𝙀𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙
𝘼𝙧𝙘 𝟮: 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝘼𝙧𝙘
𝘾𝙝 𝟮𝟯 – 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨.
𝗡𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗗𝗮𝘆 — 𝗜𝗻 𝗝𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻’𝘀 𝗛𝗼𝗺𝗲
The neighborhood was usually alive with the comforting hum of daily life.
The house itself was small, warm, and structured around a cozy, family-run café that occupied the entire ground floor, while the family shared their lives in the quarters upstairs.
On any ordinary morning, the rich, aromatic smell of brewing tea and roasting coffee beans would drift lazily through the narrow street, signaling the start of a fresh day.
Children from the nearby school often gathered near the shop’s counter in the afternoons, their eager chatter blending seamlessly with Jatin’s distinct, boisterous voice— a familiar soundtrack that almost everyone in the locality had gotten used to over the years.
𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆…
The heavy metal café shutters were 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 tight, locked against the morning sun.
No joyous laughter echoed down from the concrete stairs.
No upbeat music played from 𝗝𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻’𝘀 𝗽𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲 to disturb the early hours.
𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 the sound of muffled 𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴.
𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 a heavy, suffocating 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲.
𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱 had gathered inside the small courtyard and spilled out onto the dusty street outside the house.
Some stood quietly near the main entrance with lowered heads, their hands clasped loosely in front of them as a sign of respect.
Some elderly women whispered ancient prayers under their breath, counting beads on invisible strings.
Others simply stared blankly at the floor, utterly unable to find words to bridge the gap between yesterday’s vibrant boy and today’s grim reality.
Inside the crowded front hall, Jatin’s mother clung tightly to her son’s cold, lifeless body, her fingers gripping the white shroud as if she could pull the warmth back into his skin by sheer force of will.
“𝘞𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘜𝘗…! 𝘑𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯… 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥… 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦… 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳…”
Her voice cracked again and again, breaking into sharp, ragged gasps as nearby neighborhood women sat beside her on the floor, gently rubbing her back and trying to calm her shattering mind.
“𝘉𝘦𝘩𝘦𝘯… 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦… 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵,” one neighbor sobbed softly, wiping her own eyes.
“𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩… 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘦…”
“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘥’𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭… 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺…”
But no earthly words could reach the ears of a mother who had just 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱 to the darkness of the world.
Near the quiet corner of the room, Jatin’s father stood perfectly still beside two uniform-clad forest officers.
His face looked completely numb, his expression hollowed out, as if his mind had entirely stopped processing any external sensory data the exact moment he heard the official news.
One of the officers cleared his throat awkwardly, adjusting his cap under his arm as he broke the heavy air.
“𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦-𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺…”
” 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.”
Jatin’s father slowly, mechanically tilted his head to look toward the speaker.
The officer hesitated, glancing down at his clipboard before continuing in a lowered tone.
“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦… 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘴 of 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘧 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.”
“…𝘈 𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘧?” Jatin’s father whispered, his voice dry like paper.
“𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘪𝘳. 𝘈𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴… 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥.”
𝗔𝗻 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗹 over the small group.
It was not a silence born out of respect because the grieving father believed the official narrative.
But rather because his heart simply couldn’t accept the logical contradiction.
Jatin was just a teenage boy, a student who spent his afternoons making lattes and cracking jokes.
How could an ordinary boy kill a wild, predatory wolf with his bare hands or a simple tool?
The official explanation made absolutely no sense within the bounds of reality.
Yet, the physical body of the beast had truly been found slain beside his remains, verified by the authorities.
The father’s eyes slowly drifted back toward his wife crying hysterically beside their unmoving son, and his chest tightened with a painful, physical ache that threatened to choke him.
Around the perimeter of the room, the gathered neighbors quietly spoke among themselves in hushed, reverent murmurs.
“𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺…”
“𝘏𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 his difficult 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘥…”
“𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘵…”
“𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺…”
An old man sitting cross-legged near the plaster wall sighed heavily, shaking his gray head.
“𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘳… 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝘰𝘭𝘥-𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘳. 𝘕𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴, these young 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴… ”
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘑𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.”
Another man nodded sadly, crossing his arms.
“𝘏𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥 the 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵.”
“𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘒𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴.”
In another shadow-drenched corner of the crowded room 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗚𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀.
Garvit hadn’t spoken a single, solitary word since arriving at the household.
His fists were clenched so tightly by his sides that his sharp fingernails dug deeply into his palms, drawing tiny beads of blood.
His father noticed the rigid posture immediately.
Garvit’s breathing trembled as a cold sweat broke out across his neck.
“𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘯𝘰𝘵…?” he whispered painfully, his eyes locked on the white sheet across the room.
“𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳. 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮… 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.”
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.”
Garvit froze, his chest hitching.
His father gently reached out and pulled the young warrior closer against his chest.
Garvit’s mother quietly looked away toward the window, an overwhelming wave of deep maternal guilt filling her eyes.
For the very first time in many years, she genuinely 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿𝘀.
𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀, unlogged 𝗯𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲𝘀.
𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗺𝗲𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱.
She utterly hated the terrifying fact that her own flesh and blood 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗿𝘂𝗲𝗹, unforgiving 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 where children died in dark forests.
Garvit’s father placed a heavy, reassuring hand firmly on his son’s trembling shoulder.
“𝘏𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 understand 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘯?”
Garvit slowly, miserably shook his head against his father’s coat.
“𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴… 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 life 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨.”
Garvit’s pale lips trembled violently as the weight of that truth crashed down on his soul.
“𝘋𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩,” his father continued softly, his voice a low anchor.
“𝘛𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘸 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦.”
Garvit looked down at the concrete floor silently, his vision blurring.
His father’s own steady voice almost broke as he looked around the grieving house.
“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦 truly 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦… 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.”
For a brief second, even his strong father struggled to catch his breath after uttering those heavy words.
Then, he gently patted the back of Garvit’s head, smoothing his messy hair.
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮… 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.”
In front of the main hall, several solemn neighborhood men began binding the thick 𝗯𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝘂𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿 with coarse ropes.
𝗦𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗹𝘆… 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆… with practiced reverence…
They lifted Jatin’s shroud-covered body onto the structure.
The very exact moment his mother saw them lifting him to carry him out the front door, 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝗸𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆, her screams piercing the quiet morning air.
“𝙅𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙉!! 𝙉𝙊! 𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝙊𝙉!! 𝘿𝙊𝙉’𝙏 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀 𝙃𝙄𝙈!!”
Several women rushed forward to hold her back as she tried to crawl after the stretcher.
The entire narrow street outside fell into an absolute, respectful silence as the small funeral procession began walking slowly toward the distant cremation ground.
Before following the footsteps of the others into the sunlight, Garvit’s father looked deep into his son’s red eyes one last time.
“𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯.”
“𝘐’𝘮 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶… 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰.”
He smiled sadly, a weary expression on his face.
“𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 combat 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳.”
“𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴, above all else, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.”
𝗦𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗟𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 — 𝗔𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗲𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗚𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱
Thick, white smoke slowly rose into the bleak, gray afternoon sky, carrying the scent of sandalwood and clarified butter.
The dry wood crackled sharply beneath the hungry orange flames of the open funeral pyre.
And with every passing second…
Jatin’s physical form disappeared further and further into a pile of gray ashes.
Some older men stood with folded hands in absolute silence, their faces grim under the heat of the fire.
Some younger boys wiped tears away quietly with the back of their sleeves, looking down at the river bank.
Others whispered the final prayers for the departure of a righteous soul.
Garvit leaned heavily against an old, knotted tree a short distance away from the gathering, staring blankly at the roaring burning pyre.
He hadn’t shifted his weight or moved a single muscle for over thirty minutes.
His eyes looked entirely dead, devoid of the spark that usually defined him.
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲…
A few local teenage boys standing near the edge of the grounds began whispering among themselves, casting casual glances toward the family.
Garvit normally would have ignored the shallow gossip of outsiders.
