The rhythmic thud of boots on the dirt road had become the song of Vid's days. Morning to afternoon, five hours of relentless march under the burning sun, followed by a brief pause in some forgotten stretch of wilderness. The Mighty Army moved like a tide across the land — disciplined, unified, unstoppable.Except for him.
Vid was a stone caught in the current, unmoving while the world rushed past.
That afternoon, Vick raised a hand and barked, "Halt!" His voice cracked across the line of soldiers like a whip. The formation slowed, boots grinding to a stop in the dust. Some men dropped their gear immediately, stretching tired shoulders and rubbing their calves. Others drank greedily from battered flasks. Horses snorted and pawed at the ground, their hides gleaming with sweat.
The air smelled of leather, iron, and the faint sweetness of wild grass — a deceptive calm hiding the fact that every man here was preparing for the next battle.
Vick turned to Vid, his sharp eyes narrowing. "We'll use the break. Sit. Focus. Find your presence."
Presence. The word had haunted Vid since he first heard it. This mysterious energy, invisible yet shaping the very strength of warriors in this world, was his first true trial. It wasn't about swinging a sword or charging into battle — it was about finding the core of his own existence, the quiet spark within. And yet, every time he reached for it, all he found was darkness.
Vid sat cross-legged in the shade of a crooked tree, the earth cool beneath him. He closed his eyes.
The world dissolved.
And then… it began again.
His father's body — torn, lifeless on the dirt road.His mother's face — pale, streaked with blood.Her voice — fragile, trembling: "Find Vishwa… he is the solution… he is the only way…"His brother — reaching for him, then gone in a blur of screaming and fire.
The images didn't come like memories. They came like storms. They tore into him, drowning every thought, every chance to focus.
His fists clenched. His breathing quickened.
Somewhere far away, Vick's voice called, "Breathe slower. In through your nose. Let the presence rise."
Vid tried. He truly tried. But the storm in his mind roared louder, and when he reached inside, he found only the echo of his own rage and grief.
A snort of laughter broke his concentration.
When he opened his eyes, three soldiers leaned against their spears, grinning at him. One mimicked sitting cross-legged, making an exaggerated "meditating" pose before pretending to fall asleep and snore loudly. Another said, "Careful, boy — if you sit too long, you might grow roots!"
Their laughter rolled over him like a wave.
Vid's cheeks burned. He looked at the ground.
Vick shot them a glare that silenced them instantly. "Enough. Back to your posts." But even as they walked away, Vid could still hear their laughter in his head.
The next day was the same. And the next. And the next after that.
Five hours of marching, a halt, Vick kneeling beside him, telling him to close his eyes and reach inward. And every time, the same storm, the same failures.
Days bled into weeks. The Mighty Army pressed further into the land, their banners casting long shadows over villages and plains. The talk of camp was still the victory at Dand Valley — how the enemy was crushed, how the Rakshas would soon taste defeat again. But Vid?
Vid was still a boy who couldn't even touch the edge of his own presence.
At night, around the campfires, the soldiers told stories of their first awakenings — of the moment they first felt the hum of their energy, the warmth in their veins, the rush of strength in their limbs. Vid listened silently, eyes fixed on the flames, wishing he could feel even a fraction of what they described.
But instead, all he felt was the cold weight of failure.
One night, nearly a month after Dand Valley, the camp was quiet except for the low crackle of fire and the distant murmur of sentries on watch. Vid sat apart from the others, knees pulled to his chest, staring at the stars. They seemed impossibly far, each one a pinprick of light in a black sea.
Vick approached, a waterskin in one hand. He sat down beside Vid, passing it to him.
"Drink."
Vid obeyed, the cool water easing the dryness in his throat.
"You've been trying," Vick said quietly. "I've seen it. Every day, you sit. Every day, you fight yourself."
Vid's voice was small. "And every day, I lose."
"Not every battle is won quickly."
"This isn't a battle," Vid muttered. "It's… nothing. I sit there and fail. I don't feel anything. I don't… I don't even know what I'm supposed to be looking for."
