The golden hues of dusk bled into violet as Ariv, Neel, and Vaishnavi walked down the nearly empty street. Laughter from a tea stall drifted in the distance, but Ariv wasn't listening. His fingers traced the edge of the locket at his neck, feeling its faint warmth.
Then… silence.
The chatter, the rustle of wind, the faint sound of traffic—gone.
Ariv stopped. His eyes locked on the silhouette standing under a flickering streetlight ahead. The same figure from that night. Tall, broad-shouldered, cloaked in a faint silver aura that bent the shadows around him.
"Ariv?" Vaishnavi's voice was distant, almost drowned in the heavy air pressing against him.
The man stepped closer, boots striking the ground like war drums. Silver eyes glinted under his dark hood.
"You," he said, voice deep and commanding. "What is your name?"
Ariv swallowed hard. "A… Ariv. Who are you?"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied him—every line of his face, every breath, as if measuring his soul. Finally, he spoke:
"I am Rudraen." The name rolled like distant thunder. "One of the last guardians of the Veil."
"Veil?" Ariv repeated, confusion etched on his face.
Rudraen's eyes narrowed. "You've felt it, haven't you? The air bending. The pressure that claws at your chest."
Ariv's throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
"The Veils are weakening," Rudraen said, stepping closer until his shadow loomed over Ariv. "When they fall, chaos will pour into this world—and you…" He paused, his gaze locking onto the faint glow of the locket under Ariv's shirt. "You are standing at the center of it."
Ariv staggered back, pulse racing. "Why me? I'm just—"
"Just a boy?" Rudraen's tone sharpened, cutting through the stillness. "No, Ariv. You carry blood that once shook realms. Power that can destroy gods… or save them."
Ariv felt the ground tilt beneath him. Blood? Gods? None of it made sense.
"Listen carefully." Rudraen's voice dropped low, almost a whisper. "The things you've seen—the shadows—they're called Kalarak. They hunt those connected to the Veils. Your locket… it's the only thing stopping your power from consuming you."
Ariv froze, his hand clutching the locket unconsciously.
"Why me?" he whispered.
Rudraen's silver eyes glowed faintly in the dying light. Then came the words that shattered the silence like a blade:
"Because you are the son of the man who once defied the gods."
Ariv's breath hitched. His world collapsed into a single thought—
My father…?
Rudraen took a step back, his cloak rippling in the rising wind.
"I'm sorry to keep you in mystery," he said, voice heavy with urgency, "but I have more work to do."
He turned slightly, then added in a softer tone, almost like advice:
"Perhaps… the answers you seek might come to you naturally—or from someone very close to you."
Before Ariv could speak again, Rudraen walked away into the deepening dusk—not vanishing, but leaving behind a silence heavy with questions.