Yani walked home at an unhurried pace.
Her posture was relaxed, steps measured, expression calm—just another noble daughter returning from an evening out.
She knew the royal spies were watching.
They always were.
Any sign of alarm would invite questions she didn’t want asked.
But beneath that practiced composure, something felt wrong.
The air thickened as she neared the old stone bridge spanning the narrow river stream.
Her joints ached suddenly, sharp and unnatural, as though the ground itself had tightened around her bones.
She reached instinctively for her dagger.
Her fingers slipped.
The world tilted.
Yani fell hard against the earth, breath knocked from her lungs.
Before she could rise, the weight returned—heavy, absolute—pinning her in place.
Cursed land.
The realization came instantly.
Black Sage territory magic.
Once caught, the body obeyed the land, not the will.
Yani went still.
Panic would only hasten unconsciousness.
She sensed movement approaching.
A presence.
Close now.
She did not turn her head.
Did not breathe any deeper than necessary.
A hand reached toward her shoulder.
The ground erupted.
Red ants surged from the soil in a violent tide, crawling up the assailant’s leg, biting, swarming, overwhelming flesh and nerve alike.
A scream tore through the night.
The pressure on Yani vanished.
She rolled aside, gasping, forcing her limbs to obey again.
Mob hypnosis.
Directing the nearest living consciousness into a single command, she made her move quietly.
Yani quickly activated her crystal pendant, a blood relic once belonging to a Chandra clan elder.
Her grandmother had been gifted the pendant when she was young, after saving a Chandra noble during one of her early missions.
Yani had inherited it from her grandmother after awakening her elemental base.
She snatched her dagger and ran.
She didn’t get far.
The shadows beneath her feet thickened, rising like liquid darkness.
Black, writhing tendrils coiled around her ankles, her wrists, her throat.
They tightened once—and the world went dark.
Fire crackled in the deep forest.
Five figures sat in a loose circle around a sacrificial flame, its unnatural glow casting long, distorted shadows across the trees.
Symbols were etched into the ground—old, precise, and wrong.
At the centre lay Yani, unconscious, bound, placed carefully within the markings.
The leader of the Black Sage rose to his feet, chanting under his breath.
His voice was thin, reverent, dangerous.
He lifted his gaze toward the sky, invoking something that did not answer prayers—only bargains.
An axe formed in his grasp, blackened and heavy with intent.
The others joined the chant, each voice weaving into the next.
Willing themselves into the ritual.
Willing themselves into reward.
Yani stirred.
Awareness returned slowly, painfully.
The smell of smoke.
The heat of the fire.
The weight of restraints.
When her eyes opened fully, she saw the axe raised above her and understood.
She tried to scream.
Nothing came out.
Her senses reached outward—seeking insects, animals, anything living nearby.
Nothing answered.
The Black Sages laughed softly as she struggled.
“You’re inside the circle,” one of them said.
“No magic answers here but ours.”
The leader lifted the axe.
A stone struck his wrist.
The axe clattered to the ground.
Silence snapped across the clearing.
From the shadows stepped an average-height, lean figure—moving with a predator’s economy.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t hesitate.
Just appeared where no one had been a moment before.
His black eyes calmly observed the clearing.
Yani’s eyes widened.
Don’t step onto the ground, she sent urgently through his mind.
Don’t stay in one place.
Keep moving—tree to tree.
He met her gaze for a fraction of a second and understood.
A Black Sage reacted instantly, summoning shadows that surged forward like claws.
The stranger leapt backward, springing into the trees with impossible speed.
He didn’t use magic.
Didn’t chant.
Didn’t hesitate.
He moved.
Two things, Yani sent quickly.
Destroy the circle.
It’s about ten to fifteen meters wide.
You can burn it from outside—or pull the leader out for five minutes.
Once it breaks, extinguish the fire.
Dark spirits materialized, crude and malformed, their movements jerky and unintelligent.
They hurled fire blindly, shrieking as they pursued him.
The stranger watched them for half a heartbeat.
Then he smiled.
He let them chase him.
Confused them.
Drew them wide.
Led them near the edge of the circle—and in a single fluid motion, landed just close enough to disrupt the markings before vaulting away again.
The barrage of fire hurled at him now destroyed the circle markings.
The ground shuddered.
The circle shattered.
The Black Sages recoiled in alarm.
The leader snarled and raised his arms.
Corpses nearby twitched, then rose, flesh hanging loose, eyes vacant.
Zombies lunged at the stranger, crashing into him with inhuman strength.
He met them head-on.
Bone broke.
Limbs snapped.
Bodies fell—only to rise again.
The leader tried to cast cursed land beneath the stranger’s feet.
Too slow.
Shadow tentacles lashed out.
Missed.
Thirty seconds.
The stranger glanced at the fire.
He ran straight for it.
The leader shouted, lifting his hand again—but the stranger leapt into the flames, dragging the undead with him.
Fire roared.
Flesh burned.
The zombies collapsed, consumed by the ritual they were meant to serve.
Smoke billowed.
In the chaos, the stranger reached Yani, cut her bindings, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
He vaulted into the trees, vanishing before the Black Sages could recover.
They stopped on the far side of the bridge.
He set her down gently, untied the last of the restraints, and stepped back.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes,” Yani replied, breathless—but smiling.
“Thank you. Your strength and speed… which clan?” she asked.
“I don’t belong to any clan.”
“Then let me thank you properly—”
“I’ll take you to the bridge,” he interrupted coldly.
Yani blinked in slight amusement.
They crossed in silence.
“Go home,” he said.
“Before you find more trouble.”
She nodded.
He turned to leave.
“At least tell me your name,” she said.
He paused.
“Kairav.”
And then he was gone—swallowed by the dark.
When Yani reached home, her mother Kaushiki froze at the sight of her bruises.
Anshuman rushed forward, panic breaking his composure.
The household gathered as Yani recounted everything.
Her father, Sudas, clenched his fists.
“I’ll report this tomorrow.”
The head matriarch, Shakuntala, said nothing—only nodded once.
Later, alone in her room, Yani lay staring at the ceiling.
Her body ached.
Her mind did not rest.
And somewhere in the dark, the name Kairav lingered—quiet, steady, unforgettable.