The air had shifted.
The attackers, bloodied and scattered, now stood still amidst the broken remains of the Brajin Temple. The veins that once gripped the stone walls like serpents had withered into smoke. The glow from the ancient runes was gone. In the center of the desecrated floor lay Tashina—her breathing slow, her form fully changed yet completely still.
Then came a voice—low, grim, heavy with finality.
"Let us flee."
The lead attacker, still breathing hard from battle, stared at the girl in silence. The others turned toward him, waiting.
"There is no use fighting anymore," he said, his voice hollowed by awe. "She is no longer an abomination."
Another stepped forward, hesitant. "But the Gods said—"
"The Gods were wrong," the leader snapped. "What stands here now is not a vessel… it is a rebirth."
One by one, without a word more, they vanished into the veil of smoke, leaving behind only their footprints and the scent of scorched failure.
Hatku knelt beside Tashina.
Her body was warm. Her pulse faint. But she was alive.
He lifted her gently into his arms. The floor beneath them cracked as if the temple itself exhaled one final breath. Slinging his sword across his back and securing what few supplies he could salvage, Hatku turned from the ruins without a glance behind.
They walked—no, he walked—through ash and forest, mountain and mire, for what felt like an eternity. Always moving. Always watching. Always carrying her.
Weeks passed. Tashina remained unconscious. And Hatku fought.
Every hunter drawn by the scent of blood.
Every beast stirred by the chaos still clinging to them.
Every cursed creature sent by the Universal Gods, desperate to end the girl who should not exist.
And each time Hatku defeated one, his flames grew brighter. Wilder. More alive. Powers began manifesting in ways he couldn't yet understand—his steps becoming lighter, his vision sharper, even his wounds healing faster than before.
And still… she didn't wake.
They made camp in a forested ravine one night—thick trees above, a small stream running nearby. The canopy was a shroud of safety. Hatku had caught three silver-scaled fish that afternoon and now sat beside the fire, feeding the flames with a touch of his green aura. The scent of roasted meat lifted into the night.
He looked over at her, lying wrapped in a thick blanket, lips pale, brow peaceful.
Until her fingers twitched.
Then her eyes.
He froze.
"Tashina?" he said.
Her eyes fluttered open.
"Hatku?" Her voice was dry. Weak. "What… happened?"
He dropped the skewer, scrambling to her side.
"You were unconscious," he said, unable to hide the relief in his voice.
"For how long?"
"Almost a month now."
She blinked hard. "A month…?"
He nodded. "Don't worry. We're far from the temple now. I've kept us safe."
She tried to sit, but he gently pressed her back down. "Easy. Don't push yourself."
There was a long silence. Wind brushed through the treetops above them. Somewhere in the distance, a creature howled—but it felt far, far away.
Hatku stood, moving back to the fire. He finished cooking, then returned with a plate of hot fish, freshly salted and carefully deboned. He knelt, offering it.
"You need to eat first. Then we'll talk."
She nodded, taking slow bites. She ate like someone unsure if they were allowed to feel human again.
When she was done, Hatku sat back, watching the flames. For a while, they said nothing.
Then he asked, "Tashina… I need to know. Back at the temple. How did you know those people?"
She looked at him.
The night cracked around them with the weight of the question.
And she began to speak.