Vick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Presence isn't about looking. It's about being. You've been trying to force it, to reach for it. But presence is what's already inside you — the part of you that never changes, no matter the battle, no matter the grief."
Vid laughed bitterly. "The part of me that never changes? That part died with my family."
Vick was silent for a long moment. His gaze was fixed on the fire. "I've lost people too. My brother. My daughter. When it happened, I thought my strength had gone with them. But I learned something… that pain doesn't erase who you are. It buries it. Your job is to dig it back up."
Vid didn't answer. His mother's voice echoed in his mind again: Find Vishwa… he is the solution… The words had been a light once. Now they felt like chains, a reminder of a task he couldn't even begin because he was too weak.
Vick sighed. "I can't make you find it, Vid. Only you can. But remember this — the war we fight out here is nothing compared to the war you're fighting inside."
And with that, he stood and walked away, leaving Vid alone with the fire, the stars, and the weight of his own emptiness.
By the next morning, the soldiers' mockery had softened into something else — indifference. They no longer bothered to tease him. He had become invisible, the boy who couldn't fight, the boy who couldn't even feel his own presence.
And in some ways, Vid preferred it that way.
Because invisibility, at least, was quieter than laughter.
The moonlight painted the endless plains in silver as the army rested for the night. The flicker of campfires dotted the landscape like fallen stars, and the smell of roasting meat mixed with the cool night wind. Vid sat apart from the soldiers, knees drawn up, his gaze locked on the dirt beneath him. His palms were still raw from another failed attempt at meditation earlier that day.
Every time he tried, the same images came — his mother's lifeless body, his father's blood pooling at his feet, his brother's scream echoing in the smoke. And then… her last words:
"Find Vishwa… he is the solution…"
He had no idea who Vishwa was. No idea how to find him. No idea how to control the storm inside his own chest.
Vick approached quietly, lowering himself to sit beside the boy. The man's eyes were calm, yet his voice carried a firmness that didn't ask for debate.
"Vid," Vick said, "you're chasing the wrong enemy right now."
The boy glanced up. "What?"
"You want to fight them… the Rakshas… but you're not even fighting yourself yet. Your mind is tangled in grief. You can't sense your Presence if your body is weak and your mind is drowning."
Vid's jaw tightened. "Then what do I do?"
Vick stood, his shadow long in the moonlight. "You build the body first. The mind follows."
That night marked the beginning of a new kind of training.
While the soldiers slept or played dice during rest hours, Vid would push his body until it screamed. Push-ups in the cold mud. Squats until his legs trembled. Running laps around the camp until his lungs burned like fire.
At first, his body resisted — he was frail, underfed, and his arms shook even after lifting a bucket of water. The soldiers laughed louder than ever.
"Look at him," one sneered. "The mighty warrior of the future can't even carry a bucket.""Better hope the Rakshas attack with words," another chuckled.
Vid ignored them, but every word cut into him like a blade. Each insult became fuel. Each laugh became weight added to his shoulders.
Every night, Vid saw his family's faces again. But now… he didn't just watch. He moved. In his dreams, he swung a sword at the shadows. He ran toward the flames instead of away. He didn't wake up crying anymore — he woke up breathing hard, fists clenched, body already ready to move.
Vick watched silently from a distance, noting the change. The boy's push-ups went from five to twenty, then to fifty. His steps became quicker, his stance more grounded. The soldiers stopped laughing quite as much.
Two weeks into training, during a short rest in a clearing, Vid collapsed mid-run. His body simply gave out.
"I can't…" he gasped, rolling onto his back, chest heaving.
Vick stood over him, arms crossed. "You can."
"I'm not like you," Vid spat, anger finally breaking through the exhaustion. "I'm not a commander. I'm not strong. I'm just a boy who's lost everything!"
Vick crouched down, his eyes locking on Vid's with a force that demanded attention.
"Then stop running from the pain. Make it your weapon. You think I was born strong? I bled, I failed, I fell… and I got back up. You want to fight for your family? Then get up. Even if your body screams, even if your bones ache, you get up."
