Ch 4 : The Realm of Simargl (Part-1)

Scene 1 : Gust over the embers

The portal churned with rippling bands of light, drawing them deeper into a tunnel of swirling energy. Ruslan’s scream echoed through the magical corridor—high and frantic—bouncing off unseen walls like a trapped cry. He clung tightly to Ostap, his small frame shaking. Avikarh held them both, his expression firm, jaw clenched. The dimensional current was wild—but his grip didn’t waver.

Danger wasn’t far behind.

From within the vortex, a gleaming blue blur surged after them, slipping through space like a liquid arrow.

Varunesh.

With eerie calm and perfect balance, he flew like a serpent through water—relentless, precise, and mindless, as if summoned by pure instinct.

The exit loomed ahead—not a doorway, but a rift opening into open air, high above the earth.

And then—gravity claimed them.

They were ejected mid-air, nearly fifty feet above ground, into a vast, blistering hollow beneath the crust of the earth. Wind screamed around them, dry and scorching, carrying with it the scent of sulfur and magic. The ether burned, and their bodies were cast into a descent, illuminated by the strange radiance of divine flames that floated midair like sacred stars.

Below, the ruins of a city lay scattered in rings and fractures—architecture hauntingly similar to Pskov, but cracked, sunken, and devoured by time. Pale embers danced in the air like fireflies, and hot springs hissed from fissures across the blackened rock.

“Aaaaahhh—we’re falling!” Ruslan yelled, nearly in tears.

The heat lashed across Avikarh’s skin like knives, but his gaze was fixed. He kept them close—willing ice to gather at his feet, shaping a smooth, glowing platform beneath his boots mid-air. The icy surface slowed their descent with a controlled slide, releasing a trail of steam behind it.

Behind them, Varunesh descended, limbs folded in, body gliding through the heavy air. Though the stifling heat dulled his power, he adapted—streaming jets of water hissed from his heels, launching him forward like a torpedo.

“Persistent little—” Avikarh muttered, tightening his arms around Ruslan and Ostap. He summoned spiked shards of ice from thin air, casting them over his shoulder to divert Varunesh’s path. The ice hissed and evaporated almost instantly from the heat, but not before forcing the pursuer to veer off.

“Look! There!” Ruslan shouted, pointing through the burning haze. “A landing spot!”

Below, a flat platform jutted from the edge of a ruined watchtower, surrounded by glowing springs and thick mist. Avikarh adjusted his descent and skidded across it, slamming to a stop with the boys still secure.

Varunesh landed a moment later, crashing down with coiled fury.

The ground here was alive—small ember-like spirits hovered near the hot springs, flickering red and orange, with hollow eyes and twitching motions.

“I think I know what those are,” Ruslan murmured, eyes wide. “Soot Imps. They’re mostly harmless… I think?”

“I don’t care what they are. We’ve got a bigger issue,” Avikarh snapped, stepping forward.

Varunesh, though clearly drained by the heat, showed no hesitation. His breathing was mechanical. He stood tall, expression blank, body responding only to the last command imprinted upon him.

The two circled each other like wolves, the cavern around them hissing and pulsing with unstable heat.

Avikarh’s shoulders tensed—his stance low, controlled, focused. A thin ring of frost encircled his boots despite the scorching ground.

Then, almost simultaneously, they launched.

Their fists collided in mid-air—but just as they moved to clash again, the wind shifted.

A sudden spiral of air erupted between them—a vortex, unnatural and precise.

A figure dropped from above with surgical timing, spinning through the steam before landing squarely between them. The dust and embers scattered around his silhouette, giving him the appearance of a phantom arriving from thin air.

He rose slowly.

A sleek aviator-style jacket hugged his frame, paired with tactical joggers and hybrid sneaker-boots. Around his neck, a scarf patterned with chess pieces fluttered faintly. Smart glasses with translucent glyphs shimmered over his eyes, casting light in the mist.

Avikarh shifted protectively in front of Ruslan and Ostap, his palms crackling with forming ice needles.

“Who is this now?” he muttered.

Varunesh didn’t hesitate. He lunged, foot arcing in a flying kick—but the stranger moved like a shadow in wind.

He caught the kick mid-air, pivoted, and hurled Varunesh over his shoulder.

The boy hit the ground with a burst of wind that stirred the Soot Imps into startled shrieks. Then, with a clean and powerful storm-laced punch, the stranger drove Varunesh back, sending him skidding across the hot stone.

The cap on Varunesh’s head was knocked away. It tumbled to the ground, and for a brief moment, the runic symbol glowed—then flickered—and vanished.

