The temple ruins stood quiet, half-swallowed by the jungle. Vines choked the broken stone. Statues of forgotten gods stared with hollow eyes. The wind whispered through the air like a prayer long abandoned.
And then—
He walked in.
White hair. Eyes like molten silver. Skin dusted in light brown, scarred at the knuckles. He moved like a shadow that chose to take shape.
No name. No origin.
Only fire.
He stood before the cracked altar of Agni, the Fire God. The air pulsed, heavy with energy. A faded inscription glowed faintly:
"Those who carry the spark shall burn the world, or save it."
The boy scoffed.
"I didn't come to save anything."
He held up his hand—and the air around him shimmered. Flames rose without fuel, curling like cobras around his arm.
But this was no ordinary fire.
It was Tejas—sacred energy of the gods. And it had chosen him.
Suddenly, a growl broke the silence.
From the dark came a creature: six-armed, horned, its eyes glowing red with demonic hunger.
Rakshasa.
The boy cracked his neck.
"You're in my way."
The demon charged.
He didn't move—until the last second. Then, like lightning summoned by Indra himself, his fist exploded forward, wreathed in golden fire.
The Rakshasa screamed as divine flames ripped through it, turning its body to ash in a heartbeat.
He stood over the ashes, unfazed.
From the shadows, a voice spoke:
"You carry the power of Agni... Who are you?"
He turned, eyes cold.
"I'm no one," he said. "But I'll burn down everything that gets in my way."
[To be continued…]