Vid stared at him for a moment — then rolled over, pushed himself to his knees, and kept going.
By the end of the month, Vid's thin frame had shifted. His arms carried lean muscle, his stance was firmer, and his eyes no longer darted to the ground when soldiers passed.
The meditation still failed. Every attempt still brought the same memories. But Vick had noticed something different — when Vid fought the pain in his muscles, he was calmer. His breathing slowed. His eyes sharpened.
One evening, after a long march, Vick approached him again.
"You're ready for something new," Vick said. "Your Presence… it hides behind your rage. When your body is still but your mind burns, you can't find it. But when your body burns with your mind… you might."
Vid frowned. "So what now?"
Vick grinned faintly. "We make the body and mind burn together."
The Crossings of Fate
The wind at Vigo Crossings was unlike anything Vid had felt before.It was sharp, clean, but heavy — as if it carried stories from distant lands, whispered across endless mountains and rivers before arriving here. The skies above the northern borders of the Boomi Empire had an unforgiving grey, and the earth beneath was a cracked shade of brown where the grass had long surrendered to the cold. It was a place that felt less like the kingdom Vid had traveled through and more like the threshold of another world.
Vick stood at the edge of the ridge, his arms folded, his eyes scanning the far stretch where the Temple of Lord Vishwa was said to stand. It was a place of reverence for countless pilgrims, but now it was shrouded in rumors. Rumors of a thing that stalked the temple grounds — a monstrous presence that left no footprints yet carried the stench of death in its wake.
The order from Emperor Parth had been brief but urgent:"Investigate. If the creature exists, hunt it down before it defiles the temple."
For the first time in days, Vick's brow was furrowed in a way Vid had not seen before. This wasn't the face of a captain preparing for an ordinary hunt. There was weight here — the kind that made his shoulders sink a little lower.
The Departure of the Troops
"Rouch!" Vick called, his voice cutting through the cold air like a blade.
The second-in-command, a tall, wiry man with a hawk-like gaze, stepped forward. His armor was plain, but his presence was anything but. He saluted sharply, waiting for orders.
"You will take the men and proceed to the Gangi Valley," Vick commanded. "Follow the eastern route and avoid the low passes. There's a chance enemy scouts are moving through them. You'll reach in three days if you keep pace."
Rouch nodded. "And you?"
"We have a detour," Vick said without looking back. "A direct order from the Emperor. Vid and I will go alone."
A murmur went through the ranks. Soldiers exchanged glances, some curious, some concerned. Everyone knew that going into unknown territory with only one companion was a dangerous choice — especially this far from reinforcements.
Rouch's eyes flickered to Vid, who stood silently at Vick's side. His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't question it. "Understood. We will await your return in Gangi."
The two men clasped forearms briefly — the kind of handshake that held both respect and an unspoken stay alive.
Why Gangi Valley Matters
When the rest of the troops began their march, Vid turned to Vick. "Why is Gangi Valley so important?" he asked. The question had been gnawing at him for days.
Vick adjusted the strap of his sword. "All parts of our kingdom are important, Vid. But Gangi Valley…" He paused, scanning the horizon as if the answer was written in the air. "It is the beginning of our prosperity. Hundreds of cities depend on it — it's where trade routes converge, where farmlands are richest, where the rivers carry grain, silk, and stone to every corner of the empire. It's not just ours, either. Many countries under our banner survive because of what flows through that valley."
Vid tried to imagine it — a place where the entire strength of an empire seemed to pulse like blood through veins. "So if we lose it…"
Vick's jaw tightened. "Then we start losing everything. That's why the Emperor's orders to guard it are absolute. If the Rakshas' troops break through the borders here, the valley is the first thing they'll reach."
Vid shivered, not entirely from the cold.
The Borderlands
By noon, the two had left the main roads behind. The terrain shifted — rolling hills gave way to sharp ridges, deep gullies, and forests that seemed to grow more twisted the further they went.