The stranger approached calmly, lifted Varunesh effortlessly over his shoulder, and turned toward Avikarh and the boys.

Avikarh didn’t lower his stance.

He could feel it—this stranger was strong. Not just in power, but in control. His movements were clean. Tactical. Nothing wasted.

Steam rose between them.

The newcomer said nothing. Just stood there, waiting. Observing.

And Avikarh, though still guarded, didn’t attack.

A silence lingered.

Not of threat—but of questions left hanging in the heated air of this ancient, scorched place.

And above them, high in the cavern’s cracks and shadows, the embers watched in silence, drifting slowly like forgotten stars.

Scene 2 : Dragon Sons

The steam curled softly between them as the stranger set Varunesh gently beside Ostap, brushing the ash from his own scarf. The faint rune on Varunesh’s cap had completely vanished—burnt out like a candle flame.

He turned toward the group, pushing his smart glasses higher up his nose as he spoke, his voice breezy but sincere.

“Hi,” he said with an easy smile. “I’m Vayudhir. You can call me Yudhir. I’m also one of the Dragon Sons… a Chosen of the Dragon Kings… like you and Varun.”

Avikarh didn’t shift his expression, but his posture relaxed slightly. He took a slow breath, the cold air around him shimmering subtly.

“So you know him,” Avikarh said, gesturing toward Varunesh. “And… looking at you, I assume you were following us. But before anything else—can we stabilize him? I don’t know what he’ll do when he wakes.”

Yudhir nodded calmly, walking over to Varunesh once more, placing two fingers on the boy’s temple.

“No worries,” he said. “The spell was in his cap. It’s broken now—he’s free. He shouldn’t lash out anymore. I met him about a month ago, back in Novgorod. He was already being watched.”

Avikarh folded his arms across his chest, still cautious.

“And how long have you been here?” he asked, tone even. “Have you met… any others?”

The pause in the sentence wasn’t missed.

His choice of words—not here, but been here—implied something deeper. Something Ruslan wasn’t supposed to hear. Avikarh glanced at the boy, who was watching them carefully, listening closely.

Yudhir caught the unspoken intent immediately. His voice shifted to a more casual tone as he played along.

“Yeah, um… roughly three months now, I’d say,” he replied smoothly. “And no—I haven’t met anyone else like us. Only Varun. But I did hear something… A rumor about a boy who carved a tunnel through a whole mountain, just to make a path for the wandering tribe of Oboren.”

Ruslan’s ears perked up, but his brows furrowed. Something about this conversation felt distant. Off. He trusted Avikarh deeply by now—but this talk wasn’t just strange… it was incomprehensible.

“Guys…” Ruslan said, blinking. “What language are you even talking in? I couldn’t understand a word. Is that your mother tongue or something?”

Avikarh's eyes widened ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized it. The words with Yudhir flowed so naturally—but they hadn’t been in the local tongue.

It was like… a veil lifted when speaking to someone like him. A native language from somewhere else. Somewhere Ruslan couldn’t reach.

Yudhir noticed the shift too.

He walked back over, slung an arm over Avikarh’s shoulder like a long-lost comrade, and gently turned him away from the group. Ruslan stayed behind, eyeing Varunesh suspiciously—but his ears strained toward the conversation.

Yudhir whispered, his tone quiet and level.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you keep our origin hidden from the kid.” He paused, eyes thoughtful beneath his glasses. “When I first arrived in this world, my Dragon King— Pavanindra, the Sovereign of the Skies—appeared in a vision. He told me to find the boy chosen by the Dragon God… and serve under his leadership.”

He glanced back at Ruslan.

“Varun’s case was similar. He was guided too. And watching you fight… you could’ve crushed him. But you didn’t.”

Avikarh’s expression didn’t change.

“I was trying to save him,” he said plainly. “And we’ll need each other… if we’re going to stop Emperor Drakuvor and escape this world.”

Yudhir smiled faintly. “Then let’s join hands.”

The two clasped forearms silently, a silent pact of two calm minds bound by purpose.

When they returned to the others, the air around them felt subtly different. Not warmer… not colder… but united.

Avikarh gave Ruslan a small nod, then gestured toward their new companions.

“So… welcome to the team, Yudhir and Varun.” His voice was steady, calm as always. “You already know what’s at stake—we’re searching for the Sacred Regalia of Pskov before the Mayor of Novgorod, Alexander, and his military commander, Gabriel, can get their hands on it.”

He glanced around at the ruined sanctuary, its steam swirling like breath in ancient lungs.

