Aaranya's POV
Okay. Real talk?
If Agnivar makes me faint one more time, I'm punching him. God or not. Fire deity or not. I swear on every spicy momo I've ever eaten—I'm done.
Apparently, being the "Flameborn" means getting yanked across dimensions like a magical ragdoll and waking up in random locations with zero GPS, zero snacks, and absolutely no say in the matter.
This time?
Mother Nature's fever dream.
Vines. Mist. Trees tall enough to bench press a skyscraper. Birds chirping in a language that sounded like judgment.
I stood up—grumbling, brushing leaves off places leaves should never touch—and looked around.
This forest? Not normal.
The trees weren't just tall. They were monsters. Ancient skyscrapers made of bark and attitude. Their trunks twisted like they'd been hand-braided by cosmic hairdressers. Leaves shimmered with bluish glow—moonlight, bottled and leafified.
Then one tree moved.
A thick, gnarled branch extended with a slow creak—like it was stretching. Like it had joints. Like it just woke up and wanted to flex.
My mouth dropped open.
"Woah. Okay. That's… definitely not an Earth-tree thing."
Another branch gently coiled around a nearby trunk and patted it.
"Are they hugging?"
I blinked.
"Am I watching tree cuddles? Seriously?"
I tilted my head.
"Okay… you know what? Fine. Stretchy trees. That's cool. I'm not gonna freak out. I've already been kidnapped by a fire god. Stretchy trees are practically normal at this point."
But I stared. Because the deeper I looked, the weirder it got.
The moss pulsed softly, glowing in rhythm with the wind. Tiny golden insects zipped past like cosmic glitter trails. And in the canopy? I swear I saw a flower blink.
Not open. Not close. Blink. With eyelids.
"Yeah," I said to no one. "This place is definitely on something."
I sighed. "Thanks again, Agnivar. Love being dumped in your magical wilderness without a map or a granola bar."
Something rustled behind me.
I spun. "Let me guess. A tree that talks in riddles and demands taxes?"
Nothing.
Just wind.
Okay. No flaming signs. No magical Siri whispering directions. Just me, stretchy-tree jungle, and whatever weird wildlife Aryavarta had cooking.
So, I did what any sensible modern girl in a mythic forest would do:
I started walking.
North. Always north.
"Because if Bear Grylls taught us anything, it's that north is the hero's direction. Or was it west? Whatever. North sounds more heroic."
I looked up, trying to find the sun. But instead of normal sunlight, I got leafy chaos and golden ink beams.
"Yup. Definitely north-ish."
I pointed vaguely and power-marched like I had a purpose. I didn't, but faking confidence is a valid life skill.
The forest buzzed. Not menacing, exactly—just curious.
Something chirped like a frog. Then coughed like a grandma.
A vine politely untangled and moved aside for me.
"Thanks, plant bro," I waved. "Appreciate the gesture."
Fifteen minutes in, I learned something important:
Magical forest or not, walking still sucked.
Boots—damp from flaming-library teleportation—squished with every step.
Hair: leaf-infested.
Legs: sore.
Stomach: a traitor.
"Can't believe Agnivar sent me here without snacks," I muttered. "Forget fire powers—I'd kill for a granola bar."
Then I heard it.
A low howl through the trees.
I froze.
Right. No more granola bar monologues.
Then: the slithering. Massive. Rhythmic.
Something scaled.
Something big.
Peeking through glowing ferns, I saw it.
A snake-dragon hybrid.
Wings like parasails. Tail long enough to strangle a football field.
Elegant. Deadly. Gliding like an apex nightmare.
I crouched. Held my breath. This was fine. I could be stealthy. I could—
GGGGGRRAUUUHHHHHHHHH.
My stomach.
My drama-loving, traitorous stomach.
The snake-dragon paused.
Its head turned.
And I, Flameborn of legends, stood in a bush hat while my digestive tract threw a rock concert.
I whispered, "Not now. I swear, if you get me eaten because you missed breakfast, I'll haunt you from the afterlife."
It blinked.
I blinked.
Then—IT. LUNGED.
"Oh no you don't!"
I screamed and bolted like the jungle owed me interest.
Branches whipped past. Hair flew. Legs moved faster than thoughts, which were busy yelling:
WHY IS THIS MY LIFE?!
I sprinted for the skinniest part of the forest. A narrow tree alley.
Normally, physics would say snake-dragons don't fit here.
But physics packed its bags when the tree yawned.
I glanced back.
Mistake.
The trees.
Were opening.
Clearing a path.
For it.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!"
I shrieked.
"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE NEUTRAL! YOU'RE TREES! THIS ISN'T YOUR FIGHT!"
They wiggled politely.
Shifted roots like red carpets for a jungle tyrant.
Apparently, even photosynthesis bows to apex predators.
"This jungle has no chill!" I gasped, diving into a cave crack built for dieting stick insects.
Shoulders scraped. Rocks slapped. Branches said, "Thanks for visiting—please die again!"
Behind me: the monster shrieked.
Frustrated.
Hungry.
Probably offended that I'd outwitted it with geometry and sheer panic.
Inside, the cave was black.
Not moody fairytale black.
Black.
I pressed forward, one hand grazing damp stone. Breaths shallow. Heart loud.
The air was warm. The silence, criminal.
Then I saw him.