The prisoners could not process what they had just witnessed.
Ashan had no time to explain. The moments that had been stretching, that had been waiting, were running out.
Clank. The cage lock shattered, the pieces falling, the sound of it lost in the darkness. His presence vanished before the pieces hit the ground. "Fight your way out." The words faded like smoke.
For a moment, no one moved. The prisoners who had been waiting, who had been hoping, did not move. Their eyes were fixed on the space where the boy had been, where the ghost had been, where the thing that was there and was not there and was waiting to be seen had been and was not anymore.
Then—courage kindled. The cage door swung open. Torn clothes. Bruised bodies. Hollow eyes that glinted with something new.
Hope.
One prisoner picked up a fallen sword. Gripped it tight, the leather of the hilt worn smooth, the blade catching the torchlight. "Fight." Others nodded. Eyes meeting eyes. Silent agreement. "For our freedom."
.....
In the commander's quarters...
"How much longer will we be stationed on this rock?" The Captain's voice carried the particular boredom of a man who considered himself above his current assignment. His body was draped in thick vermillion—the colors of Suryazar Rajyam, rich and commanding.
"One more island. The last pirate holdout." The Vice-Captain shrugged. "Then we're done."
"How's the festival preparation proceeding?" "Materials are stored. The procession will be ready."
"Hmm." The Captain's expression soured. "Looks like we're celebrating the Lord of Light here this year. I'd hoped to visit the capital province."
BAM. The door flew open. "CAPTAIN!" A soldier burst through, chest heaving, face pale. The Captain's annoyance sharpened. "Stop shouting! Report!"
The soldier gasped for breath. "The prisoners—" "WHAT ABOUT THE PRISONERS?" The Vice-Captain's impatience boiled over. Clash. Clank. Clang. The sounds of battle rose from outside—steel on steel, screams, chaos. "KILL THE BASTARDS!" "FIGHT BACK!"
The night sky filled with the music of violence. The soldier finally found his voice. "All of them. Escaped. Armed. Attacking."
"BY THE LORD OF LIGHT—" The Vice-Captain's face darkened. "What were our soldiers doing? Asleep? Drunk? The festival isn't an excuse for this!"
The Captain rose. Hand on his sword hilt. "Those sea-dwelling bastards. Good for nothing. Every one of them." He drew his blade. "Order every soldier: kill them all. Spare no one." He moved toward the door—then stopped. "And send soldiers to the warehouse. Protect the festival materials. I won't have sacred goods stained by pirate filth."
"YES, CAPTAIN!"
.....
Across four islands, chaos exploded. Prisoners—freed from cages, armed with fallen weapons—fought with the desperate ferocity of men who had nothing left to lose. The Suryazar and Hunter Union forces reeled—then responded. Elemental fire lit the night. Water swept prisoners from their feet. Earth swallowed them whole. Physical blows crushed bone, shattered hope.
"Pirate insect!" A Suryazar soldier's hands blazed—a sphere of orange flames manifesting before him, ready to incinerate. "Burn alive!" Another fireball intercepted it. BOOM. The soldier's eyes went wide. "What—" He never finished. The pirate did not understand what had happened either. He did not care. "Die, desert dweller!"
Amid the chaos, something moved. Unseen. Untouchable. Lethal. Soldiers fell without warning. Throats opened. Hearts stopped. The violence was so total that survivors could not tell friend from foe from ghost.
Ashan moved through the battle like smoke. Each kill silent. Each victim another thread cut from the enemy's fabric. The prisoners served their purpose. Good distraction. Killed a few Mantriks under the cover.
He observed from a watchtower. Below, the battle raged—but the tide was turning. Against true sadhakas, ordinary men are nothing.
Prisoners burned. Drowned. Froze.
Died. I need another distraction.
His gaze settled on the warehouse. Large. Central. Vulnerable. A platoon guarded its gates. Torches flickered. Shields raised.
He jumped. Swish. Swish. Swish. Three fireball charms tore open. Three blazing spheres shot toward the guards. "ENEMY SADHAKA!" The shout went up. Shields rose. The fireballs struck—absorbed, contained, held. Ashan materialized between them.
[Svarp Vadivu]. "Circular formation!" Six soldiers encircled him—spears thrusting, swords swinging, shields bashing. Trained. Coordinated. Deadly.
He slipped through their attacks like water through fingers. A shield bashed toward his face. He ducked. Grabbed the soldier's arm. True [Serpent Grasp] doesn't need Totem Beast. Nadrima taught me that. His eyes swirled—grey-white whirlpools spinning, analyzing, finding. His fingers found the soldier's marma points. Pressed. Blocked.
"My prana—YOU—" Ashan kicked. The soldier's body flew—colliding with three others, sending them sprawling. Two more charged. Spears extended. Rumble. Ashan slammed the earth. A wall rose—and he used it, launching himself skyward. Five dark earth spears materialized in his hand. Swish. Swish. Swish. Two found their marks. Two soldiers fell. The remaining three pierced through the last four guards—impaling, pinning, ending.
He stepped toward the warehouse. A wave of heat erupted before him. He sidestepped—just barely. "WHO ARE YOU?" The voice was cold. Angry. Furious. The Captain stood in the warehouse doorway. Short sword drawn. Eyes blazing.
Oh. The Captain came out to greet me. Ashan did not answer. He vanished. "Running—" The Captain's blade spun—a circular motion, a burst of heat, a wave of orange-red light. Ashan emerged a few feet back. Clear. Watching.
"If you won't answer..." The Captain lunged. Let's test my physical might. Ashan's blade met the Captain's. CLANG. Steel on steel. One blade glowing orange-red. One blade plain. Holding. He can use prana too. Every sadhaka can use both types—even if they specialize in one. But his control... both at peak Bodnir. That's impossible unless—
Unless he's using a vidya that refines both. Ashan's prana surged. [Svarp Vadivu]. [Shedding Stance]. BAM. The Captain flew through the warehouse doors—timber splintering, body crashing. Cough. He tried to rise. "Who are you? Which Veda?"
Ashan did not answer. He surveyed the warehouse. Boxes. Stacked high. Row after row. That'll make a nice flashy signal. A dark smirk crept across his face. He moved to the Captain—crushed both arms, both legs. Dragged him to the largest stack. "You—heretic—" The Captain's voice cracked. "Adharmil sadhaka—" Ashan produced two fireball charms. Tore them open. "Enjoy." He vanished.
The Captain's eyes went wide. "Enjoy—WHAT—" The fireballs struck. The boxes behind him ignited. "That... NO. NO. NO." A faint smell. Burning. Then—expanding.
.....
On the ships...
"We can't wait any longer! ATTACK!" "Calm down!" Toric's voice strained to hold the line. Damn. The fight's happening here whether I want it or not. Sorry, Captain. Dunstan sighed.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The explosion shattered the night. Thunder. Light. Fire reaching toward the silver moon. Dunstan's head snapped toward the islands. A trail of smoke rose—massive, black, impossible. Captain. What have you done this time?
Toric's face split into a savage grin. "BOYS! COMMENCE THE ATTACK!" "YEAH!" "CRIMSON SERPENT PIRATES!" The fleet surged forward. Sails catching wind. Cannons loaded. Blades ready.
The signal had come.