“I believe it’s hidden somewhere in this place… but be warned—this realm is guarded by one of the most sacred protectors in legend.”

“Simargl.”

The name echoed softly through the air, as if the cavern itself remembered it.

Ruslan gulped, looking around at the hot springs and ruined towers. “But how do we even move through this place? Everything looks like it wants to kill us.”

Yudhir gave a patient smile.

“That’s the spirit.”

The realm of flame hissed beneath their feet, soaked in dense, shimmering heat. Everywhere the eye wandered, geysers of steam surged upward like warning beacons. The ground cracked with warmth, riddled by veins of magma-light pulsing underneath the stone.

All around them, Soot Imps scurried in and out of fissures—small, ember-like beings giggling mischievously, leaving smoky trails wherever they zipped. Above, the cavern’s ceiling arched like the belly of a slumbering beast, its surface layered with red bioluminescent moss that pulsed faintly, as if breathing.

A long, distant howl—too deep to belong to any natural wolf—echoed through the volcanic grottos. It sent a tremor through the hot springs, distorting the reflections of the party in the boiling water.

Avikarh, carrying Ostap like a silent sentinel, peered ahead at a flickering glow—icy blue, dancing at the far end of the chamber.
“That blue light may be our clue,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the steaming haze. “Let’s go.”

Ruslan, despite his better judgment, glanced toward the light and hesitated.
“Are you sure? What if the guardian is there? We don’t even know what kind of challenges are waiting for us…”

He trembled, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him harder than the oppressive heat. His voice was quiet. Honest.

Yudhir stepped forward, resting a firm hand atop the boy’s head, tousling his sweat-soaked hair with a gentle grin.

“We have to head into the unknown, Ruslan,” he said with unwavering patience. “Don’t focus on the risks—focus on the reason. No risk is too great when the job must be done.”

Something in his words clicked. Ruslan took a breath, nodded, and puffed his chest. His pace grew more certain, more confident, as he took the lead.
Avikarh, trailing beside him, let out a small laugh—low and rare.

“By the way,” he said with a half-smile, “you all can just call me Avi. And I really hope we find the Regalia soon. This place… is giving me the creeps.”

The heat was beginning to gnaw at their stamina. Beads of sweat dripped from every pore. Their cloaks stuck to their backs, boots dragging through mineral-stained ground. Even Yudhir’s normally composed face was lined with exhaustion.

“I’m drenched,” he muttered, adjusting his scarf. “This is taking a toll on Ruslan’s body. We should rest somewhere soon.”

“Hey,” Avi pointed toward a nook carved into the stony perimeter of the cave, shadowed but dry. “That spot near the wall looks good. Let’s make camp there. I doubt any monsters will wander this close to the sulfur fumes... I hope.”

Ruslan groaned. “Thank the stars. I feel like I’ll pass out any second now… Haa… Haa…”

But just as they began moving toward the spot, a thunderous howl sliced through the air—

“FWOooOOOSH-WHOOooo!”

The springs trembled. The steam quaked. Ripples danced violently across the bubbling water.

Avi’s eyes darted ahead. Two massive, fiery wolves emerged from the far side of the hot spring, their manes flickering like wildfire, bodies nearly twice the size of a horse. Their eyes burned gold, and their breath scorched the stones beneath them.

Before anyone could react, a third flaming wolf lunged from behind with a flash of orange light—its jaws wide, a comet of fury crashing toward Yudhir and the unconscious Varun.

The beast struck.

Yudhir was thrown several meters through the air, spinning wildly. He twisted mid-flight, and with a blast of wind from his palms, arrested his fall just before smashing into the moss-covered wall. Stones cracked, but he landed, crouched, wind swirling at his feet.

But Varun…
His limp body was flung into a nearby hot spring—a surge of water erupted like an explosion, and he vanished beneath the boiling surface.

“VARUN!” Yudhir yelled, taking a step forward—but the fiery wolf blocked his path, baring its teeth, molten drool sizzling against the rocks.

Avi didn’t waste a second.

Still gripping Ruslan tightly, he spun around and skated across the ground on a trail of frost, narrowly dodging a lunging wolf. He dropped Ruslan safely behind a jagged stone column and faced the remaining two monsters.

“Stay there!” he said, his tone sharp but composed. “I’ll buy time.”

Slamming his foot into the scorched floor, Avi summoned a massive dome of translucent ice—a shimmering sphere that enveloped him and the attacking beasts. Fire licked its surface, steam billowing around it violently, but the ice held strong. For now.

Inside the dome, the firewolves snarled and battered the walls, relentless. Avi’s breath came steadily, his fingers dancing with frost as he tried to keep the structure intact.

Outside, Ruslan peeked from behind the rock, teeth clenched.
“I-is he going to be okay?”

Yudhir’s jaw was tight. “Avi can hold them... but Varun…”
He turned toward the spring, steam still billowing. The water rippled with no sign of movement.

“Hang on, brother,” Yudhir muttered, eyes flashing as he gathered the wind beneath his feet.
“I’m coming.”

Scene 3 : Fiery wolf's cry

Deep beneath the seething hot spring, Varun drifted downward, his body sinking in slow, dreamlike descent. The water around him boiled with blistering heat—but to him, it felt muted. His dormant magic stirred, an unconscious shield, calming the fury of the spring like a womb of stillness.

Above, the chaos of the waking world thundered—howls, splashes, muffled cries—but those sounds were swallowed in the quiet pressure around him. And then—it all faded, as if a veil had been drawn.

He was dreaming.

Not of the cavern. Not of battle. But of something... intimate. Long-buried.

He stood now on the tiled floor of a college swimming complex. The air smelled of chlorine and echoes, clean and sterile. The rippling water of the pool stretched out before him—blue, vast, and quietly threatening. A memory, sharpened by time.

There, by the far end of the pool, stood a boy—no older than ten, his frame slight, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to hold himself together. His eyes were fixed on the water, and in them—a tremor. Fear.

The boy’s expression was haunted. He hated the water. No—he feared it. The idea of submerging, of letting go, of floating in something that could swallow him whole—it filled him with dread.

And yet… he was there.

He stood at the edge because something pulled him forward, stronger than fear.

Varun watched him. The boy took a small step. His bare toes touched the edge. He trembled, hesitated, then sat down. Dipped his legs in.

He wanted to learn. That was stronger than his hate. He needed to conquer the fear.

But he couldn’t do it alone.

Varun walked forward in the dream, inching closer to the boy. The water rippled with anticipation. He reached out a hand—not to pull the boy in, but to say, “I’m here.”

The boy looked up. Their eyes met—fearful ones locking with eyes full of calm.

But before anything more could be said, the dream space shifted—the pool faded into a shadowy blur, replaced by a dim room lit only by the glow of a television screen.

The boy sat cross-legged on the floor now, transfixed. On the screen, a man—blurry but composed—stood tall. He was speaking passionately, though the sound was muffled, lost in the haze of memory. Still, Varun could feel the impact of the man’s speech like a drumbeat in his chest.

The boy’s eyes lit up. His back straightened. Something inside him changed.

And then, another shift.

Now the boy was in the water again—but different this time. Not trembling at the edge, but in the pool, mid-stroke. He was pushing himself across the water, every limb focused, every breath calculated. He was still learning, but no longer shackled by fear.

The pool’s echoes were now filled with cheers, not dread. Other students watched from the edge—some in admiration, others in awe. He had become someone who earned belief, even if he hadn’t believed in himself at the start.

Varun smiled. A quiet pride bloomed within. He remembered that boy now. Not as someone else—but as a reflection. A younger version of himself, long buried beneath courage, instinct, and years of growing up.

The ghostly boy turned back and smiled faintly. That same gentle pride mirrored on his ethereal face. A shared acknowledgment. Then, he faded.

The scene dissolved—water returning, darker this time.

Now, Varun was sinking again—but through deep, cold lake-water, silent and endless. There was no panic. No hesitation. Just stillness. He no longer feared drowning. He had faced it once—and rose above it.

Something stirred beneath the dark—a shape. Vast. Coiling. Regal.

From the gloom emerged a creature with shimmering scales that danced like cloudlight—deep blue, silver, the color of waves and sky combined. Its eyes met his, and Varun felt not terror, but kinship.

There was power in that gaze. Not brute strength—but ancient, elemental grace. The presence of something older than the world itself.

Then, a voice—not loud, but impossible to ignore—cut through the silence:

“Go, my son… Make me proud.”

It was faint through the water—but clear in his heart. As if the voice had always been there, waiting to be heard.

And just like that—

Varun stirred.

The cavern roared with chaos.

Avi was in the center of it all, calm yet burning with resolve. Around him, the ground erupted as towering ice shards speared upward—a fortress of glistening frost rising to hold the fiery tide. The dome of ice above shimmered with cracks, heat warping its surface as one fiery wolf launched blistering fireballs with relentless fury, and the second beast clawed and bit at the barriers like a beast possessed.

Sweat trickled down Avi’s brow, but his expression remained peaceful, composed. Devoid of wrath, he didn’t scream, didn’t rage—he simply endured. His hands glided through the air like a painter shaping the world around him.

“Hold the line…” he murmured, frost licking his arms as he pressed his palms to the ground, channeling power with unwavering poise.

Beside him, Ruslan, determined but visibly strained, floated his runic knife through the air. His eyes glowed faintly with magic as he telekinetically directed the blade like a serpent—dancing, slashing, trying to find weak points in the fire wolves’ assault.

“C’mon! One little scratch is enough… You guys really don’t like cooling off, huh?” he muttered, trying to force humor into his fear.

The knife arced around one wolf’s flank, slashed its hind leg—but the beast snarled, shook it off, and intensified its attacks. Ruslan’s hands trembled from the effort, his face pale with exhaustion.

Then—

A thunderous shockwave shook the air.

From afar, Yudhir had been hurled by a devastating fireball, his body flipping midair like a discarded puppet. He crashed against the mossy red wall with a grunt, leaving a scorched streak behind him.

But he stood.

Devoid of impatience, Yudhir rose with a steady breath, brushing ash from his jacket. His smart glasses flickered with tactical overlays as he eyed the fire beast now stalking toward him—its molten fangs dripping fire, its paws searing the earth.

“Now… I’ve measured your arrogance.”

He held out a palm.

A sphere the size of his hand began to form—a spinning orb of wind, tight and focused, laced with slicing gales and moisture from the surrounding steam. It whined softly like a sleeping storm.

“This is what waiting earns you.”

He launched it—precisely beneath the beast’s front legs.

The orb detonated.

A sphere of slicing wind and steam expanded in an instant—howling like banshees as razor-like air currents tore through the fire beast’s body. Water turned to vapor, flames extinguished with a violent hiss.

The creature gave a last, broken howl before disintegrating into cinders, lost to the storm.

Yudhir launched into the air, twisting as the shockwave chased him. His coat flared dramatically, eyes gleaming behind his glasses as he soared beyond the blast radius. He landed with finesse, boots skidding slightly.

“Finally, it is gone,” he said with a sharp breath, cracking his knuckles.
“My patience paid off.”

His eyes shifted toward the other two.

Avi’s defenses were cracking. The dome now shimmered with spiderweb fractures. The ice spikes were being overwhelmed. The fire wolves were pushing harder, sensing the weakness.

Ruslan was kneeling, gasping, clutching his head from the mental strain.

Yudhir clenched his fists.

“Hang on, you two…” he shouted, his voice cutting through the inferno.
“I AM COMING!!!”

And with that, he vanished into a blur—wind propelling him forward like a streaking gale, heading straight into the eye of fire.

The battlefield pulsed with volatile heat. Amid boiling vapors and crimson haze, Avi remained tranquil. He stood as if untouched by the chaos—a lone figure cloaked in frost, devoid of wrath, balancing power and clarity.

While the dome of ice protected them like a fragile shell, he raised jagged spikes of crystal ice with fluid grace. They shot through the ground, intercepting fireballs mid-flight and forcing the twin Volkazhars to retreat in snarling frustration.

Meanwhile, Ruslan, ever the thinker, had shifted his tactics.

He pulled out glowing magic beads, each pulsating with arcane symbols. With careful precision, he placed them around the dome’s perimeter. As the last bead clicked into place, the runes flashed—and the dome hardened, becoming reinforced with shimmering layers of protective energy.

“These are Volkazhars,” Ruslan muttered, eyes scanning the beasts.
“Servants of Simargl. If they’re here, it means Simargl knows we’ve entered his realm.”
“He wants us dead. We have to do something—quickly.”

Avi glanced at the structure with a nod of approval, his calm voice cutting through the noise.

“Yeah. We need to act fast.”
“Ruslan, boost your personal defenses. I’m dropping the dome. Brace for impact.”

“Okay, big bro,” Ruslan replied, breath sharp but steady.

With a practiced flick, Avi brought down the dome—the structure cracking like glass and evaporating into shimmering frost. Ruslan, already prepared, activated the same beads—this time forming them into a defensive bracelet. A glowing sigil circle flared around him, encasing him in a soft barrier of magical light.

But then—the battlefield shifted.

The two Volkazhars, mid-charge, froze. They turned sharply, their flaming eyes drawn toward the haunting death cry of their fallen companion—the one Yudhir had obliterated.

A soul-wrenching howl erupted from their throats, the very air distorting from their rage. The beasts twisted and coiled, their flaming bodies fusing together in a cyclone of crimson fire. The ground shook as a monstrous form took shape.