But 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 smothered, inappropriate 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 reached his enhanced senses through the crackling of the wood.
His eyes narrowed to razor-sharp slits.
Quietly, with a flick of his fingers behind his back, he cast a small, low-level listening spell to catch their conversation.
And the exact millisecond he heard the words leaving their lips—
A volcanic wave of pure, unfiltered rage exploded inside his chest.
“𝘋𝘪𝘥, 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱?”
“𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬.”
“𝘐𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘺 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙘𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙤𝙡.”
Garvit moved across the clearing before his rational mind could even realize what his muscles were doing.
He crossed the distance in a blur, grabbed the loudest boy roughly by his collar with both hands, and slammed him violently backward against a thick brick pillar.
“𝙒𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁𝙐𝘾𝙆 𝘿𝙄𝘿 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙎𝘼𝙔!?”
Everyone nearby turned their heads in absolute shock at the sudden outburst.
The boy’s face drained of color, his body trembling immediately under the terrifying pressure Garvit was unconsciously emitting.
“𝘉-𝘣𝘳𝘰… 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰… 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘵—”
Garvit didn’t let him finish.
He pulled him forward and punched him incredibly hard straight across the jaw.
The heavy physical blow sent the teenager crashing onto the gravel ground, his lip splitting open as he groaned.
The nearby adults quickly rushed forward to intervene.
“𝘎𝘈𝘙𝘝𝘐𝘛!” “𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘚!” “𝘈𝘙𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘊𝘙𝘈𝘡𝘠!?! 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭!”
Jatin’s grieving father stepped between them, grabbing Garvit’s tensed arm tightly with a surprisingly firm grip.
“𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘵! 𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦! 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨!? 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦.”
Garvit’s chest rose and fell violently as he gasped for air, his vision turning red.
“𝘜𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘨𝘰!”
He pointed a shaking, furious finger directly at the fallen boy who was scrambling backward in the dirt.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴! 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨!”
𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 in the immediate vicinity 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦 at the sheer intensity of his voice.
Even the loud sound of crying nearby seemed to grow quieter for a brief moment as the crowd watched the confrontation.
Garvit’s own father stood at a distance near the trees, watching the entire scene silently.
He didn’t step forward to interfere.
He didn’t try to stop his son’s violent outburst.
Because as a warrior, he knew…
Those exact words had been trapped like venom inside his son’s chest since yesterday afternoon.
Garvit looked down at the trembling teenagers with a deep, burning hatred shining in his wet eyes.
“𝘗𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬…”
Then, he turned his arm and pointed aggressively at the whispering crowd of locals.
“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦!”
His breaking voice shook with raw emotion.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭, 𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴!”
Everyone stared at him in stunned, uncomfortable silence.
“𝘑𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮! 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴! 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘥!”
“𝘏𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴!”
His eyes finally filled with large, heavy tears for the very first time that entire horrific day.
“𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 in 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴…”
His voice cracked completely under the emotional weight.
“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥… 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘺?”
Nobody answered his question.
Nobody could find a single word to counter the raw grief radiating from the boy.
Garvit slowly lowered his hand and turned his body back toward the bright, burning flames of the pyre.
The crackling fire reflected perfectly in his wet, sorrowful eyes.
And for the very first time since Jatin had collapsed in front of him—
He wept openly.
He didn’t cry like 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿 bound by duty.
He didn’t cry like 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲 who understood life and death.
He just cried like a simple, broken-hearted boy who had permanently lost his absolute best friend in the world.
He walked slowly back toward his father and hugged him tightly, hiding his face in his shoulder as his frame shook.
His father silently placed a comforting hand on the back of his head, closing his eyes against the smoke.
After a long, heavy moment of standing together, he asked softly,
“𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 now, 𝘴𝘰𝘯?”
Garvit stayed completely silent for several long seconds, watching the smoke drift away into the clouds.
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗹𝘆… with a final, deep breath…
He nodded his head against his father’s chest.
His father gave one final, deeply respectful bow toward Jatin’s remaining family members near the pyre.
𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿—
𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺.