The smoke swallowed Devadatta's raised hand.
"Father!"
Tez pushed forward, pulling Mira behind him.
Every step became harder as frightened villagers rushed in the opposite direction. Someone stumbled against him. Another cried for help. Burning beams crashed into the streets, forcing people to change direction again and again.
When the smoke finally cleared...
Devadatta was gone.
Only flames remained.
---
"Brother..."
Mira's voice trembled.
"Where is Mother?"
Tez swallowed the lump in his throat.
"We'll find her."
He had no idea where to begin.
They searched from house to house, calling her name.
"Mother!"
"Mother!"
Every reply was either silence or the crackling of burning timber.
Near the village well, Tez found Acharya Somdev helping an injured farmer whose leg had been trapped beneath a fallen cart.
"Acharya!"
The old teacher looked up.
His usually peaceful face was covered with ash.
"Tez... thank the Almighty you're alive."
"My mother... have you seen her?"
Somdev closed his eyes for a moment before answering.
"I saw her leading several children toward the western fields."
Hope returned to Tez's heart.
"And Father?"
The Acharya hesitated.
"He stayed behind... to help those who could not run."
Tez knew exactly what that meant.
His father would never abandon anyone.
Even if it cost him everything.
---
Holding Mira close, Tez hurried toward the western edge of the village.
The road that had once been lined with flowering neem trees was now covered in burning branches and shattered clay pots.
He recognized every home.
Or rather...
He recognized where every home had stood.
The potter's workshop was a mound of glowing embers.
The weaver's courtyard had collapsed inward.
The sweet shop where Mira had begged for sesame sweets every festival had vanished beneath smoke.
Suryanagari was disappearing before his eyes.
---
As they reached the old grain store, voices drifted through the haze.
The masked warriors.
Tez instinctively pulled Mira behind a broken stone wall.
"Stay quiet," he whispered.
The two warriors stood only a few paces away.
"The commander grows impatient."
"We've searched nearly every house."
"What if the elder hid it?"
"He couldn't have."
"The prophecy said the bearer would be a child."
The second man looked toward the burning village.
"Then find him before dawn."
"And if he resists?"
The first warrior's answer was cold.
"He must live."
"What about everyone else?"
The reply came without hesitation.
"They have already served their purpose."
The men walked away.
Tez remained frozen.
The bearer...
The child...
The prophecy...
His hand instinctively gripped the leather pouch beneath his tunic.
His father had known.
Perhaps not everything...
But enough to entrust him with something worth dying for.
---
A cry pierced the night.
"Help!"
Without thinking, Tez ran toward the voice.
An elderly woman was trapped beneath a collapsed wooden beam while flames crept steadily closer.
"Brother!" Mira cried.
"It's dangerous!"
"I know."
Tez planted his feet and pushed against the burning timber.
It refused to move.
Again he pushed.
His hands blistered from the heat.
His muscles screamed.
"Please..." the woman whispered weakly.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Tez gave one final desperate effort.
The beam shifted.
Only a little.
Enough.
The woman crawled free.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes.
"Your father would be proud."
Before Tez could answer, another explosion sent sparks raining through the air.
The woman disappeared into the smoke with other fleeing villagers.
Tez looked at his burned hands.
Pain no longer mattered.
---
"Brother..."
Mira suddenly pointed toward the temple.
"The fire..."
The great temple, once the spiritual heart of Suryanagari, had almost completely collapsed.
Only one stone pillar still stood.
Beside it...
A lone figure fought against three masked warriors.
Devadatta.
Though wounded, he stood firm, armed only with a village spear.
He struck not with hatred...
But with determination.
Each movement created enough space for frightened villagers to escape behind him.
He was not trying to win.
He was buying time.
"Father!"
Tez shouted.
Devadatta turned.
For a brief moment, their eyes met across the burning square.
Relief washed across his soot-covered face.
He had found his son alive.
Then he saw Mira.
He smiled.
It was the same gentle smile he had worn while planting the young sapling only two days before.
Without words, he pointed toward the western forest.
Go.
Tez shook his head.
"No!"
He started forward.
A collapsing wall crashed between them.
Flames erupted.
Smoke rose like a curtain.
When it cleared...
The three masked warriors still stood.
Devadatta was nowhere to be seen.
"Father!"
His voice echoed unanswered.
---
The night seemed endless.
Tez searched until his legs could carry him no farther.
He searched the temple ruins.
The riverbank.
The village square.
Every familiar corner of Suryanagari had become a place of loss.
At dawn...
The fire finally began to die.
Smoke drifted lazily through silent streets.
No songs.
No bells.
No laughter.
Only ash.
Grey ash covered everything.
It settled upon broken homes, scorched trees, abandoned toys, and shattered clay lamps.
The Festival of Gratitude had ended in a funeral no one had prepared for.
Tez slowly walked toward the hill behind his home.
The same hill where, only the previous evening, his father had spoken of measuring strength not by what a person possessed...
But by what remained after everything else had been taken away.
Now...
The truth of those words stood before him.
Nothing remained.
His home had collapsed into blackened ruins.
The young sapling beside the field still stood.
Its leaves were singed.
Its trunk was scarred.
Yet it remained rooted.
Tez fell to his knees.
The leather pouch slipped from beneath his tunic into his trembling hands.
For the first time since receiving it...
He wept.
Not the quiet tears of sadness.
The broken cries of a child whose world had vanished.
"I couldn't protect them..."
His voice cracked.
"I'm sorry, Father..."
The wind carried his words across the silent fields.
No answer came.
---
Hours passed.
The sun rose higher.
Most survivors had already fled toward neighboring villages.
Tez no longer cared where he was.
He simply sat among the ashes.
Exhaustion slowly overcame him.
His vision blurred.
Then...
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
Unhurried.
An elderly man wearing simple saffron robes emerged through the morning mist.
His beard was white.
His eyes held the calm of someone who had spent a lifetime seeking truth rather than comfort.
Tez recognized him.
The wandering monk from the festival.
The one who had said,
"You carry many questions."
The old sage stopped a few feet away.
His gaze rested not on Tez...
But on the leather pouch lying in the boy's hand.
For the first time, surprise crossed the old man's face.
"So..."
he whispered.
"The flame still lives."
Tez tried to stand.
His strength failed.
"Who... are you?"
The sage knelt beside him.
"My name is of little importance."
He gently wrapped the pouch in a clean piece of cloth before placing it safely inside his own shoulder bag.
"Right now, only one thing matters."
"What?"
"That you survive."
The old man looked back toward the ruins of Suryanagari.
His expression became grave.
"They came much sooner than I feared."
"You know them?"
"I know why they came."
Tez struggled to understand.
"My family..."
The words caught in his throat.
The sage rested a compassionate hand on the boy's shoulder.
"I know."
The grief that Tez had held back all morning finally overwhelmed him.
Darkness crept across his vision.
His body gave way.
Before he struck the ground, the old sage caught him.
Lifting the unconscious boy into his arms, he turned toward the ancient forest.
Without looking back, he began walking into the morning mist.
Behind them...
Suryanagari smoldered beneath the rising sun.
Before them...
An unknown path awaited.
And hidden safely within the worn leather pouch rested a secret powerful enough to ignite kingdoms - or destroy them.