From the blaze emerged a single giant Volkazhar, twice the size of the others. Its body was made of dancing fire and molten hatred, its two crescent-shaped horns flaring like molten crescents. Eyes of pure revenge bore down upon the intruders.

Yudhir was dashing toward Avi and Ruslan, unaware of the monstrosity forming just ahead. He didn’t get a chance to react.

The giant Volkazhar moved with terrifying speed.

With a single blistering swipe of its massive paw, it struck Yudhir mid-air, sending him crashing across the battlefield like a ragdoll. His body slammed into the moss-covered wall, then slumped onto the ground, motionless—unconscious.

“YUDHIR!” Ruslan screamed, but his voice was drowned in the thunder of the beast’s next roar.

The creature wasn’t done. It turned, flame trailing from its maw like lava ready to erupt—charging toward Yudhir’s limp form to finish the kill.

A moment of stillness.

Then Avi moved.

His eyes narrowed—not with rage, but with a calm so sharp it could freeze hell itself.

“I won’t let you touch him.”

He knelt and pressed both palms to the searing hot ground. The water in the springs flashed to frost—solidifying around the Volkazhar’s legs in thick frozen shackles. The flames hissed violently, steam billowing as the beast roared and thrashed.

But the shackles weren’t enough.

With a furious twist of its monstrous form, the Volkazhar shattered the ice, molten fury dripping from its limbs. It lunged again.

Avi, already calculating, threw up a massive ice wall in front of Yudhir’s unconscious body—thick, reinforced, and wide as a fortress gate. The beast slammed into it, shaking the cavern with the impact, but the wall held.

Then came a new threat.

Fireballs. Dozens.

The Volkazhar launched them into the air, and they rained down like molten hailstones. Each one exploding on impact, filling the battlefield with blinding bursts of heat and smoke.

Avi spread his arms wide.

“Ruslan—stay down!”

From the air, he drew the surrounding steam and water and twisted it around himself like a cyclone. With a sudden flourish, he shaped it into a dome of jagged, overlapping ice petals—an armored lotus of frost, sheltering him and Ruslan from the firestorm above.

Each fireball that struck the dome sizzled and cracked, but failed to pierce it. Ruslan, crouched beneath the barrier, looked up at Avi in awe.

“You’re… insane, big bro…”

Avi didn’t respond. His gaze was locked forward, cool and unwavering.

“Let’s buy time... until Yudhir wakes up… or Varun rises.”

Outside the frozen dome, the greater Volkazhar stood, flames licking higher, the beast growing more furious, more primal.

And somewhere beneath the hot spring’s surface—ripples began to rise.

Scene 4 : The Lost Wraith

The battlefield had turned into a furnace of chaos.

Steam hissed like serpents. Flames twisted like spears. The Volkazhar’s roars made the cave tremble.

Ruslan, heart pounding, stared into the firestorm. Fear clawed at him—but he forced it down. He whispered a speed incantation, his fingers glowing with a faint electric blue, and dashed along the curving cave walls, dancing between exploding embers and falling debris.

The Greater Volkazhar locked eyes on him—eyes burning with ancestral vengeance.

It hurled another firebomb, but from the far side, Avi intercepted. With a graceful upward sweep, he summoned a barrage of ice javelins, shattering the projectile mid-air. Steam exploded with a deafening hiss, but Avi didn’t flinch—his expression composed, focused only on defense and timing.

Ruslan reached Yudhir, whose body was still limp. He fell to his knees, hands trembling, lifting him onto his back.

“Come on… you’re stronger than me,” he muttered, teeth clenched.
“You have to wake up…”

Then, a shift.

A tremble.

Ostap’s eyes snapped open.

At first, his gaze was unfocused—his monstrous, tree-like form still dominant. But within those glowing hollows, a flicker of human recognition returned.

He turned, his vision blurry—saw Avi, shielding them like a glacier in a volcano.

Then… he saw him.

“Rus…lan…”
“RUSLAN!!!”

The name ripped from his throat, raw and hoarse, like it had been buried in centuries of silence. His bark-covered body began to tremble violently. Vines burst from his limbs, writhing and twisting like living snakes, reaching toward the cave walls—and toward the others.

Avi turned, mid-strike, noticing the sudden awakening.

“Hey! You're awake?! Do you remember something? Look—there—that’s your brother!”

Ostap's mind was at war.

The man inside was clawing his way up through roots and rage. But his awakened instincts—wild, ancient, uncontrolled—lashed out without aim or mercy.

Suddenly, vines erupted from the ground and walls, snatching Avi mid-motion. He grunted, trying to twist free, but they pulled tighter and tighter, ensnaring his arms, legs, even his waist.

