Chapter 86: The Ripple of Death
The village had never been this silent. Even the wind, once lively among the trees, seemed to mourn. Smoke curled from the modest pyre built atop the hill where Percy's body now lay. Wrapped in white, his figure looked smaller, almost like a child at peace. Ariella's hands trembled as she placed a single blue lily atop his chest, her eyes rimmed red.
"He didn't deserve this," she whispered.
Elara stood beside her, unable to speak. Her heart burned with a strange ache—grief, guilt, and something else. Percy had been many things: a spy, a fighter, a boy lost in a world that used him. But in his final moments, he chose to protect them. That was what mattered now.
Around them, villagers gathered in small clusters, heads bowed. No one truly knew the truth behind Percy's role, only that he died trying to fend off the creature—Laxman. To them, he was a fallen hero.
"I wish I had told him I forgave him," Ariella said, her voice breaking.
"You did," Elara murmured. "You gave him peace when it mattered most."
They stood there long after the pyre burned down to embers, staring at the ashes as if waiting for answers. Only the wind responded, sweeping across the hillside with the faint scent of scorched herbs and ash. Even the birds refused to sing.
Below the hill, the village remained still. No one cheered, no one called. Life had resumed, but in muted tones—as if everyone feared that joy might invite tragedy again.
---
Far beyond the village, Laxman crawled through the darkness, his body scarred and cracked, ichor oozing from jagged wounds. He didn't head toward the shadow this time. He was ashamed, humiliated. No, he needed more than anger to win. He needed power.
The mud called to him—sticky, pulsing, alive. It whispered in the ancient tongue, welcoming him home. He knelt beside the pot, the source of his creation, and placed both hands upon its rim. The surface trembled as he muttered a chant from memory, a plea etched into the soul of every vessel born of the Master's hand.
"Strength… Give me strength."
The pot bubbled. Shadows rose like smoke, crawling along his body, knitting wounds with blackened threads. His eyes rolled back as visions surged into his mind—ancient beasts, forgotten incantations, and a fragment of a soul once sealed within the pot.
He screamed, not from pain, but from power.
A thick pulse of dark energy rippled out from the pot, sending a shockwave through the desolate earth. Bones buried beneath the soil stirred. The winds in the distant mountains shifted course. Something primal had been awakened.
---
Back in the village, time moved on, but healing did not come easily. Elara noticed it first—the way people looked at them. Not with hatred, not exactly. But with fear.
"They blame us," Ariella muttered as they walked through the market square. "They won't say it out loud, but I see it in their eyes."
"They're scared," Elara said. "They don't understand what we're becoming."
And truly, something was changing. The power within them pulsed stronger with each passing day. When Elara held a flame in her hand now, it danced to her will. When Ariella summoned wind, it no longer resisted her call. They didn't need the Guardians to guide them—they were forming something new.
The villagers avoided their gazes. Stalls grew quiet when they passed. Once, a little boy had dropped his apple and looked to Ariella with wide eyes—but his mother yanked him away before she could smile.
"Do you feel it?" Elara asked one night as they trained behind the waterfall. "When we fight together, it's like… our magic blends."
Ariella nodded. "I feel it too. Like we're two halves of one flame."
As if summoned by their thoughts, a soft glow bathed the forest. The Blue and White Queens stepped forward from the mist, their robes rippling with light.
"You have begun the awakening," the White Queen said, her voice ethereal.
"The True Dual Flame," added the Blue Queen. "A bond only formed once before—when the world teetered on the brink of ruin."
Elara's breath caught. "What does it mean?"
"It means your strength will soon rival that of kings and monsters," the Blue Queen said. "But only if your bond remains unbroken."
"And if it doesn't?" Ariella asked.
"The world burns again," came the solemn reply.
The girls exchanged a look—one of fear, one of fierce determination.
They trained harder that night, as if trying to outrun fate. The trees stood as silent sentinels, watching two sparks mold into a storm.
---
In the village, tension grew like a slow poison. Some villagers whispered behind closed doors. Words like "dangerous" and "unnatural" floated in hushed tones. But no one dared speak them aloud. The memory of Percy's death still haunted them, and so the fear festered in silence.
Children who once followed the girls in admiration now kept their distance. Mothers pulled them away, eyes wary. The village healer, an old woman with milky eyes, muttered blessings under her breath whenever the girls passed.
"Ignore it," Elara said, forcing a smile as they walked past the murmurs.
"I'm trying," Ariella replied. "But it's hard pretending we belong when they clearly think we don't."
Their only comfort was that no one dared confront them. Not yet.
They kept to themselves, often leaving before dawn to train deep in the woods. There, away from the stares and whispers, they rediscovered who they were—girls who once dreamed of adventures, now standing on the edge of war.
---
That night, red clouds bled across the sky like spilled paint. The wind carried whispers—words in a tongue older than memory. Birds vanished from the trees, and the animals of the forest fled toward the west.
Elara woke with a start, clutching her chest. Ariella sat up too, eyes wide.
"You felt it?" Elara asked.
Ariella nodded. "Something's coming."
The Queens appeared once more, their faces grim.
"The real battle draws near," the White Queen said. "And with it, the one who waits in the shadows."
"He has found a way to stretch his reach," added the Blue Queen. "And soon, you will face not one enemy, but a legion born of darkness."
"But we're not ready," Elara said, fists clenched.
"You must be," the White Queen said. "What you have lost is only the beginning. A great cleansing is coming, and your flame must be the beacon that lights the way."
The forest dimmed around them. The Queens faded like mist. Silence returned—but the air had changed. Heavy. Foreboding.
In the silence, Ariella reached for Elara's hand. "We'll face it together."
Elara nodded. "Together. Always."
---
At the edge of the world, Laxman rose from the mud anew. Taller. Stronger. Horns now crowned his head, and his skin shimmered with obsidian streaks. The pot had fed him not just strength, but purpose. The shadow's whispers echoed in his mind, but he no longer needed them to feel the hunger for war.
He stepped forward, the ground quaking beneath his feet.
"This time," he growled, "I burn everything."
Behind him, a storm began to form—black clouds spiraling like a beast's breath. The earth, once silent, groaned in protest.
And somewhere in the heart of the storm, the shadow smiled.