The village awoke to another colorless dawn, the air heavy with the scent of sickness. Pale smoke hung above the huts, not from cooking fires but from the fever-braziers the children had lit during the night. Every cough seemed to echo across the silent streets.
Ansh rubbed sleep from his eyes and tightened the sash of his tunic. "It's worse," he muttered. "More people are sick than yesterday."
Ashwini knelt beside a woman whose lips were cracked and gray. "The fevers are higher," she said softly. "But… no one has died."
Vijay crouched, frowning. "That's strange. If it spreads this fast, someone should—" He cut himself off, glancing at the frightened villagers huddled nearby. "—should be worse."
Daav fluttered down onto Ansh's shoulder, giving a worried trill. Sparks flickered briefly from his wings and faded in the damp morning air.
Ashwini straightened, brushing dust from her knees. "Grandmother taught us the Bharadwaj remedies," she said, more to herself than to the others. "Roots for fever, leaves to cool the blood. We can try."
Ansh brightened. "Yes! Remember the forest lessons? Find herbs, mix them the way the elders showed us."
Vijay gave a small nod. "It's better than waiting."
The three set to work. They scoured the fields at the edge of the village, eyes sharp for any sign of medicinal plants.
Ashwini found narrow stalks of pale green nirvas grass hidden beneath the dry fence. She plucked them carefully, whispering the words her grandmother once used to coax out their healing strength.
Vijay climbed the low ridges beyond the houses, gathering sundal leaves, dark and bitter. He crushed a few between his fingers and sniffed. "Good for cooling fevers," he said, pocketing handfuls.
Ansh and Daav searched the damp hollows near the lake. Daav darted into reeds and chirped, his feathers glowing whenever he found something useful. "You're a better herb-finder than me," Ansh grumbled, but he smiled all the same as the firebird presented a tiny cluster of blue-veined flowers.
Back in the temple courtyard, they set their gatherings in neat piles. Ashwini took charge, her voice firm despite the weariness around her eyes.
"Boil the nirvas grass. Crush the sundal leaves into a paste. The blue flowers—Ansh, add only a few drops of their juice, or it will burn the throat."
They worked side by side, sleeves rolled, faces streaked with sweat and dirt.
Villagers watched from a distance, their expressions wary but desperate. A child cried softly in a corner. An old man coughed until his shoulders shook, then subsided into shallow breathing.
When the first pot of dark herbal tea was ready, Ashwini carried a bowl to the woman they had tended the night before. "Slowly," she instructed. "Just a little."
The woman sipped, grimaced at the bitter taste, but swallowed. Minutes passed. Her breathing eased slightly, the feverish flush dimmed.
A ripple of hope moved through the watching crowd.
All day the three children worked. They carried water, brewed herbs, cooled burning foreheads. Daav hovered constantly, lending gentle warmth to cold limbs and guiding them toward hidden plants when their supplies ran low.
But the sickness spread faster than they could brew. By evening, nearly every hut held someone shivering with fever. And still—no one died.
"It makes no sense," Vijay said, staring at the endless line of ailing villagers. "The fevers grow worse, but their hearts keep beating. It's like something stops them from… from the end."
Ashwini wiped sweat from her brow. "Something is holding them between life and death."
Ansh scowled at the darkening sky. "Then we find what's holding them. The cause. The… whatever it is."
Daav chirped sharply, wings flashing orange in agreement.
The three met beside the temple well after nightfall. The village lay unnervingly quiet, broken only by the occasional rasping cough.
"We can keep giving herbs," Ashwini said, "but we're only slowing it."
"We need to find the source," Vijay finished.
Ansh tightened his grip on his small sword. "Then we look for it—tonight."
Daav swooped down, perching on the blade for a moment as if blessing the decision.
They began at the lake where they had first played with Ravi. Moonlight turned the water to dull silver. Ashwini let her senses reach outward, seeking life. The fish below were sluggish but alive, no taint in their pulse.
Next they combed the fields, Daav darting ahead to light their path. They found only healthy grass, damp soil, and the sigh of night wind.
Vijay pointed toward the dense line of woods beyond the far ridge. "If something is poisoning the air or water, it might start there."
The forest greeted them with a strange hush. Leaves hung limp, heavy with dew. Ansh felt his heartbeat quicken.
"Stay close," he whispered.
Daav's glow lit twisted roots and slick stones. They followed a narrow animal trail deeper until a faint, foul odor drifted toward them—sweet and rotten all at once.
"There." Ashwini covered her nose. "Smell that?"
They pushed on until the trees opened into a small hollow. At its center bubbled a pool black as ink, thin mist curling from its surface.
The stench rolled over them.
Vijay crouched, touching the damp soil. "This isn't natural."
Ashwini's voice was tight. "This is where the sickness begins."
The three children stood side by side, the moon a pale disc above them. The pool pulsed faintly, as though breathing.
Ansh looked from the dark water to his friends. "Tomorrow," he said, his young voice firm despite the fear trembling at its edge, "we tell Rajyugas. And then we stop this."
Daav flared brighter, a single spark against the heavy dark, as if to seal the vow.
Behind them, the village lay silent—waiting, suffering, alive but caught in a shadow that refused to let go.