Ravan, a being of terrifying power, wielded his strength with the cruelty of a tempest. He was a half-asura, half as terrifying as his full-blooded kin, yet all the more ruthless for the power he sought to prove. Ravan ruled with an iron fist, his generals—half-sons of other great asuras—each a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. The land trembled under his dominion, and so too did his household.

Rudra's mother had been a slave to his father's wrath, her spirit broken by years of abuse. Rudra, too, had been shaped by his father's hand—not with love, but with a harshness that sought to grind him into something more. Yet, Ravan found his son lacking, for Rudra was not as strong as his brothers, not as fierce or as cruel. He lacked the fire of the asura bloodline, or so Ravan believed.

But Rudra carried within him a different kind of strength, one not forged in the fires of brutality but born of endurance. Each beating, each harsh word from his father, had become a stone in the foundation of his resolve. It was a strength hidden deep within, one that his father had never seen—could never see. And it was this strength that would carry Rudra beyond the walls of his father's kingdom, into the unknown lands where the devas and asuras waged their eternal war.

The night was silent as Rudra stood on the edge of the palace courtyard, staring out at the endless horizon. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of smoke and blood from the distant battlefields. Rudra knew that somewhere out there, the sons of devas and asuras clashed, their battles echoing the struggles of their divine parents. He wondered if his path would lead him to those battles, if the blood that flowed in his veins would draw him to the same destiny.

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder, and Rudra turned to see his mother standing beside him, her face lined with the weariness of a life spent in fear. Her eyes, however, still held a spark of the love she had for her son, a love that had never dimmed despite the darkness that surrounded them.

"One day, you will leave this place," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "And when you do, you must remember that you are more than what your father says. You are strong, Rudra. Stronger than you know."

Rudra looked into his mother's eyes, and for a moment, the weight of his lineage, the burden of his blood, seemed to lift. In that moment, he was not the son of Ravan, not the grandson of Vritra. He was simply Rudra, a boy on the cusp of a destiny he could not yet fathom.

But the night was long, and the road ahead was longer still. The war between the devas and asuras raged on, and Rudra knew that it would soon call him, as it had called so many before him. The winds of war were stirring, and they would carry him far from the life he had known, into a world where the line between good and evil, right and wrong, was as blurred as the horizon before him.

And so, as the first light of dawn began to creep over the edge of the world, Rudra took his first step toward that unknown destiny, the echoes of his mother's words following him into the darkness.

Rudra wandered into the jungle, the dense undergrowth swallowing him as he pushed deeper into the wild. His mother’s warnings echoed in his mind, but the pull of the forest was stronger. It offered him a reprieve, a place where the suffocating presence of his father could not reach him. The air was thick with the scent of earth and leaves, and the shadows between the trees danced in the fading light, creating a maze of shifting shapes.

The deeper Rudra went, the quieter it became. The usual sounds of the palace—the clamor of armor, the barked orders of soldiers, and the distant roars of his father’s rage—were replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird. Here, in the heart of the jungle, the world seemed to slow, the very air thickening with an ancient power.

He came to a small clearing, where the sunlight streamed through the canopy above, casting golden beams onto the ground. It was in this clearing that Rudra froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Lounging beneath a massive tree, surrounded by tigers, was a man—an old sage, his hair long and white, his robes simple and worn.

The tigers—massive, powerful creatures—were curled around the sage, their heads resting on his lap as though he were an old friend. They regarded Rudra with a disinterested gaze, their amber eyes half-closed. The sage, however, opened his eyes fully and looked directly at Rudra, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Come closer, child,” the sage called out, his voice deep and resonant, yet oddly soothing. Rudra hesitated, glancing at the tigers who seemed far too relaxed for the presence of a stranger, especially a boy. “Do not fear, they will not harm you. The forest knows those who walk with good intent.”

Cautiously, Rudra stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the tigers as he approached the sage. When he was close enough, the sage gestured for him to sit on a rock nearby, and Rudra did so, feeling strangely at ease despite the wild beasts lounging just a few feet away.

“What brings you so deep into the forest, young one?” the sage asked, his eyes twinkling with a knowing light.

Rudra looked down at his hands, his fingers picking at the hem of his tunic. “I needed to get away,” he said quietly. “From my father.”

The sage nodded as though this was no surprise. “The forest offers solace to those who seek it. But it also offers danger. Your mother, I think, warned you of the tigers that roam these woods?”

Rudra nodded, glancing again at the tigers surrounding the sage.

“Do not fear them,” the sage continued. “They are children of the jungle, just as you are a child of the world. They understand the natural order better than most men. It is why they rest here with me, for they recognize the will of the one who walks with the Destroyer.”

“The Destroyer?” Rudra asked, curiosity piqued.

“Shiva,” the sage said, his voice reverent as he spoke the name. “The Mahadev, the god among gods, who dances the dance of destruction and creation. He is the beginning and the end, the force that drives all things in this world.”

Rudra frowned, trying to make sense of the sage’s words. “I’ve heard of Shiva,” he admitted. “My father told me that Shiva and his brothers are the greatest of all beings. He speaks more about Vritra and the other asuras though.”

The sage’s smile widened, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Your father is a powerful man, and like all powerful men, he clings to what he knows. But there is a greater power in this world, one that transcends the petty struggles of devas and asuras. Shiva embodies that power. He is neither deva nor asura, but something beyond.”

Rudra felt a strange stirring in his chest, a sense of something vast and unknowable just beyond his grasp. He wanted to ask more, to understand this being that the sage spoke of, but the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, and the forest was growing darker by the minute.

The sage seemed to sense his unease. “You should return to your mother, child,” he said gently. “She will be worried. But remember what I have told you. The world is larger than the battles between gods. And you, Rudra, are meant for something more.”

Rudra blinked in surprise. “How do you know my name?”

The sage only smiled, his eyes gleaming with a mysterious light. “Go now,” he said, not answering the question. “And perhaps we shall meet again.”

With that, Rudra reluctantly stood and began to make his way back through the forest. As he walked, he felt the weight of the sage’s words settling into his mind, the name of Shiva lingering on his lips. By the time he emerged from the jungle, the stars had begun to twinkle in the sky, and his mother was waiting for him, her face filled with relief.

But even as she embraced him, her arms warm and comforting, Rudra’s thoughts were elsewhere. They were with the strange sage and the tigers, with the vastness of the world beyond the palace walls, and with the whisper of a destiny that seemed to call his name.

Rudra’s return from the jungle brought a sense of calm that was quickly shattered. The evening had fallen, casting long shadows across the palace, and Rudra felt the weight of the jungle’s mysteries still clinging to him. He walked into the courtyard, his mind swirling with thoughts of the strange sage and the vast world that lay beyond his father’s domain. The comforting embrace of his mother had grounded him, but as they stepped into their home, he noticed something was wrong.

The air inside was thick with tension, the kind that made his skin prickle with unease. His mother, usually so quick to sense his worries, suddenly tensed. She whispered his name, her voice trembling. Before Rudra could ask what was wrong, a door slammed open with a violent force, and Ravan stormed into the room, his eyes blazing with fury.

Rudra had seen his father angry before, but this was different—this was a rage born of something darker. His mother stepped in front of him, her body shielding him instinctively. Ravan’s gaze, however, was cold and merciless as it settled on her.

“So, you’ve been hiding him from me, haven’t you?” Ravan’s voice was a low growl, filled with contempt. “Coddling him, keeping him weak, while my other sons grow strong. I should have known you were filling his head with nonsense.”

“Ravan, please,” his mother pleaded, her voice cracking. “He is still your son—”

“Enough!” Ravan roared, cutting her off. His hand lashed out, faster than Rudra could react, and he struck her across the face. The sound echoed in the room, and Rudra’s heart stopped. His mother stumbled back, but she didn’t cry out. She only looked at Ravan with a mixture of sadness and defiance.

“He is not worthy of my name,” Ravan spat, his words like venom. “My other sons are stronger, more deserving. This one… he is weak. And it’s your fault.”

Rudra felt his blood run cold. The room seemed to close in on him, and the world slowed to a crawl as he watched his father, the tyrant, the monster who had made their lives a living hell, advance on his mother. She didn’t back down, didn’t move away. Instead, she turned to Rudra, her eyes filled with an urgency that made his heart ache.

“Run, Rudra,” she whispered, so quietly that only he could hear. “Run into the jungle. Don’t look back.”

Rudra shook his head, his body trembling with fear and anger. “Mother, no—”

“Run!” she shouted, pushing him back just as Ravan’s hand grabbed her throat. Rudra’s world shattered in that moment, watching in horror as his father’s grip tightened, lifting his mother off the ground as though she were nothing.

Ravan’s eyes, cold and unforgiving, met Rudra’s one last time. “She has made you weak,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion. “But no more. Guards!”

The palace guards, who had been lurking in the shadows, stepped forward at Ravan’s command. Their faces were stern, but there was something unreadable in their eyes as they watched their king murder his queen in front of her son.

Ravan squeezed, and with a sickening crack, Rudra’s mother went limp. Ravan let her body fall to the floor, lifeless, like a discarded doll. Rudra’s world blurred, and a scream of pure anguish tore from his throat as he lunged toward his father. But before he could reach him, the guards seized him, their strong hands pulling him back.

“Take him to the jungle,” Ravan ordered, his voice ice. “Let the tigers finish what she started.”

The guards hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at Rudra’s tear-streaked face. But Ravan’s glare made them move, dragging the struggling boy out of the palace. Rudra thrashed against them, screaming for his mother, his voice breaking with grief and rage. But they did not let go until they had reached the edge of the jungle.

There, at the boundary between the known and the wild, they shoved him forward. Rudra stumbled, falling to his knees in the dirt. The guards stood there, silent, as he struggled to his feet, his chest heaving with sobs.

One of the guards, the one who had been with Ravan the longest, looked at Rudra with something that almost resembled pity. “Go, boy,” he said quietly. “If you stay, he’ll kill you too.”

Rudra looked up at him, his vision blurred by tears. “He killed her,” he choked out. “He killed my mother.”

The guard didn’t respond. Instead, he exchanged a glance with the others, and they nodded in unison. “We’ll tell him you’re dead,” the guard said. “The jungle will take care of the rest.”

With that, they turned and left, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance. Rudra stood there, alone, on the brink of the jungle that had once offered him solace. But now, it was different. Now, it was the only place he could go, the only refuge from the nightmare that had become his life.

He took a step forward, then another, the trees swallowing him whole. The jungle seemed darker now, more foreboding, but Rudra didn’t care. He could still see his mother’s lifeless body, could still hear his father’s cold voice. And as he ran deeper into the jungle, away from everything he had ever known, his mind was filled with only one thought: revenge.

Rudra ran until his legs gave out beneath him, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The darkness of the jungle closed in around him, the trees towering like silent sentinels, indifferent to his pain. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a cruel reminder of the life that had been ripped away from him. The image of his mother’s lifeless body haunted him, the sound of her neck snapping echoing in his ears.

“Father!” Rudra screamed into the void, his voice breaking with each cry. “Father, why?”

There was no answer, only the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a night bird. He screamed again, and again, until his voice was hoarse, and his throat burned. His legs gave out, and he fell to the ground, his fists pounding the earth in a futile attempt to release the rage and grief that consumed him. He was a child, lost and broken, and all he could do was scream into the darkness, the pain in his heart too much to bear.

“Father,” he whimpered one last time, his voice barely more than a whisper, before the exhaustion finally claimed him.

He collapsed into the dirt, unconscious, his small body trembling from the remnants of his anguish. The jungle, alive with the sounds of the night, continued to breathe around him, its creatures going about their lives, unaware of the boy who had been cast out to die.

Somewhere in the darkness, a pair of golden eyes watched him. A tiger, sleek and powerful, emerged from the shadows, its massive paws making no sound as it approached the unconscious boy. It sniffed the air, its whiskers twitching as it caught the scent of sorrow and fear. The tiger circled Rudra, its gaze steady, assessing.

Then, as if coming to a decision, the tiger gently picked Rudra up by the scruff of his neck, just as it would a cub. With the boy hanging limply in its jaws, the tiger turned and padded silently through the jungle, the thick underbrush parting easily beneath its powerful stride.

After what seemed like an eternity, the tiger reached a small clearing. In the center, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock, was the sage Rudra had encountered earlier. The old man looked up from his meditation as the tiger approached, his expression serene, though his eyes softened when he saw the boy.

“Ah, so you’ve found your way back to me, little one,” the sage murmured, his voice a soothing balm in the stillness of the night. He rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, as the tiger gently laid Rudra at his feet.

The sage knelt beside Rudra, his hand resting lightly on the boy’s forehead. He closed his eyes, murmuring a soft prayer to Shiva, the Mahadev. The air around them seemed to grow warmer, the oppressive weight of grief lifting slightly as the sage’s presence enveloped the clearing.

“You’ve been through much, child,” the sage whispered. “But your journey is only just beginning.”

The tiger watched silently as the sage carefully lifted Rudra into his arms, carrying him to a small hut hidden among the trees. Inside, the sage laid him down on a simple mat, covering him with a rough-spun blanket. Rudra stirred slightly, a pained moan escaping his lips, but he did not wake.

The sage moved about the hut with practiced ease, preparing a small meal. He worked quickly, brewing a concoction of herbs and roots that would help soothe Rudra’s spirit, if only for a short while. When the meal was ready, the sage gently shook Rudra awake.

“Come, little one,” the sage said softly. “You must eat.”

Rudra’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze unfocused. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, and panic flared in his chest. But then he saw the sage’s kind face, the warmth in his eyes, and he remembered. The events of the day crashed back into his consciousness, and he felt the familiar ache of loss tighten around his heart.

But he was too exhausted, too numb to feel it fully. He sat up slowly, his body moving as if in a trance, and accepted the bowl of food the sage offered him. The meal was simple—grains, a bit of fruit, and the herbal concoction—but to Rudra, it might as well have been ash. He ate mechanically, the taste barely registering as he focused on the act of survival, the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

The sage watched him in silence, his expression unreadable. When Rudra finished, the old man took the bowl from him and set it aside. For a long moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the small fire and the distant call of the jungle’s nocturnal creatures.

“Rest now, Rudra,” the sage said finally, his voice a gentle command. “There will be time to speak of what has happened. For now, you must sleep.”

Rudra nodded, too drained to protest. He lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin. His mind was a storm of emotions—grief, anger, confusion—but the exhaustion was stronger. As he drifted off to sleep, the sage watched over him, the faintest hint of sadness in his eyes.

Outside the hut, the tiger curled up near the entrance, its golden eyes scanning the darkness. It would stand guard through the night, ensuring that no harm would come to the boy while he slept.

And so, under the watchful gaze of the tiger and the sage, Rudra slept, his dreams filled with shadows and the distant memory of a mother’s love, and a father’s betrayal.

Rudra woke with the dawn, the light filtering through the small gaps in the thatched roof. The jungle’s sounds had shifted with the rising sun, the nocturnal chorus giving way to the chatter of birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, he lay still, the memories of the previous day pressing down on him like a heavy weight. But there was no escaping the truth. His mother was dead. His father had done the unforgivable. And now, he was alone.

The sage was already awake, sitting cross-legged near the small fire that had burned through the night. He looked up as Rudra stirred, his gaze calm but piercing, as if he could see into the boy’s very soul. The tiger from the night before was nowhere in sight, but Rudra could sense its presence just beyond the trees.

“Good morning, Rudra,” the sage greeted him, his voice gentle but firm. “Come, sit by the fire. We have much to discuss.”

Rudra rose slowly, his body stiff from the previous day’s ordeal. He moved to sit across from the sage, the warmth of the fire offering some comfort against the chill in his heart. For a long moment, he said nothing, his thoughts tangled and dark.

“I…” Rudra’s voice cracked, and he had to swallow hard before he could continue. “My mother… he killed her. My father killed her.” The words came out in a choked whisper, the reality of it cutting through him like a knife. “She was everything to me… and he just—he just—”

The sage remained silent, letting the boy speak at his own pace. His expression was one of deep understanding, as if he had seen this kind of pain before, countless times.

“I want to kill him,” Rudra said, his voice trembling with anger. “I have to kill him. He deserves to die for what he did. He deserves to suffer.”

The sage nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “I see. And what will you do after you have killed him, Rudra? What will you become?”

Rudra stared at the sage, his anger flaring again. “What do you mean? He’s a monster! I have to avenge my mother!”

The sage’s eyes softened, though there was a hint of something deeper in them, something ancient and wise. “Vengeance is a powerful motivator, Rudra. But it can also consume you, turning you into something no better than the one you seek to destroy. You must ask yourself, what will remain of you once your vengeance is fulfilled?”

Rudra looked down at his hands, the fists clenched tightly in his lap. He didn’t know how to answer. All he knew was the pain, the rage that burned inside him like a wildfire. It was the only thing that kept him from collapsing under the weight of his grief.

“I don’t care,” Rudra muttered, his voice shaking. “I don’t care what happens to me. I just want him dead.”

The sage studied him for a long moment, then sighed softly. “I understand, Rudra. I truly do. But if you are to take this path, you must be prepared for the consequences. The journey you wish to undertake will not be easy. It will demand everything from you—your strength, your will, your very soul.”

Rudra looked up, his gaze determined despite the fear that lurked in the back of his mind. “I’m not afraid.”

The sage’s expression was unreadable. “Perhaps not now. But you will be.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “If you wish to kill your father, you will need to be stronger—far stronger than you are now. You are young, Rudra, and though you carry the blood of powerful asuras in your veins, you are not yet ready to face someone like him.”

Rudra’s eyes narrowed. “Then teach me. Train me so I can kill him.”

The sage’s gaze darkened, his eyes reflecting the depths of ancient knowledge. “The training I offer will push you beyond your limits, Rudra. It will break you down, body and mind, until there is nothing left but your raw will to survive. It will take ten years—ten years of grueling, relentless effort. And when it is over, you will not be the same boy who stands before me now.”

“Good,” Rudra said with a fierceness that surprised even him. “I don’t want to be the same. I want to be strong enough to destroy him.”

The sage nodded slowly, as if this was the answer he had been expecting. “Very well, Rudra. I will train you. But know this: the path you have chosen is fraught with danger, not only from those who would seek to stop you, but from within your own heart. You must never lose sight of who you are, or you risk becoming the very thing you despise.”

Rudra met the sage’s gaze, his jaw set with determination. “I won’t. I promise.”

The sage rose to his feet, his movements graceful and measured. “Then we begin today. There is no time to waste. If you truly wish to see this through, you must be prepared for the hardest years of your life.”

Rudra stood as well, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m ready.”

The sage gave him a small, knowing smile. “We shall see, Rudra. We shall see.”

And so, Rudra’s journey began, the path before him shrouded in shadow and uncertainty. But in his heart, there was only one goal, one purpose that drove him forward: the death of his father, the tyrant who had taken everything from him. The boy who stepped into the light of the rising sun was already beginning to fade, replaced by something darker, stronger—something that would stop at nothing to see justice done.

Rudra's days were filled with grueling toil from the moment he agreed to the sage's training. Every dawn, before the sun had fully risen, the boy was already on his feet, the weight of the world on his small shoulders. The sage had said this was just the beginning, and Rudra was quickly finding out what that meant.

Each day started with running—endless, relentless running. Rudra's small legs pumped beneath him as he sprinted through the dense jungle, the ground uneven and treacherous beneath his feet. The sage had marked a path for him, a grueling stretch that wound through thick underbrush, up steep hills, and over rocky terrain. The tigers, silent and watchful, often ran alongside him, their sleek forms moving effortlessly through the jungle as Rudra struggled to keep up.

But it wasn't just the running. After each run, when his legs felt like they would give out, Rudra was made to lift. The weights were crude, made from heavy stones and thick branches, but they were enough to strain the muscles of his small frame. His arms burned as he lifted and lowered the makeshift weights over and over, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

By midday, his body was drenched in sweat, his muscles trembling with exhaustion. And yet, the sage’s calm, inscrutable gaze watched him always, the tigers lounging nearby as silent spectators to his struggle.

“I… I can’t,” Rudra gasped one day, his voice hoarse with fatigue. He dropped the weight he was lifting, his arms giving out as he slumped to the ground. “I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

The sage approached slowly, his presence a quiet force of its own. He knelt down beside the boy, his expression unreadable. “You’re only at the beginning, Rudra. If you cannot handle this, you are free to stop. I can take you to a village where you can live a normal life, far from this place, far from your past.”

Rudra’s breath hitched, the offer tempting him in his moment of weakness. The thought of escaping this hellish training, of finding a place where he could simply be a child again, tugged at him like a lifeline. But then, as he closed his eyes, the image of his mother’s lifeless body flashed before him, and the hatred he harbored for his father surged within him like a dark wave.

“No,” Rudra whispered, his voice shaky but resolute. He forced himself to sit up, though every muscle in his body protested. “No, I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”

The sage’s gaze softened, just a fraction. “Are you certain? This level of training is only the beginning, Rudra. It will only get harder from here.”

Rudra nodded, though his entire body ached with the effort. “I’m certain. I have to do this. I need to become strong enough to kill him.”

The sage regarded him for a long moment, then nodded once, satisfied with the boy’s determination. “Very well. But remember, Rudra, this path you have chosen is not just about strength. It is about endurance, both physical and mental. There will be times when you feel you cannot go on, when every part of you screams to stop. In those moments, you must find the will to continue.”

Rudra looked up at the sage, his eyes burning with the fire of his resolve. “I will.”

With that, the sage rose to his feet, his expression once again unreadable. “Then let us continue. The day is not yet over, and you have much to learn.”

Rudra struggled to his feet, his legs shaking beneath him, but he did not waver. The memory of his mother’s death and the burning desire for revenge were the fuel that kept him going, the fire that drove him forward even when every fiber of his being wanted to give up.

And so, the training continued. Day after day, Rudra pushed himself beyond his limits, each step bringing him closer to the strength he needed. But deep down, he knew the sage was right. This was only the beginning, and the hardest trials were yet to come.

The jungle was still dark when Rudra opened his eyes, the world around him silent save for the soft rustle of leaves in the pre-dawn breeze. His body, now a towering 6'5" of pure muscle, stretched languidly as he rose from his simple bedding. The early morning light barely filtered through the thick canopy above, casting the jungle in a dim, ethereal glow.

But as he stood, his thoughts returned to the image that had haunted him for a decade—his mother’s lifeless form, the blood, the cold, unfeeling eyes of his father. Every day for ten years, it had been the first thing to enter his mind upon waking, a painful reminder of why he endured the relentless training. The anger that followed was familiar now, a companion as constant as his own shadow. It fueled him, pushing him beyond his limits, keeping him on the path he had chosen so long ago.

With a sharp breath, Rudra shook off the memories and prepared himself for the day ahead. There was no room for hesitation. His training waited.

He moved silently through the dense jungle, his large frame navigating the underbrush with the ease of someone who had lived in the wild for years. The tigers, his companions and rivals, were already awake, their sleek bodies pacing at the edge of the clearing where they had trained together for so long.

With a nod to the sage, who observed from his usual spot, Rudra took his mark. The tigers crouched, muscles coiled in preparation for the race. And then, with a sudden burst of speed, they were off.

Rudra sprinted through the jungle, his long strides covering the uneven ground with effortless power. The tigers, though swift and agile, were no match for him now. In mere moments, he left them behind, their roars of frustration echoing through the trees. But Rudra did not slow, pushing himself harder and faster, the jungle blurring around him as he focused solely on the path ahead.

The race ended as it always did—with Rudra standing alone in the clearing, the tigers arriving moments later, panting but undeterred. He smiled faintly, acknowledging their effort with a respectful nod before moving on to the next part of his routine.

The lifting came next. Years ago, when he first began, the weights had been crude stones and logs, but now, Rudra’s strength had grown to the point where such objects were laughable. Instead, his training involved the tigers themselves, the largest and heaviest among them being his chosen weight. With a grunt of exertion, Rudra hoisted the massive tiger onto his shoulders, its powerful muscles tensing as it allowed itself to be lifted. His legs strained under the weight, but he held firm, squatting low before rising again, repeating the motion until his muscles burned with the effort.

After the strength training came the projectile dodging. The sage had set up a series of traps, crude but effective, designed to hurl stones and sharpened sticks at Rudra as he moved through the jungle. His reflexes, honed to a razor’s edge by years of practice, allowed him to dodge the projectiles with ease, his body twisting and turning with the grace of a predator.

The close combat training was next. The sage, despite his age, was a formidable opponent, his movements quick and precise as he and Rudra sparred in the clearing. Their battles had grown more intense over the years, with Rudra pushing himself harder and harder to keep up with the sage’s relentless attacks. The sage still held back, of course, but even now, it took all of Rudra’s skill to match him blow for blow.

When the physical training was done, Rudra joined the sage in their makeshift study, where he spent hours learning math, science, and the ancient teachings of yoga. The sage taught him to understand the world not just through his body, but through his mind as well. He delved into the mysteries of the Mahadev, the god of gods, learning the philosophies and truths that shaped the world of devas and asuras alike.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, Rudra’s day was far from over. But despite the exhausting routine, he felt stronger than ever, his body a temple of pure muscle and power. At 200 pounds of hardened flesh, he was a force to be reckoned with, a living weapon forged by the relentless training of the past decade.

But even with all his newfound strength and knowledge, the image of his mother’s corpse remained, fueling the fire within him. It was a fire that would not be quenched until his father, Ravan, paid for his crimes.

As he stood on the edge of the clearing, watching the jungle with eyes that had seen too much, Rudra knew that the day of reckoning was approaching. But he also knew that when it came, he would be ready. The sage had seen to that. He was no longer the frightened boy who had fled into the jungle ten years ago.

He was something much more.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the jungle in shades of deep indigo as Rudra prepared for bed. His muscles still thrummed with the exertion of the day's training, each movement a reminder of the strength and endurance he had cultivated over the years. As he lay down on his makeshift bedding, his thoughts turned to the sage's announcement earlier in the day. Tomorrow was to be his graduation day.

The sage had informed him with the same calm, measured tone that had been his constant companion throughout the years of rigorous training. "Tomorrow," the sage had said, his voice resonant with an authority that made even the tigers listen, "you will face me in a full fight. I will hold nothing back."

The words had filled Rudra with a potent mix of excitement and apprehension. The fight was not merely a test of his physical prowess; it was the final challenge, the culmination of a decade of relentless training. It would determine if he was truly ready to step into the world he had long prepared to face.

As Rudra stared at the star-speckled sky through the gaps in the jungle canopy, he reflected on the sage's mysteriousness. Despite his constant queries, the sage had remained evasive about his true identity. "I am a son of the Mahadev, like everyone else," he would say, his eyes twinkling with an enigmatic light. "Perhaps, when you have graduated, I will reveal more."

Rudra had grown accustomed to the sage’s cryptic responses, though his curiosity remained as fierce as ever. The sage had guided him through every trial, from the most grueling physical training to the deepest intellectual teachings. Despite his apparent age and wisdom, the sage had always been able to match Rudra’s every move, his agility and skill suggesting a power far beyond that of a mere mortal.

But Rudra had also learned to respect the sage’s privacy. His enigmatic demeanor was a part of the larger puzzle of Rudra’s journey. The sage’s guidance had been instrumental in shaping him into a warrior of immense capability. The promise of learning more about his mentor was an enticing prospect, one that he hoped would come to fruition after tomorrow’s fight.

As sleep began to claim him, Rudra's mind was filled with a mix of anticipation and wonder. He had envisioned many scenarios for his final challenge, but the reality of facing the sage in combat was different from anything he had imagined. He knew the sage would be relentless, a final test of his abilities, pushing him to the very edge.

Even as he drifted into sleep, Rudra’s thoughts were consumed by the fight ahead. He imagined the clash of their training, the speed and power he had worked so hard to develop. His father’s image lingered in his mind, fueling his determination. The goal of avenging his mother and proving himself was ever-present, but for now, it was the battle with the sage that held his focus.

The sage's true identity remained a mystery, but Rudra was prepared to face whatever challenge lay before him. Tomorrow, he would fight with everything he had, not just to graduate, but to honor the training that had brought him to this point. And perhaps, if he succeeded, he would finally understand the full extent of his mentor’s remarkable nature.

With a final, resolute breath, Rudra closed his eyes. The jungle around him was quiet, the only sound the gentle whisper of the wind through the leaves. Tomorrow would bring answers and new beginnings. But for now, he rested, knowing that his journey had led him to the brink of a momentous change.

The first light of dawn filtered through the dense canopy of the jungle, casting mottled shadows across the training grounds. Rudra awoke with a surge of anticipation, his body already primed for the day’s trials. He had spent the past decade honing his skills, and today would be the culmination of all his efforts. As he stood, the sheer weight and muscle of his form shifted with a fluid grace that belied his immense strength. His training had forged him into a weapon of precision and power, a fact he proved every morning.

He began with his usual warm-up, racing the tigers. Once mere companions in his early days of training, the tigers were now his challengers. They leapt through the underbrush with the speed and agility of apex predators, but Rudra was a blur, darting between the trees with an effortless swiftness. His speed had reached a level where the tigers were left struggling to keep up, their roars of frustration fading behind him as he crossed the finish line—an ancient, gnarled tree that marked the end of the course.

Next came the weight training. Rudra approached the massive stones that served as his weights, each one carved from the heart of a fallen giant tree. With a grunt of effort, he lifted several of them at once, his muscles straining but ultimately succeeding. He was a colossus, capable of squatting the equivalent of several massive tigers with ease. The tigers, watching from the sidelines, seemed to regard him with a mixture of awe and acceptance.

With his strength and speed put to the test, Rudra moved to the next phase of his training: projectile dodging. The sage stood at a distance, arrows notched and ready. As the sage began firing, Rudra’s reflexes were honed to such precision that he could deflect ten arrows at once, each one whistling past him in a deadly dance. His movements were a seamless blend of grace and power, each gesture a testament to his mastery of the art.

Finally, the time came for the most intense part of his daily regimen: sparring with the sage. As they squared off, the difference in their speeds became immediately apparent. The sage was a master of combat, his every movement a blend of deliberate technique and explosive power. Rudra, now a seasoned warrior, faced him with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

The clash was immediate and fierce. Their bodies were a blur of motion, each punch, kick, elbow, and knee delivered with blistering speed. Rudra found himself pushed to his limits, struggling to keep up with the sage’s relentless assault. The sage’s strikes were not just powerful but precise, each one designed to test Rudra’s defenses and reaction time.

Sweat poured down Rudra’s face as he fought to match the sage’s pace. Every fiber of his being was focused on the battle, his movements a choreography of strength and agility. The ground beneath them seemed to shake with the force of their combat, the air crackling with the intensity of their exchanges. Rudra could feel his muscles burning, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he refused to falter.

As the battle continued, Rudra realized that he would have to fight beyond his known limits to keep up with the sage. The sage’s prowess was a constant reminder of the distance he still needed to cover, the skill and endurance that lay beyond his current abilities. The relentless pressure of the sage’s attacks pushed him to dig deeper, to find reserves of strength and determination he had not known existed.

The fight was not just a test of physical prowess but of willpower. Rudra's mind was a battleground as much as his body, each moment a struggle to maintain focus and composure under the sage’s unyielding assault. It was a dance of survival and mastery, a final challenge that would determine if he was truly ready to face the world outside the jungle.

In the midst of their combat, Rudra’s determination was unshakable. Every strike he blocked, every counterattack he launched, was fueled by the memory of his mother and the promise he had made to himself. The sage's intense gaze, filled with both challenge and encouragement, spurred him on.

As they fought, Rudra knew that today’s battle was more than just a test—it was a moment of truth. The outcome would define not only his readiness but also his potential to fulfill the vengeance and justice he sought. With every strike and every parry, Rudra pushed himself further, driven by the unyielding belief that he could overcome any obstacle placed before him.

The sun had climbed high above the jungle canopy, its golden rays filtering through the dense foliage as Rudra faced the sage for the final test. The two combatants stood amidst the undergrowth, their breaths heavy and their bodies glistening with sweat. The fight had been fierce, a whirlwind of power and speed, with neither side gaining a definitive edge. Rudra, despite his relentless effort, had been matched blow for blow by the sage, his skills tested to the very limit.

Finally, the sage stepped back, a look of approval on his face. Rudra, panting and bruised but standing tall, met his gaze with a mixture of exhaustion and pride. The sage’s expression softened, a rare smile touching his lips.

“Rudra,” the sage said, his voice carrying a tone of solemn respect, “you have fought valiantly. Your training is complete, and you have proven yourself ready. You have surpassed the limits I set for you and have shown a strength and resilience that few possess.”

Rudra’s heart swelled with a mix of relief and accomplishment. The sage’s approval was more than just a confirmation of his training—it was a validation of the sacrifices he had made and the pain he had endured.

“I am proud of you,” the sage continued, his gaze turning serious. “But know this: as you leave this place and step into the world beyond, remember not to let vengeance consume you entirely. Your quest for justice is important, but so is living a life that honors the values of kindness, exploration, and aid to those in need. You are not just my disciple but an honorary grandson of the Mahadev himself. His watchful eyes are upon you, and it is my hope that you will make him proud.”