The last thing visible—his left hand, fingers still crackling with frost.

“Dammit… Ostap—control it! You’re not a beast!” Avi’s voice was muffled beneath the tangle.

But Ostap couldn’t stop.

He thrashed, screaming silently, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. His vines flailed—a storm of roots lashing without reason.

And the ice wall protecting Ruslan and Yudhir?
Cracks spidered across its surface.

The Greater Volkazhar was hammering it with relentless blows—each impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Cracks spread like lightning bolts—deep, jagged, and growing.

CRACK!
CRACK!
CRAAAAK!!!

Ruslan fell to his knees, the ground rumbling beneath him. He clutched Yudhir tighter, shielding his body with his own.

“What do I do… what do I do!?”
“Big bro Avi’s trapped… the wall’s breaking… Big bro Yudhir—wake up—please…”

His voice cracked.

His hands trembled.

The flames reflected in his tear-filled eyes. Everything was falling apart.

Avi, still bound in Ostap’s rampage, tried freezing the vines—but his powers were being drained fast. Frost formed, then shattered just as quickly under the pressure.

“Ostap…! Snap out of it!” he gasped.

But Ostap was lost—his human voice screaming inside a wooden cage, his will splintering like the wall behind Ruslan.

The Volkazhar’s molten claws raised for one final strike—ready to destroy the ice shield, Ruslan, and Yudhir in a single blow.

“NO!” Ruslan cried.

But there was no one left to defend them.

Just before the final blow descended, the entire cavern felt like it inhaled—

A strange stillness in the midst of fire.

The water in the hot spring began to swirl.

The Volkazhar let out a howl so piercing, so violent, that the entire cavern shuddered with the echo.

The ice wall exploded—shattering into a hundred jagged shards, sent flying like glass blades. Steam roared in from all sides, and with a heaving breath of rage, the beast raised both claws to the sky. Flames spiraled around them, coiling like serpents, forming an immense fireball, larger than any before. Its heat distorted the air, turning it into a mirage of death.

Then—it launched.

The fireball carved through the cavern like a falling sun, aimed straight for Ruslan and the unconscious Yudhir.

There was no time to run. No shield left. No strength remaining.

Ruslan shut his eyes, clutching Yudhir’s scorched robes.

But—

BOOOOM!!!

A sudden crash of water slammed into the fireball mid-air with the force of a crashing meteor. Steam exploded in all directions, flooding the cavern in mist and vapor. The intense heat clashed with the freezing surge—hissing, screaming, evaporating on contact.

From within the mist… something moved.

A shadow.

A silhouette.

Then, a thunderous ripple in the water.

From the pool of hot springs, a cluster of water serpents rose—fluid, elegant, glowing with bioluminescent veins. They coiled, slithered, and danced through the air, converging toward a single point.

And in their shade, emerging from the steam like a mythical figure of legend—

Varun.

Alive.

Awake.

Transformed.

Water coiled protectively around him like living armor. His body was soaked, but his aura radiated calm intensity—a deep ocean-blue glow crackled softly around him. His eyes burned—not with rage, but with clarity. With conviction.

“So… you tossed me into that hot pool of water ?”
His voice was calm.
Too calm.

The Volkazhar turned, sensing the danger—but too late.

Varun flicked his hand—and the water serpents struck. They lunged forward, coiling around the beast’s limbs like chains of the sea. The creature roared, trying to shake them off, but the bindings held tight, infused with Varun’s will.

Then Varun moved.

With a graceful turn of his palm, high-pressured jets of water blasted from the remaining serpents—cutting through flame like spears, hammering the beast’s shoulders and chest.

The Volkazhar staggered, snarling, then retaliated—hurling molten fireballs, three at a time, spiraling at Varun.

But he didn’t flinch.

He stepped forward, water swirling around him like a cloak, and inhaled deeply. The air around him chilled—his mana focusing inward.

Then—

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh!!!”
A dragon’s roar.

A tidal spiral of water surged from his mouth—a beam of raw pressure, infused with his mana. It smashed into the incoming fireballs, disintegrating them mid-air, and surged forward—unstoppable, monumental.

The beam hit the Volkazhar squarely, carving through its flaming body, tearing half of it away in a spray of molten embers and steam. The shockwave sent cracks spidering across the floor and caused even the walls of the cavern to quake.

Yet… the beast didn’t fall.

It stood, half-destroyed, its body dripping lava and scorched bone. But its eyes—

Its eyes burned brighter.

Its howl now was no longer a battle cry. It was a scream of vengeance.

