The battlefield was a sea of flames. Warriors clashed, blood soaked the earth, and yet—**Arhaan stood still.**
His spear, dripping with crimson, hung loosely in his grip. The screams of the dying echoed in his ears, but his mind was elsewhere.
**Why am I fighting this war?**
For the first time, doubt crept into his heart.
But doubt was a dangerous thing. And Arhaan had learned long ago that questioning fate only led to suffering
The village of **Rohvas** was a place untouched by war. A place of peace, of laughter, of warm sunlight that bathed the fields in gold.
Arhaan was born there. He had a **mother who hummed lullabies at dusk** and a **father who taught him to fight, but only to protect.**
He had a little sister too.
**Mira.**
She was seven years younger, small and fragile, with big curious eyes that held the entire world in them.
"Arhaan!" she used to call out, **chasing after him through the fields.**
He would always slow down, letting her catch up, because no matter how strong he became, he **could never say no to Mira.**
**She was his everything.**
And then—**the flames came.**
It happened so fast.
One night, **the sky turned red.**
A warlord had descended upon Rohvas with his army, claiming the land in the name of conquest. **Their swords tore through homes, through flesh.**
Arhaan was only **fifteen** when he saw his father fall.
His mother's scream was swallowed by the sound of **roaring flames.**
And Mira—
**Mira was nowhere to be found.**
Arhaan **searched.**
He ran through the burning ruins, his lungs choking on smoke, his body covered in ash and blood.
But when he finally found her—
**She was already dying.**
A soldier's blade had run through her tiny body, and she lay crumpled on the ground, her small hands trembling.
Arhaan fell to his knees, **his hands shaking as he held her.**
**"Mira?"**
Her eyes fluttered open.
She smiled.
Even in her final moments, she smiled at him.
Her small fingers curled around his, weak but **still holding on.**
**"You're okay…"** she whispered. **"I'm glad…"**
**Then she closed her eyes.**
And she never opened them again.
Arhaan's scream tore through the night.
He didn't remember what happened after that.
He only remembered **rage.**
A hollow, soul-crushing rage that swallowed him whole.
He fought. He killed. He became something else entirely.
And then, when the battle was over—**he was alone.**
The warlord's army had taken everything from him.
And in the end, they left him to **die in the ruins of his home.**
For days, he wandered, starving, broken, half-dead.
Until **Vinay found him.**
A man with piercing eyes, standing tall above the wreckage.
"You should be dead," Vinay had said. **"Yet you're still standing."**
Arhaan said nothing.
Vinay studied him for a long time before speaking again.
**"The world is cruel."**
**"You already know that."**
**"But if you want power… if you want to never be weak again… follow me."**
Arhaan looked up at him.
There was **no kindness** in Vinay's gaze.
No warmth.
But there was **purpose.**
A reason to keep living.
And so, **he followed.**
Now, standing on the battlefield, **Arhaan felt that same emptiness.**
For years, he had fought at Vinay's side.
For years, he had carved through enemies, proving his worth, proving his strength.
But tonight, as he watched warriors die, **he felt nothing.**
No rage. No vengeance. No purpose.
He had become strong.
But was this the strength Mira would have wanted?
His grip on his spear **tightened.**
And for the first time in his life, **Arhaan questioned everything.**