With a reverent gesture, the sage reached into a hidden alcove and withdrew a weapon that gleamed with a fierce light—a steel Trishul, a three-pronged spear with blades extending from its sides. The weapon was imposing, a symbol of divine authority and power. Rudra’s eyes widened as he recognized its resemblance to Shiva’s trishul, the weapon of the great destroyer.

“This Trishul is a gift from me to you,” the sage said, his voice imbued with gravity. “It will serve you well in your journey, both as a tool of battle and a symbol of your strength. Wield it with honor and let it remind you of the path you have walked and the challenges you have overcome.”

Tears welled up in Rudra’s eyes as he accepted the Trishul, the weight of the weapon heavy in his hands. The sight of the sage—now revealed as Kartikeya, the mighty Deva of War—standing before him filled him with a deep sense of gratitude and respect. The sage had been more than a mentor; he had been a guiding light in Rudra’s darkest times.

“Thank you,” Rudra said, his voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I promise, once I have achieved my vengeance, I will honor your teachings and strive to make you and the Mahadev proud.”

Kartikeya nodded, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on Rudra’s shoulder. “Go now, Rudra. The world awaits you. Face it with the courage and strength you have cultivated here. May your journey bring you the justice you seek and the life you deserve.”

With a final, heartfelt nod, Rudra turned and began his journey out of the jungle. The familiar landscape of his training ground receded behind him as he stepped into the wider world, his heart a turbulent mix of anticipation and resolve. The Trishul, now slung across his back, was a constant reminder of the path he had chosen and the destiny that lay ahead.

As Rudra emerged from the jungle and into the bustling expanse of the world beyond, he felt a rush of nervous excitement. He was stepping into a realm he had only glimpsed from the fringes, a place filled with unknowns and possibilities. Despite the uncertainty, a fierce smile tugged at his lips as he envisioned the moment he would finally confront his father.

The road ahead was long and fraught with peril, but Rudra was ready. He was a warrior forged in the crucible of hardship and trained by one of the most powerful beings in existence. With the Trishul as his symbol and his heart set on justice, he faced the world with a fierce determination, eager to carve out his place and fulfill the promise he had made.

As Rudra emerged from the jungle and ventured into the open land, the sight before him was both awe-inspiring and horrifying. A full-scale battle raged across the plains, a chaotic dance of violence and destruction that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and blood, and the thunderous clash of metal on metal reverberated through the ground beneath his feet.

From his vantage point at the edge of the jungle, Rudra watched as human soldiers, clad in gleaming armor, fought desperately against the lesser asura kin—creatures that resembled twisted, monstrous versions of humans. The battle was a storm of chaos, with swords clashing and arrows flying through the air, but what caught Rudra’s attention most were the figures who led both sides.

Demigods, sons of the devas and asuras, moved through the battlefield with an otherworldly grace and power. Their presence was a stark contrast to the mortal soldiers struggling below. Each demigod seemed to embody the essence of their divine heritage, their powers manifesting in ways that left Rudra both fascinated and unsettled.

One demigod on the human side, towering and fierce, wielded a massive warhammer that seemed to radiate with a fiery light. His strikes sent shockwaves through the enemy ranks, and with each swing, flames erupted from the ground, scorching anything in their path. His lineage, Rudra guessed, must be connected to Agni, the god of fire.

On the other side, a demigod of the asura kin, sleek and serpentine, slithered through the ranks with a terrifying agility. His very presence seemed to distort the air around him, creating illusions that confused and disoriented his enemies. His power was reminiscent of Vritra, the Cosmic Serpent, whose essence was known for manipulation and deception.

Further along the battlefield, a demigod with a regal bearing wielded a staff adorned with celestial symbols. He commanded the winds to create whirlwinds that swept through the enemy lines, his every gesture accompanied by gusts of wind and bursts of lightning. His power, no doubt, was a gift from Vayu, the god of wind.

The battlefield was a theater of divine prowess and mortal struggle, where demigods fought in spectacular displays of power while the common soldiers clashed in a brutal, bloody struggle. Rudra noted that while the demigods exhibited extraordinary strength and speed, it was their specific powers—gifts from their divine parentage—that set them apart and dictated their roles in the conflict.

As he watched, Rudra realized the extent of the power that the demigods wielded. Their abilities were not just extensions of their physical prowess but manifestations of their divine lineage. They commanded elements, manipulated perceptions, and wielded forces that ordinary soldiers could scarcely comprehend.

The common soldiers, whether human or asura kin, avoided these pockets of divine conflict. They fought in the spaces between the clashes of the gods, knowing full well that stepping too close to a demigod’s battle meant certain death. Rudra could see the fear and desperation in their eyes as they fought for survival, a stark reminder of the scale and brutality of the war that had enveloped their world.

Rudra’s heart hardened as he observed the scene. The realization struck him with an almost physical force: the war between the devas and asuras was not merely a clash of armies but a profound struggle between the divine and the mortal, where the very essence of power was wielded with impunity. His own quest for vengeance seemed suddenly more distant, yet more urgent. He needed to understand this world of divine and mortal conflict if he were to navigate it and ultimately fulfill his destiny.

As he continued to watch, a new resolve took shape within him. This was not merely a battlefield; it was a stage upon which his own journey would unfold. If he were to confront his father and seek justice, he would need to comprehend the intricacies of this divine conflict and find his place within it. The power of the demigods was formidable, but Rudra had been trained by one of their own, and he was determined to prove that he could stand among them.

As Rudra continued to watch from the edge of the jungle, the battle reached a critical juncture. The human forces, already strained and bloodied, began to falter under the relentless pressure of the asura kin. The tide of war seemed to shift dramatically as one of the demigod sons of the devas, a powerful figure who had commanded the battlefield with an aura of divine authority, was struck down by a formidable asura.

This asura, a towering figure with fists wreathed in searing flames, smashed through the ranks with a fury that defied the natural order. His blows were devastating, leaving trails of fire and ruin in their wake. The demigod deva, once a beacon of hope for the human soldiers, fell in a blaze of light and fire, his body crumpling amidst the carnage.

The death of this pivotal figure had an immediate and disastrous effect on the battlefield. The other demigod sons of the devas, seeing their comrade fall and realizing the shifting power balance, began to retreat. With their leaders fleeing, the human soldiers—already demoralized and exhausted—broke into a chaotic rout. Panic spread like wildfire among the ranks, and the once-organized lines disintegrated into a frantic, desperate scramble for survival.

Rudra’s gaze followed the retreating demigods and the crumbling human forces, but his attention was drawn to a single figure who stood resolute amidst the chaos. A woman, her presence both commanding and graceful, remained at the center of the battlefield. She was a striking figure, with an aura of fierce determination that set her apart. Her armor bore the unmistakable mark of Agni, the god of fire—an indication of her divine heritage.

