Night wrapped the village like a living thing.
Deep within the southern forests, far from roads and reason, fire burned at the center of a clearing. Smoke climbed in slow, coiling spirals, thick with resin and ash. Drums beat in uneven rhythms, old and insistent, as men and women moved in circles around the flames. Their shadows stretched and broke against the trees, twisting into shapes that did not belong to them.
Bare feet struck the earth. Anklets rang. Voices rose in fractured chants, words repeated without full understanding.
At the heart of the clearing sat an old man in padmasana.
His beard was long and white, flowing like cooled ash over his chest. His hair fell freely to his shoulders, untouched by oil or time. His spine was straight, rigid as a carved idol. In his hands rested a darkened mala, each bead polished by decades of use.
Guru Ashcharya.
His lips moved slowly, shaping mantras meant for forces that predated language. He did not raise his voice. He did not hurry. The forest leaned inward to listen.
The fire responded.
The flames drew together, folding inward as if pulled by a hidden current. Heat thickened the air. Slowly, something took shape within the blaze.
A face emerged.
Horns curved outward from a burning skull. Eyes opened inside the fire, glowing with red hunger. A mouth stretched wide, splitting beyond human proportion.
An asura.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Some villagers stumbled back in fear. Others folded their hands instinctively, bowing to what they barely understood.
"Look at it," someone whispered. "It is dangerous."
"Guru Ashcharya is here," another replied, voice trembling with awe. "Nothing will harm us."
The chanting grew louder. Faster. Frenzied.
Ashcharya's eyes opened.
Brown. Cold. Measuring.
He looked at the fire-born creature without fear or reverence. Only judgment.
The asura's form flickered, unstable, its edges tearing like burning paper.
Ashcharya lifted one finger.
Silence fell.
The asura dissolved instantly, ripped apart into smoke. The fire collapsed back into its natural shape, crackling harmlessly.
Relief washed over the villagers. Believing themselves blessed, they resumed dancing, louder now, unaware of how close they had come to being consumed.
Ashcharya rose to his feet.
"Kashi," he called.
A young man pushed through the crowd. His face was sharp, his eyes restless, hunger simmering beneath restraint.
"Yes, Gurudev?" Kashi said, bowing deeply.
Ashcharya did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the dying embers.
"This is not good," Ashcharya said.
Kashi straightened. "What is wrong, Gurudev?"
"Our people are careless," Ashcharya replied. "They mistake spectacle for protection."
He lifted his staff in one hand and a small kalash in the other, then turned toward the jungle without another word.
Kashi followed immediately.
The drums faded behind them as trees swallowed the firelight. The air grew heavier. Insects fell silent as Ashcharya passed.
"It has been two decades," Ashcharya said as they walked. "Only two."
Kashi frowned. "But the signs are strong."
"Yes," Ashcharya replied. "Which means we are close."
They moved deeper into the forest, leaves crunching softly underfoot.
"What is my command?" Kashi asked.
Ashcharya stopped.
"Spread unrest," he said. "Disturb the flow. Pull at the edges of the Soul World. Make the Pathfinders chase echoes instead of truth."
Kashi inhaled sharply. "So they cannot find you."
Ashcharya turned just enough for his eyes to meet Kashi's.
"So they cannot find us."
From his bag, Ashcharya removed a small object wrapped in dark cloth. He closed his eyes and whispered something ancient. The forest seemed to tighten around them, as if listening.
He placed the object in Kashi's palm.
"This will help you."
The moment Kashi closed his fingers around it, pain tore through his body.
Hunger surged. Violent. Alien.
His breath staggered. Veins darkened beneath his skin. His pupils widened as images flooded his mind.
Souls. Warmth. Fear. Life slipping away.
Kashi turned slowly toward the clearing.
The villagers were still dancing.
Laughing.
Alive.
"Control it," Ashcharya said calmly. "Or it will consume you before it serves us."
Kashi swallowed hard and turned back.
Ashcharya was gone.
No footsteps. No sound. Only darkness where he had stood.
The forest closed in.
The object pulsed faintly in Kashi's hand, like a living heart.
Far away, the balance shifted.
The bus hissed as it came to a halt.
Dust rose as Avi stepped down onto unfamiliar ground. Chikodi. A quiet village in northern Karnataka, wrapped in heat and silence. The air felt heavier here, charged with something he could not see.
This was the farthest he had ever traveled.
His legs ached. His head throbbed.
"I am tired," Avi said. "I need proper rest."
Mira adjusted her bag and scanned the road calmly, as if waiting for something inevitable.
"I know someone here," she said. "He should be on the way."
Avi glanced at her. "Someone?"
She leaned closer, her voice barely audible.
"A hunter."
Avi's eyes widened.
The word settled heavily in his chest.
Before he could ask more, a figure emerged from the darkness ahead, walking toward them with unhurried steps.
Mira straightened.
"He is here," she said.
And Avi felt it instantly.
Whatever was coming did not walk like an ordinary man.