Here, at the northeast border of the Boomi Empire, the air felt thinner. Even the birds seemed wary, their calls distant and rare.
They crossed an abandoned watchtower — its stones blackened as if by fire. Grass had grown through the cracks, and the banner that once bore the imperial crest lay in tattered strips, snapping weakly in the wind. Vid slowed, looking up at it.
"This is what happens when the front lines fall," Vick said quietly, not breaking stride.
Campfire Talk
That night, they camped in a narrow clearing near a frozen stream. Vick lit a small fire, careful to shield it with rocks so the glow wouldn't be visible from afar.
Vid sat across from him, rubbing his hands for warmth. "Vick," he began hesitantly, "why send everyone else to Gangi Valley if the Emperor thinks there's danger here?"
Vick poked at the fire with a stick. "Because the creature — if it exists — is only a threat if left unchecked. One monster can kill a few men, maybe a few dozen. But if the enemy takes Gangi, they can starve the empire. This mission… is about balance. Rouch handles the greater threat. We handle the unknown."
Vid frowned. "And if the monster's stronger than we expect?"
Vick met his gaze across the fire. "Then we fight. Or we die trying. That's the only way soldiers like us work."
The Temple from Afar
Two days later, they crested a ridge — and there it was.
The Temple of Lord Vishwa stood like a ghost on the horizon. Its tall spires pierced the sky, gleaming faintly in the pale light. But the land around it was wrong. The once-sacred grounds were overgrown with dark, almost black weeds. The wind that passed over the temple carried a low hum, like the sound of distant chanting that never stopped.
Vid felt his chest tighten. "It doesn't… feel holy."
"It hasn't for a long time," Vick said. "The temple is older than the empire itself. People say it was built where the god Vishwa descended to bless the earth. But when places like this are abandoned, something else always comes to claim them."
They set up camp a mile away. Vick didn't rush. "We go in at dawn," he said. "Monsters — if they're real — move differently at night. I want to see it in daylight first."
A Quiet Confession
That evening, as the sun bled into the horizon, Vid spoke quietly. "Back at Dand Valley… when I failed to meditate, when I couldn't even feel my own presence… I thought maybe my mother was wrong about me."
Vick was silent for a long time. Then: "She wasn't."
"How do you know?"
"Because," Vick said, leaning back, "men who are truly worthless never question themselves. They just keep moving, blind to everything. You've been questioning from the start. That means you're awake — even if you haven't found your path yet."
Vid stared at the fire until the embers blurred. He didn't answer, but something in his chest felt a little lighter.
The Plan
Before sleeping, Vick laid out the approach.
"Tomorrow, we circle from the east," he said, drawing in the dirt with a stick. "There's a ridge here — we'll use it for cover until we're close enough to scout. If we see nothing, we enter the temple. If we see… something… we don't fight unless we have no choice."
Vid nodded, though the idea of walking into a monster's lair made his palms sweat.
Dawn at Vigo Crossings
At dawn, the world was silent. Not the peaceful kind — the kind that makes you feel you're being watched. They approached the temple slowly, every step crunching on frost-bitten ground.
When they reached the ridge, Vick froze, raising a hand. Vid crouched beside him, peering over the stone.
Something moved in the courtyard below.
It wasn't human. It was tall, impossibly so — its shoulders nearly level with the base of the temple's lowest roof. Its limbs were long and too thin, bending in ways bones shouldn't. And its face… if it could be called that… was a shifting blur, as though it refused to be remembered.
Vid's breath caught in his throat. "What is that?"
Vick's voice was barely a whisper. "Not a Rakshas. Not anything I've seen before."
The creature moved without sound, pacing around the temple as if guarding it. Every few minutes, it would stop, tilt its head toward the sky, and remain still — like a statue carved out of shadow.
Vid's hand went to the hilt of his sword, but Vick shook his head. "Not yet."
For the first time since leaving Dand Valley, Vid felt a flicker of something strange in his chest — not fear, not exactly, but the awareness that whatever this thing was… it was tied to the path his mother had told him to walk.
And tomorrow, he would have to face it.