Despite the orders from the other demigod devas to flee, this woman, whose fierce eyes and fiery spirit marked her as a daughter of Agni, refused to abandon her soldiers. She fought with a fiery intensity that seemed to mirror the very flames of her divine parentage. Her actions were a testament to her loyalty and courage, as she wove through the battlefield, protecting her soldiers from the encroaching asura kin.

But even as she fought valiantly, Rudra could see that she was surrounded. The demigod asuras, sensing an opportunity to strike at the last bastion of resistance, closed in on her with a ferocity that matched her own. Their movements were coordinated, a deadly dance of divine power and cunning, as they sought to bring down the final barrier between their victory and total domination of the battlefield.

Rudra’s heart raced as he observed the scene. He could see the desperation in the woman's eyes and the grim determination with which she fought. It was clear that she was outnumbered and that her efforts, though heroic, were unlikely to turn the tide on their own. The chaos of the battlefield, with its swirling dust and the cries of the dying, seemed to close in around her.

Without a second thought, Rudra knew he could not stand by. The battle, though not his own, stirred something deep within him—a sense of duty and a desire to act. He saw the woman’s struggle and the plight of the soldiers she sought to protect. His own quest for vengeance seemed suddenly intertwined with this moment of crisis. He had trained for years, honing his skills and tempering his spirit, and now was the time to test them.

With a fierce resolve, Rudra stepped forward from the cover of the jungle. He could no longer remain a passive observer. The world around him seemed to hold its breath as he moved toward the tumultuous battlefield, his mind focused on the woman and the soldiers she fought to protect.

Rudra surveyed the chaos from the jungle’s edge, his mind racing with the urgency of the moment. The battlefield was a maelstrom of violence and desperation, and the sight of the lone woman fighting against overwhelming odds stirred something deep within him. He knew he had to act, but he also needed to do so carefully. Revealing himself as he truly was could have dire consequences, both for his own safety and for his plans.

With practiced speed, Rudra retrieved a piece of tiger pelt from his coat, carefully tearing it to fashion a makeshift mask to cover his nose and mouth. The pelt, rugged and weathered, was an emblem of his training and survival. The torn piece obscured his face, creating an intimidating visage that, coupled with his massive frame and the array of tiger claw scars that marked his skin, made him a formidable figure.

Drawing in a deep breath, Rudra roared—a sound so powerful and primal that it reverberated across the battlefield, causing both human and asura soldiers to momentarily freeze in shock. The roar was a blend of his pent-up rage and a deep, guttural resonance that spoke of raw power and unbridled fury. It cut through the clamor of combat, drawing the eyes of those engaged in the battle.

In the brief silence that followed, the soldiers on both sides looked toward the source of the roar, their confusion and fear palpable. Rudra, using this moment of distraction to his advantage, stepped out from the jungle. His movements were a blur, a testament to the speed and agility honed through years of relentless training. He charged into the fray with a force that seemed almost supernatural.

The demigod asuras, momentarily caught off guard, found themselves propelled through the air by the sheer force of Rudra's assault. They crashed into the ranks of their own soldiers, their formidable forms sprawling across the battlefield. Rudra’s strikes were swift and devastating, his power a potent combination of his physical prowess and the anger that fueled him. Each blow sent shockwaves through the enemy lines, disrupting their cohesion and causing chaos among the asura kin.

Despite his impressive display of strength, Rudra felt a pang of uncertainty. This was his first real battle against beings of such power, and he was acutely aware that he had yet to truly test his limits against a demigod asura. His training had prepared him well, but the reality of combat was something different. He had to rely on his instincts and the sheer force of his resolve to overcome this challenge.

Seeing the woman from earlier still locked in combat and realizing the urgency of the situation, Rudra moved with incredible speed, snatching her up along with as many of the human soldiers as he could reach. His movements were precise and efficient, each action calculated to maximize his impact and minimize the risk to those he was rescuing.

With the rescued soldiers in tow, Rudra raced towards the kingdom, a streak of motion amidst the chaos. His immense speed and strength allowed him to cover the distance quickly, the terrain blurring by as he made his way towards the sanctuary of the kingdom the demigod devas had fled to.

As he approached the kingdom’s entrance, Rudra could feel the weight of his actions settling on him. He had intervened in a battle not his own, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to help. His heart pounded with adrenaline, and his thoughts were a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation. He knew that his actions would have consequences, but for now, his focus was on getting the survivors to safety and ensuring they were out of immediate danger.

As Rudra carefully set the rescued soldiers and the woman down near the entrance to the kingdom, he could see the city’s towering walls looming above them, a beacon of safety amidst the turmoil. The woman, still catching her breath from the intense battle, looked at him with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. Her striking features and the intense fire in her eyes suggested she was more than just a mere warrior.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice filled with a blend of relief and intrigue. "And why did you save us?"

Rudra, his face partially hidden by the makeshift mask of tiger pelt, regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "I was just passing by," he said, his voice muffled but steady. "I couldn’t just sit by and watch you all be slaughtered. My master taught me to act when I see injustice."

Durga’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him, clearly intrigued by his words and the enigmatic aura he carried. "At least let me buy you some food or a drink for your trouble," she offered sincerely.

Rudra chuckled softly under his mask, the sound carrying a hint of warmth. He winked at her, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "Saving such a beauty is reward enough," he said, his tone light yet tinged with sincerity.

Before Durga could respond, Rudra’s form blurred into motion. In an instant, he was gone, disappearing into the distance with a speed that left no trace but the faint rustling of the air.

The soldiers, still catching their breath and marveling at the sudden appearance and disappearance of their savior, began to loudly discuss the mysterious figure. Their conversations were a mix of awe and speculation, the name “Rudra” on their lips as they tried to piece together who had come to their aid.

Durga watched Rudra’s retreating figure with a contemplative look. His actions, and the fleeting impression he left, sparked a deep curiosity within her. There was something compelling about the masked warrior—his strength, his grace, and the hint of vulnerability beneath his formidable exterior. As she turned to address the soldiers and coordinate their care, Durga found her thoughts drifting back to Rudra, a sense of intrigue and admiration stirring within her.

Rudra had spent a few days traveling, gathering information as he made his way through various towns and villages. He learned that his father, Ravan, had been summoned to a distant battlefield by his grandfather, Vritra, for a significant confrontation against the demigod forces. With his father away, Rudra decided it was the perfect opportunity to visit the human kingdom he had encountered previously.

As he approached the sprawling city of Kerala, Rudra’s thoughts were a tumultuous mix of anticipation and contemplation. He was eager to explore more about the human world, to understand their ways and their struggles. And, in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the memory of the beautiful woman he had saved—Durga. Her strength and resolve had left a lasting impression on him.

