The valley was quiet now.
The mist had thinned, yet the silence pressed down heavier than before. Lakshya wiped the black ash from his blade, though it clung stubbornly, as if the echo's remains refused to release him.
He exhaled, steadying his breath.
That was when the earth beneath him pulsed.
The ground, damp with shadow, stirred like something alive. The black ash dissolved into the soil and crept toward his boots, crawling up his legs in thin streams of smoke.
Lakshya drew back, slashing at it with his blade, but the ash did not bleed — it sank deeper, carving a mark across his skin.
It burned.
The circle etched into his palm flared, chains of faint light wrapping around his forearm, searing into him like firebrands.
A voice whispered — not from the mist, not from outside, but from within.
"The debt is written."
Lakshya gritted his teeth. "Debt? I killed what you asked for."
The voice chuckled, a sound like embers cracking in a dying fire. "Nothing dies without price. Nothing is bound without weight. You hunted the echo… but its ashes belong to you now."
The marks on his skin darkened, coiling upward like black roots. Each one pulsed faintly, as though alive.
He staggered back against a tree, his vision flashing white. In that haze, he saw fragments — a battlefield of hunters, each one carrying the same black marks, their eyes hollowed, their voices stolen.
The Hunter's warning returned to him. No one enters twice with the same soul.
The debt was not death. It was inheritance.
From the ridge above, the Hunter descended. His boots barely disturbed the earth as he crossed the valley floor, cloak trailing like smoke.
He stopped when he saw Lakshya's arm. His jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm. "So the Circle has claimed you."
Lakshya forced the words through clenched teeth. "What is this?"
The Hunter crouched, his shadow stretching long in the pale mist. "The Circle never hunts for nothing. The ashes of the prey bind themselves to the victor. A piece of its curse becomes yours. That is the debt."
Lakshya glared. "You knew this would happen."
The Hunter's silence was answer enough.
The ash marks pulsed again, sending pain lancing through Lakshya's nerves. He dropped to one knee, gasping. The whispers returned, clearer this time — voices of the echo he killed, voices of himself, twisted and broken.
You can't kill me. I am you. I am you. I am you.
Lakshya slammed his fist into the ground. "Shut up!"
For a moment, the voices faltered. The circle's glow dimmed.
The Hunter watched carefully. "Good. You fight it. Many don't. Most hunters lose themselves before their debt can even be measured."
Lakshya looked up, sweat slicking his brow. "And what happens if I can't fight it?"
The Hunter's eyes darkened. "Then the prey lives again — in you."
The valley wind shifted, carrying the smell of burned earth. The mist rolled back, revealing a stone altar half-buried in roots. At its center burned a flame — black and silver, flickering without heat.
The Hunter nodded toward it. "That is where you pay."
Lakshya rose shakily, his arm still burning with the marks. "And if I refuse?"
The Hunter's expression was unreadable. "Then the debt consumes you. And the Circle hunts you instead."
The silence that followed was sharp, dangerous. Lakshya's chest rose and fell, the weight of the choice pressing down heavier than any battle.
Slowly, he stepped toward the altar. The flame shifted, leaning toward him as though hungry.
As he drew near, the voices in his arm screamed louder. Faces flickered in the fire — his father, his reflection, even faint glimpses of the companions he had left behind.
The Circle was not just demanding ashes. It was demanding memory.
Lakshya clenched his fist. "You want to take from me… but you'll take nothing I don't give."
He raised his marked arm over the flame.
The fire leapt, wrapping around him. Pain shot through his body, a searing weight dragging at his bones. The marks on his arm writhed, then burst into sparks, feeding the black fire.
The whispers screamed one last time — then cut off.
The flame dimmed, settling into a steady glow. The altar pulsed once, and then stilled.
Lakshya staggered back, breathing hard. The black marks were gone, but the circle on his palm had changed — no longer faint, but etched deeper, like a wound carved into his soul.
The Hunter approached. "You've paid your first debt."
Lakshya wiped sweat from his brow. "And the next?"
The Hunter's gaze was heavy. "Every hunt demands one. The Circle does not stop. It never has."
Lakshya's eyes narrowed. "Then let it come. I won't bow. I'll hunt, and I'll pay — but on my terms."
For the first time, the Hunter's lips twitched, almost a smile. "We'll see."
Above them, the mist swirled higher, unraveling like a curtain.
And in the distance, beyond the valley, new shadows stirred — vast, heavy, waiting.
The Circle was far from finished.
To be continued....