It lunged, desperate, hateful.

But Varun stood tall.

Behind him, Ruslan’s mouth hung open—half in awe, half in disbelief. He stared at his friend, reborn, standing in front of a collapsed ice wall, wreathed in coiling water and the steam of defiance.

“He’s back… Varun’s back…!”
A smile broke across his lips—but so did the tension.
“But… he’s not done yet.”

He knew—this wasn’t over.
The **Volkazhar wouldn’t fall that easily.

But now, they had hope.

And hope had a name.

Ruslan:
“Yes… we can fight back. Now if I can just wake up Big Bro Yudhir… or else this flaming mutt will roast us alive!”

Ruslan scrambled, slapping Yudhir’s cheeks lightly and shaking his shoulders with urgency.
All around him, the battlefield roared with chaos—Varun clashing like a tidal god against the colossal Volkazhar. Water serpents darted like comets. Fire and steam curled into clouds.

But amidst it all, another battle raged—quieter, deadlier.

Avi.

His breaths were shallow now. The vines—thick as rope, bristling with thorns—were coiled around his limbs, his neck, his chest. They tightened with every second, thorns digging into skin, crushing bone.

Ostap, still trapped in his tree-beast form, had become a vessel of relentless fury.

But Avi… did not panic.

Even as blood trickled from the corners of his lips, even as darkness crept into the corners of his vision—his eyes remained still, glowing like frozen stars.

He closed them—once.

And then—

CRACK.

Ice exploded outward.

The vines around his right arm froze instantly, their green sheen turning brittle and white, veins of ice racing across their surface like lightning.

With a grunt, Avi ripped his arm free, shards of frozen bark flying.

His palm grasped the rest of the vines coiling his neck—and tore them apart.

Ostap stumbled back.

The monstrous figure that had seconds ago tried to strangle a man was now shaking, like a cornered animal.

But his face—

It wasn’t fear.

It was something… wrong.

Behind the trembling body… someone else was watching. Controlling.

And Avi saw it.

He stepped forward, his aura flaring, white and deathly cold.

Avi (low, glacial voice):
“I know you can see me. You’re not hiding anymore.”

Snow began to swirl around him, despite the searing heat of the battlefield.
His eyes locked with Ostap’s—but through them, he stared into the soul of the invader.

“I may seem as serene as snow…
…but never forget how fast I can become a blizzard.”

He raised his palm.

“Judging by that twitch in your puppet’s eye…
…my magic is hurting your real body, isn’t it?”

A sharp gust burst from Avi’s feet, sending shards of frost skittering across the ground.

“I’m giving you one chance. Release Ostap. Or face a storm you won’t survive.”

Ostap twitched, like a puppet having its strings yanked.

Then, with a screech of rage, the vines re-emerged from his back. He charged forward—but his legs froze in place. The ice was already there, creeping up like a rising tide.

Ostap:
“BOY… YOU DARE…!”

His voice had changed.

Deeper. Older.
A second presence, layered under Ostap’s own, now fought to hold control.

“YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING! YOU’LL PAY—ALL OF YOU WILL PAY!!”

Avi’s palm opened wide—and the ice surged.

Faster than sight, it enveloped Ostap in a cocoon of crystalline frost, silencing his vines, locking his rage in a prison of stillness. His body glimmered like a frozen statue under the broken sky.

But just before the final layer reached his mouth—

Ostap (possessed, shrieking):
“I WILL REMEMBER THIS, BOY!! YOU MESSED MY PLANS!
WHEN THIS BODY BREAKS FREE—
I’LL KILL YOU ALL!
I’LL KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS…
ESPECIALLY YOU… SUBZERO!!!”

The name echoed—laced with hatred, seared into memory.

Avi (calm, deadly whisper):
“Try it. I dare you.”

He stepped closer, placing a palm on the frozen surface, staring deep into Ostap’s still face, and the eyes of the puppet master behind him.

“You used Ostap like a toy…
Made Ruslan cry...
If you ever hurt my little brother again…
I swear to every god above—
I will shatter you into ice so fine, even the wind will forget your name.”

The cocoon sealed.

Silence returned.

Avi stood alone in the mist and ruin.

But something inside him twisted—a void he couldn’t fill.

He knew this feeling. The frustration.
The inability to feel true anger. To explode with wrath.

Something… or someone… had stolen it from him.

And yet, he did not scream. He could not.

Instead, he turned back toward the battlefield—eyes full of cold, his aura burning white like frostbitten flame.

“I’ll protect them… no matter what.”

The wind howled again—but this time, it sounded like a dragon’s breath over the snow.