Morning came with a pale light washing over Bhaktapur's rooftops, but Arya had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of storms tearing mountains apart and that glowing trident spinning through the clouds. Even now, as he walked the quiet backstreets, his palm burned faintly beneath his sleeve.
He pulled his hood lower and stuck to alleys where no one would notice the faint sparks that trailed from his fingertips. His stomach twisted with hunger, but he couldn't bring himself to steal again. The thought of another glowing relic turning his life upside down made his skin crawl.
"Just leave," he muttered to himself, kicking a loose stone. "Run far from here. None of this has to be my problem."
But fate had other plans.
From the corner of his eye, Arya caught a shadow slithering along the wall. He froze. The figure was too tall, too thin to be human, its limbs bending unnaturally as it crawled silently toward him. Before Arya could react, red eyes snapped open in the gloom.
The creature lunged.
Arya stumbled back, raising his arms in instinctive defense. Lightning erupted in a violent crack, slamming into the creature and throwing it across the alley. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, but the thing didn't stay down. It rose slowly, black claws scraping against stone, its distorted mouth curling into a smile too wide to belong to anything living.
"Found you…" it hissed, voice like gravel scraping metal.
Arya's chest tightened. This wasn't like the thug or even the strange storm—this was a nightmare come to life. The creature moved again, impossibly fast. Arya turned to run, but before the claws could strike, a blur of white and gold cut through the air.
A staff slammed into the creature's chest with a resounding crack, sending it crashing into the opposite wall. The alley filled with glowing prayer symbols that burned the demon's skin as it writhed and screeched.
Arya blinked in shock.
A young woman stood between him and the monster, barefoot on the cold stone, white robes fluttering despite the still morning air. A strip of cloth tied loosely around her eyes should have made her helpless, yet she moved with the grace of flowing water, her glowing white eyes faintly visible beneath the cloth. She spun her staff, divine light rippling along its length.
"Stay behind me," she said calmly, her voice steady and quiet yet carrying a weight that made Arya obey without question.
The creature snarled and lunged again, leaping high above the rooftops. Tara didn't flinch. With a fluid motion, she swung her staff upward, slamming it against the demon's jaw mid-leap. The crack of bone echoed down the alley as the creature hit the ground hard.
Prayer chants whispered from Tara's lips as glowing seals formed under her feet. The demon screeched as the light burned its shadowy body, smoke rising from its skin like mist under sunlight.
"What the hell is that thing?" Arya asked, his voice shaking as he pressed his back to the wall.
"A Rakshasa," Tara replied without turning her head. "A hunter sent from Narak to find you."
The demon roared, slashing wildly, claws sparking as they scraped against stone walls. Tara stepped aside effortlessly, spinning her staff like a cyclone, each strike landing with precision on joints and ribs. With every blow, the glowing seals tightened around the Rakshasa until it was pinned against the wall, shrieking in fury.
Tara raised her hand, whispering one final prayer. A burst of golden light exploded from her palm, striking the creature squarely in the chest. The Rakshasa let out an otherworldly howl as its body twisted and burned, dissolving into ash that scattered like smoke in the morning breeze.
Silence returned to the alley.
Arya stared at the young monk, wide-eyed and breathless. "You… you just—"
"Killed a hunter," Tara finished calmly, lowering her staff. She turned toward Arya, her glowing white eyes unsettling yet strangely soothing. "It won't be the last one they send."
Arya took a step back, fists clenched. "Who are you? And what do you mean 'find me'? I didn't do anything!"
Tara tilted her head slightly, as though listening to something distant. When she spoke, her voice was soft but carried a quiet certainty that froze Arya in place.
"You bear Rudra's mark," she said, gesturing toward his hidden palm. "The gods have chosen you. Whether you wish it or not, Narak has already begun to open. Demons will not stop until you are either taken… or destroyed."
Arya shook his head, heart pounding. "No. No, you've got the wrong person. I'm not—"
Before he could finish, thunder rumbled faintly in the sky though no storm clouds were present. The trident mark on his palm seared with pain, glowing faintly even through his hoodie.
Tara took a step closer, her presence oddly calm despite the chaos surrounding them. "You can deny it," she said softly, "but destiny doesn't wait for mortals to be ready."
Arya's breath caught in his throat. He didn't know who this monk was, why demons were hunting him, or what this "mark" truly meant—but deep inside, he knew one thing:
Life as he knew it was over.