lakshya's hand rested on the bow strapped across his back. "Then I'll be the first."
The Hunter didn't smile. His gaze traced the shifting mist. "What the Circle has asked of you is no simple prey. The Valley is haunted by those who failed before you. Echoes of hunters, warriors, wanderers — all trapped, their voices feeding this place."
Lakshya frowned. "You mean… the prey isn't alive?"
The Hunter shook his head. "Alive once. Broken now. It will wear the faces of others. It will speak in voices you know. But it is one being, cursed by the Circle's oath."
Lakshya's eyes hardened. "Then it's not just prey. It's a warning."
The Hunter glanced at him, measuring, then gave a slow nod. "Perhaps you see clearer than I did, when I swore the same oath."
He reached into his cloak and handed Lakshya a black-feathered arrow. Its shaft was carved with faint runes that seemed to writhe in the light.
"This will not kill it," the Hunter said. "But it will bind its echo long enough for you to strike true. Do not miss. And do not listen when it speaks."
Lakshya accepted the arrow, feeling its strange weight. It was cold, heavier than it should have been, as if carrying sorrow itself.
He looked at the Hunter. "You said this is your debt too. Why not finish it yourself?"
The Hunter's face darkened. "Because the prey knows my voice. It is my echo that birthed it. If I face it again, it will consume what remains of me."
The air thickened with unspoken weight. Lakshya tightened his grip on the arrow. "Then I'll face it for both of us."
Without waiting, he began the descent into the valley.
The mist closed around him like a shroud. Every step sank into damp earth, every breath filled with the metallic taste of silence. He could no longer see the ridge, nor the Hunter watching from above.
Instead, voices stirred.
"Lakshya…"
He froze. It was his father's voice. Low, firm, carrying the echo of memory.
The mist twisted, and from it stepped a figure — tall, broad-shouldered, with the same eyes Lakshya had once looked up to.
The man extended his hand. "You don't need to hunt anymore, my son. Lay down your bow. Come home."
Lakshya's throat tightened. For an instant, the ache of longing flared sharp and cruel. But he remembered the Hunter's warning.
"This valley devours memory. You are not my father."
The figure smiled sadly, and as it did, its skin cracked like broken glass. The voice deepened, became layered, many voices speaking at once.
"Then perhaps I am you."
The figure's shape twisted, collapsing inward, then stretching. A new face emerged — his own. Lakshya stared at himself, standing only a few steps away, bow in hand, eyes filled with the same fire he carried.
"You cannot kill me," the echo said. "I am the hunger you carry. I am the oath you swore. Strike me, and you strike yourself."
The air shook. The mist thickened until it smothered all light. The echo lunged forward, bowstring drawn.
Lakshya's instincts screamed. He dropped low, the arrow hissing past his ear, dissolving a tree into dust where it struck. The echo moved with his own speed, his own precision — but more savage, unrestrained.
Lakshya's heart pounded. If this is me, then I must be sharper than myself.
He leapt sideways, loosing two quick arrows. The echo mirrored him, loosing the same. Both arrows clashed midair, exploding into splinters of shadow.
The valley roared with the sound of countless voices, laughter and screams intertwined. The mist coiled tighter, wrapping around them like an audience of ghosts.
Lakshya's bowstring quivered. His mind screamed at him to draw the black-feathered arrow. But a part of him hesitated. If I bind it — if I strike — am I binding myself too?
The echo smirked. "Hesitation. That is why you will fail. That is why you will join me."
It rushed forward, close enough that Lakshya could see his own reflection in its eyes — but its reflection was grinning.
Lakshya's hand moved on instinct. The black-feathered arrow slid onto the string. His arms drew back. His focus sharpened until only one sound remained — his own breath.
The echo spoke again, voice softer now, almost pleading. "If you strike me, you kill your path. You silence your storm. You betray the oath you swore."
Lakshya's eyes narrowed. He whispered under his breath.
"No. I silence you."
He released.
The arrow screamed through the air, cutting the mist. It struck the echo's chest — not piercing, but binding. Black feathers exploded outward, wrapping around the figure, chaining it mid-step. The echo roared, its voice fracturing into a hundred stolen tones.
Lakshya dashed forward. In one motion, he drew his blade — the blade given to him during the trials, forged in the storm. He plunged it into the echo's chest.
The valley erupted in a deafening silence.
The mist convulsed, shrieking without sound, then imploded inward. The echo dissolved into ash, scattering into the earth.
Lakshya staggered back, chest heaving, the circle burned into his palm glowing faintly. The oath had been answered.
But the silence that followed was not empty. It was watchful. Waiting.
From the ridge above, the Hunter's voice carried faintly. "The first hunt is done. But remember, Lakshya… the Circle always demands more."
Lakshya lowered his blade, eyes narrowing at the shifting mist. He could still feel the echo lingering, not gone, but sleeping.
And in the depths of the valley, something else stirred — heavier, darker.
The prey had only been the beginning.
To be continued