The night on the mountain began in perfect stillness.
Stars glittered over the stone-walled village and the cold wind carried the faint smell of pine. Inside the temple Rajyugas had chosen for their lodging, the blue lamp burned without a flicker. Ansh, Ashwini, and Vijay slept like small bundles of blankets around the low hearth, Daav a glowing curl of embers beside Ansh's cheek.
A faint tremor broke the quiet.
At first it was soft—so soft Ansh twitched in his sleep and turned over. But a second pulse followed, heavier, rolling through the floor like a slow heartbeat. Daav's head snapped up, sparks flashing across his wings.
Chirr!
Ansh groaned awake, hair sticking up in spikes. "Daav? …earthquake?"
The stones beneath them shivered again.
Ashwini sat up sharply, eyes narrowing. "That's not the mountain," she whispered.
A horn bellowed somewhere outside—long, low, and full of warning. Another answered, then another, until the whole night seemed to hum with alarm. Shouts rang across the village streets, the clatter of doors and running feet growing louder.
Vijay blinked blearily. "What's happening?"
Before anyone could guess, a third tremor hit—strong enough to rattle the temple doors in their frames. Dust drifted from the ceiling beams.
They exchanged a single glance. No one spoke. Together they hurried out into the cold.
The square that had been so silent hours earlier boiled with motion.
Villagers rushed in every direction: some carrying torches, others hauling stones, rope, barrels of oil. Children were clutched tight in their mothers' arms, elders shouted instructions, and every face shone with the same raw fear.
"Why is everyone—?" Vijay began, but his words were drowned by another deep horn.
Ashwini caught the sleeve of a passing woman. "What's happening?"
The woman only shook her head wildly and ran on, voice cracking as she shouted for more timber to the gates.
Daav darted above the crowd, a streak of orange sparks. He shrieked once, sharply, and arrowed toward the high wall that ringed the village.
"Let's see," Ansh said, already sprinting after him.
They climbed the narrow stone stair to the battlements. Wind slapped their faces; the night beyond stretched wide and black.
And then the forest moved.
It began as a ripple, a strange rolling sway far down the mountainside. But the sway grew, thickened, until entire lines of trees seemed to step forward. Moonlight caught them and the truth slammed home: these were no trees.
Shapes of living wood—massive, crooked giants—tore themselves free of the soil. Roots coiled like snakes, shoulders as broad as watchtowers, eyes glowing green in hollow faces. Each slow step made the mountain shudder.
Ashwini's breath caught. "Mountain ents…" she whispered, voice almost lost to the wind.
Below, villagers scrambled to brace the outer gate with heavy beams. Spears and bows looked like children's toys against the vast shadows climbing toward them.
Another quake rolled through the ground. From the dark slope came the crack of boulders splitting, the groan of stone under impossible weight.
Ansh gripped the parapet, heart hammering. "There are… there are thousands."
The horn below blared again, urgent and panicked.
Men and women ran along the wall, tipping oil into troughs, lighting pitch in iron baskets. Children were hustled into the inner square. No one spared a glance for the three outsiders.
Ashwini's fingers tightened on the cold stone. "They're preparing for a siege," she said.
Vijay swallowed hard. "Can a wall even stop… that?"
Ansh felt Daav's talons press into his shoulder. The little bird's feathers burned a brighter red, sensing the same dread that tightened Ansh's stomach.
From far below came the first true roar—a sound like an ancient tree splitting down its center. It rolled up the mountainside and seemed to press against their hearts.
"They're coming," Ashwini said softly.
The first of the giants reached the lower cliffs. It climbed with horrifying ease, root-feet gripping sheer rock, every movement cracking stone. Others followed, an unending tide of towering silhouettes.
When the lead creature reached a ledge it swung an arm the size of a house. A distant barricade of logs exploded like twigs. Sparks of torchlight danced in the night as villagers cried out.
Another roar shook the air.
Ansh's hands clenched on the parapet until his knuckles burned. He wanted to run forward, to swing his sword, but the sheer size of the things stole his breath. They were taller than the temple, stronger than anything he had ever faced.
"They'll break through," Vijay said, voice barely a whisper.
Ashwini's eyes darted across the defenses, reading the frantic motions of the villagers. "They know it too," she murmured. "That's why they're rushing the inner wall."
More quakes hammered the fortress as the ents closed in. Stone chips rained from the ramparts.
A woman screamed below, calling for her child. Men shouted orders, their voices cracking as the ground buckled.
Ansh felt the vibration through his feet, a steady drumbeat of doom. Daav pressed closer to his neck, feathers flaring hot.
"Should we—?" Vijay started.
Ashwini shook her head quickly. "Not yet. We don't know what we're fighting."
The nearest ent stepped onto the outer path. Moonlight revealed bark like ancient armor, green eyes burning. It let out a groan that echoed off the cliffside, a sound so deep the stones beneath them thrummed.
The villagers loosed a volley of arrows. Shafts snapped against the creature's hide and fell uselessly into the dark.
Another quake. Another roar. More giants climbing, dozens at least.
Ansh's pulse pounded. His hand hovered near the sword Rajyugas had given him. He could almost hear the vice principal's stern voice: Understand the threat before you strike.
But every instinct screamed to act.
Down below, defenders dragged more oil to the gate. Sparks of fire danced as torches struck flint. Children wept in the arms of their parents. The fortress smelled of smoke and fear.
Daav hissed low, a sound Ansh had never heard before.
"They'll reach us soon," Ashwini whispered.
Vijay's jaw tightened. "Then what?"
No one answered.
The lead ent placed a root-foot against the inner wall. The stone groaned. Cracks spidered outward.
Villagers shrieked and pulled back. Horns blared in wild alarm.
For a heartbeat everything seemed to stop—the torches, the shouting, the wind itself.
Then the giant slammed its other foot down.
The wall shook like a struck drum, dust cascading in thick clouds. Children cried out. The air filled with the sharp tang of splintering stone.
Ansh staggered but caught himself on the parapet. His heart hammered so loud it drowned the world.
"They're testing the wall," Ashwini said, voice thin with awe and fear.
"And if it breaks?" Vijay asked.
No one needed to answer.
The mountain fortress was no longer a quiet mystery. It was a besieged island in a rising sea of living wood.
Ansh looked from the terrified villagers to the endless tide of ents and felt the weight of what lay ahead. The night had turned, and whatever came next would decide if anyone on the mountain saw another dawn.