The Forbidden Element

The wind howled over the broken battleground as Surya and his team made their way down the ruined valley. The sunrise was weak, its light struggling to pierce through the mist that clung to the land like a memory of war.

Saria walked beside Surya, silent, her shoulder brushing against his occasionally. She kept glancing at him as if trying to say something, but every time she opened her mouth, she closed it again.

Kiran trudged ahead, hands stuffed in his pockets, whistling a lazy tune that didn't match the heavy mood. Rudra followed, his massive frame alert, eyes scanning the horizon like a hawk, wary of unseen threats.

The fight with Ravana had ended, but something heavier hung in the air — unfinished business.

Surya paused at the crest of a hill. He looked back at the ruined temple where Ravana had fallen. From here, it looked almost peaceful, as if centuries of evil hadn't just been torn apart hours ago.

Saria finally broke the silence.
"You made the right choice," she said, voice soft.

Surya didn't answer immediately. He watched a flock of birds scatter across the pale sky before speaking.
"I know. But mercy isn't the same as victory."

Kiran snorted. "You beat her so bad she turned back into a human. That's a win in my book."

Rudra grunted. "The Shadow Order won't see it that way. She was just a pawn. Now they know you're a threat."

Surya nodded. "They'll come after us harder now."
He clenched his fists, the faint trace of his golden aura sparking at his fingertips before vanishing.
"And next time, they won't send pawns."

Far behind them, hidden by the mist and broken stone, a figure watched. Cloaked in black, with silver eyes gleaming beneath the hood. A messenger. He knelt into the dirt and pressed his hand to the ground, the earth itself vibrating faintly under his touch.

Far away, in the Shadow Order's hidden stronghold, the leaders gathered.

Seven thrones, arranged in a circle of darkness. Six of them were filled — men and women whose faces were hidden behind elaborate masks of bone, metal, and shadow.

One throne remained empty, a silent reminder.

The masked leader at the highest seat leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"So... Ravana has fallen."
The voice was androgynous, smooth as silk, sharp as a dagger.

Another figure spoke, voice laced with amusement.
"By the boy from the Ashram of Disciples, no less."

The leader's mask shifted slightly, like a creature sniffing blood.
"Good. Let the kingdoms think they have won a victory."
A pause.
"And then we will crush their hope beneath our heel."

They turned their masked faces toward the messenger, who knelt in trembling submission.
"Begin the second phase," the leader commanded.
"Release... the Hallowed Ones."

The messenger's eyes widened in horror, but he nodded and disappeared into the shadows.

Back in the valley, Surya and his team found a ruined outpost — abandoned, but shelter nonetheless.

They set up camp.

As the small fire crackled to life, Kiran leaned back against a boulder.
"So," he said casually, tossing a pebble into the fire, "what's the next step, fearless leader?"

Surya poked the fire with a stick, watching the embers swirl upward.
"We rebuild. We train. We prepare."

Rudra cracked his knuckles.
"For what?"

Surya's eyes gleamed with something fierce, something unbreakable.
"For the war that's already begun."

In the far-off darkness, something ancient stirred — and the world, unknowingly, shifted toward a new era of chaos.

TO BE CONTINUED...