The village of Ravenshade had always lived under the blessing of the Ishvara Clan. For generations, the women of that bloodline were born priestesses, sacred daughters chosen by fate itself. They were healers, guides, and protectors—women whose words carried the weight of prophecy and whose touch was said to soothe the sick and wounded.
Two centuries ago, however, the line was shaken by an event whispered in half-remembered tales. A priestess of that age, Elandra Ishvara, bore not one child but two—twins, a rarity in the sacred clan. The girl, Serenya, was anointed the priestess as tradition demanded. The boy, Kaelen, though loved at first, quickly found himself living in his sister's shadow.
The people bowed to Serenya, kissed the hem of her robes, and left offerings at her doorstep. Kaelen received only kind smiles, never reverence. He studied, prayed, and worked harder than most men, but still, when he raised his voice and declared, "I, too, can serve the gods. I too can be priest," the council of elders silenced him.
"It is not the way of our ancestors," they said. "The priestess is chosen by blood and spirit. Yours is a life to support, not to lead."
Bitterness grew within him like rot in an apple. And then—on one fateful night—the village woke to chaos. Serenya was found beaten, her sacred robes torn, her blood staining the temple steps. She lived, but barely. When she woke, her trembling lips spoke a single name.
"Kaelen."
The village turned cold. Kaelen, once the boy of promise, became the accursed son. He vanished soon after—some said he was banished, others that he fled in shame. In wandering lands beyond Ravenshade, he took up the life of a juggler, performing tricks for coin, hiding the weight of his name behind painted smiles.
Yet the Ishvara blood was not easily erased. Some claimed that on storm-filled nights, travelers saw a cloaked figure juggling knives lit with strange fire, whispering prayers twisted into curses.
For a time after his banishment, Kaelen wandered the outer towns as nothing more than a pitiful juggler. His tricks earned him food, his painted face disguised the anger gnawing at his soul. The villagers of Ravenshade whispered of him only as a warning: "Do not stray from the path of duty, or you will become like Kaelen."
But Kaelen's heart was a cauldron of festering envy. It was not enough that he had been cast out—he wanted the village to suffer for its cruelty. Years passed before his return, but when he did, it was with a smile too wide and eyes too hollow.
At first, he claimed he had come seeking forgiveness. He wept at the temple steps, begged his sister Serenya to let him stand in her shadow, to serve in any small way. Against the warnings of the elders, Serenya's kind heart softened. She allowed him to remain in the village, though the people kept their distance.
And then, tragedy struck.
One moonless night, when the river lanterns were floating downstream in a ritual of blessings, Kaelen vanished with several children of the village. By dawn, only he returned—his face splattered with blood, his laughter echoing through the silent square.
The bodies of the children were never found.
The people rose in fury. Kaelen was beaten in the streets, dragged across the mud, spat upon, cursed, and left broken outside the village walls. Serenya herself turned her face away from him, unable to speak his name again.
And so Kaelen vanished once more, this time not as a shunned man, but as something far worse.
Years passed. The people prayed the curse of his blood had ended. Yet whispers began to creep back from distant towns—rumors of a figure in tattered robes, a man with ash-pale skin and red-stained lips, who moved only at night. They called him Charora.
A soul who had bartered with forbidden gods of the underworld, Kaelen had forsaken his humanity for dark arts. He was no longer man, no longer brother, no longer son of the Ishvara clan. He had become a monster that feasted on blood, a shadow that stalked the living.
The very name Charora became poison in Ravenshade. Mothers hushed their children with it, fathers cursed it by the fire.
And yet… in the deepest parts of the night, when the wind howled through the trees, there were those who swore they could still hear the faint sound of juggling balls striking together—followed by a laugh that no longer belonged to any man.
This didn't end here. Charora appeared every now and then. Taking children and women. Sometimes elderly too. They were always found in sorry conditions. It returned the children unharmed, but no one is sure what he did with the blood of children because there's always a puncture hole in the arms of kids.
This continues for some years until a month ago. Villagers were doing their daily chores when suddenly everything went black. No one knew what happened but when they finally came around, they were already inside the waterfall. They could not go outside. There are fruits and water to survive. Yet it's not enough to get healthy. People are getting weak day by day. Some are sick and few are on verge of death. They need immediate medical attention. Charora have not come to see them since the the time he put them here. But they can hear him flying outside.
Amir took the deep breath after retelling the story they all concluded after talking to many villagers. They all were sitting around the fire and were deep in thought.
"So that man, Kaelen wanted to be the priest. So now should we make him a priest to appease him?" Lucian asked.
"Like villagers will accept him as their priest." Selena rolled her eyes.
"They have to. Do you think they want to die? I think we should talk to this charora person, if he actually agrees to talk instead of split us half." Lie Jun shuddered.
They were all talking giving their own two cents on the situation. But me? I was silent. No one knows what Mia told me. I know the secret which can change the course of events which are going to be followed.
A secret, which will change our fates.