The city of Kerala was bustling with activity as Rudra entered through the main gates. The aroma of street food, the clamor of merchants hawking their goods, and the vibrant colors of the marketplace filled his senses. Despite his imposing appearance, the cloak he wore managed to keep him inconspicuous enough to blend into the crowd.

He made his way to the local tavern, a lively establishment known for its hearty food and boisterous atmosphere. The tavern was filled with a mix of soldiers, traders, and locals, all engaged in animated conversation. Rudra found a corner table where he could observe without drawing too much attention.

As he settled in, he listened to the various conversations around him. The talk was dominated by tales of recent battles, shifting alliances, and the ongoing war with the asura kingdom. Rudra gathered that Kerala was a strategic stronghold, fiercely defended by its inhabitants and its formidable demigod ruler, Arjuna. The kingdom had been in a protracted conflict with its asura neighbors, and the human soldiers spoke of their efforts with a mix of pride and exhaustion.

While observing the patrons, Rudra's mind often drifted back to Durga. He wondered if she was still in the city or if she had returned to the battlefield. The thought of her was both a distraction and a motivator—her presence had ignited a curiosity within him about the human world he had never felt before.

As he sipped on his drink and continued to listen, he realized that immersing himself in the life of Kerala might provide valuable insights into both the world he was navigating and the enigmatic woman who had captivated his thoughts. Little did he know that his time in Kerala would unravel new truths and challenges that would test his resolve and shape his journey in unforeseen ways.

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Rudra’s decision to join the army was driven by a mix of practical and personal reasons. He saw it as a way to further his understanding of the human world and its conflicts while also increasing his chances of encountering Durga again. Her position as a demigod general meant she would be closely involved in military operations, and Rudra hoped that by integrating himself into the army, he might find a path to cross with her once more.

Determined, Rudra made his way to the army registration office, a building that stood out with its solid stone walls and banners bearing the emblem of Kerala. The office was situated in a busy part of the city, bustling with new recruits and soldiers on leave. The atmosphere was a mix of nervous anticipation and resolute determination as people lined up to enlist or process their discharge.

As Rudra approached the entrance, he adjusted his cloak to ensure that his distinctive tiger-pelt coat was hidden. His imposing presence and unusual attire might have drawn unwanted attention, so he made a point to blend in as much as possible.

Inside, the office was a large, open space filled with wooden desks, clerks working diligently, and a few soldiers overseeing the registration process. The air was thick with the smell of ink and parchment. Rudra approached one of the clerks, a middle-aged man with a weary expression who was busy handling paperwork.

“Greetings,” Rudra said in a low, gravelly voice. “I wish to enlist in the army.”

The clerk looked up, his gaze flicking over Rudra with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. He glanced at Rudra’s broad shoulders and well-built frame, noting the strength that was evident even beneath the cloak. After a moment of assessment, the clerk gestured for Rudra to follow him to a quieter corner of the office.

“Name?” the clerk asked, beginning the registration process.

“Rudra,” he replied. He kept his answers concise, not wanting to reveal more than necessary.

The clerk scribbled down the name and continued with the routine questions. “Previous experience? Skills?”

Rudra hesitated slightly, carefully choosing his words. “I have extensive training in combat and survival. I have also spent considerable time studying various forms of warfare.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow but did not press further. “Very well. We’ll assign you to a unit and start your basic orientation. The army could always use skilled fighters.”

As Rudra completed the registration process, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He was eager to learn more about the human army’s structure and operations, and his hope to meet Durga again added an extra layer of excitement to his mission.

With his enlistment complete, Rudra was directed to report to the training barracks the following morning. He left the registration office with a mix of determination and curiosity, ready to immerse himself in the life of Kerala’s military and prepared for whatever challenges awaited him in his quest to navigate the complex world of humans and gods.

Rudra’s initial excitement about joining the army of Kerala was dampened by a deep sense of disappointment when he discovered that his company was led by Jayanth, the son of Vayu, instead of Durga. From the moment he had first met her on the battlefield, Rudra had been captivated by her strength, beauty, and the fierce determination she embodied. He had hoped that being under her command would allow him to get to know her better and possibly forge a deeper connection.

Instead, Jayanth, with his command of the wind and remarkable speed, was the leader of his company. Though Jayanth’s abilities were impressive and he commanded respect from his troops, Rudra’s hopes of being mentored by Durga were dashed. His feelings for her, which had started as admiration, had deepened into something more—a crush he tried to deny but could not ignore.

The reality of being led by someone other than Durga left Rudra feeling a pang of regret. He had envisioned himself learning from her, fighting alongside her, and perhaps even proving himself in her eyes. The absence of her presence in his daily life felt like a significant loss, and the longing to see her again lingered at the back of his mind.

Despite his initial letdown, Rudra threw himself into his new role with the same fervor he had applied during his training. Jayanth’s leadership was effective, but it did not fill the void that Durga’s absence had created. The rigorous training and harsh conditions of army life were a stark reminder of the gap between his idealized vision and reality.

Rudra’s impressive physique and the formidable steel Trishul he carried drew the attention of his fellow soldiers. They were curious about his background and the origins of his weapon. Rudra, keen to maintain his cover, provided evasive answers. “The Trishul was a gift from my adoptive father,” he would say, deflecting deeper inquiries.

As the weeks passed, Rudra became an integral part of his company, and he made several new friends among his comrades. Siddhartha, a common soldier with a friendly demeanor and unwavering spirit, quickly became one of Rudra’s closest allies. Their friendship was built on shared experiences and mutual respect, with Siddhartha’s easygoing nature providing a welcome distraction from Rudra’s internal turmoil.

Siddhartha, always inquisitive, would often ask Rudra about his past and his thoughts on the war. Rudra found these conversations both refreshing and comforting, helping him cope with the disappointment of not being under Durga’s command. Siddhartha’s stories and perspectives offered a glimpse into the human side of the conflict, adding depth to Rudra’s understanding of the war and its impact on those who fought it.

Though Rudra’s heart still ached with the longing to see Durga again, he channeled his emotions into his duties and his growing friendship with Siddhartha. The army life, though far from what he had hoped for, offered him a chance to prove his worth and find solace in unexpected places. As he continued his journey, Rudra cherished the camaraderie of his new friends and held onto the hope that one day he might cross paths with Durga once more, perhaps under different circumstances.

Rudra's first battle with his new company was a harrowing experience. The clash between the armies of Kerala and the asura kin unfolded with a fury and brutality that surpassed anything he had encountered before. The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of clashing steel, shouting men, and the sickening cries of the wounded and dying. The ground was churned into a mire of blood and mud, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of sweat and smoke.

As Rudra fought alongside his fellow soldiers, he quickly became acutely aware of the brutal nature of war. The common soldiers, trapped in the melee of battle, faced overwhelming odds. The intense clashes between demigod devas and demigod asuras created pockets of unimaginable violence, where lesser soldiers were often caught in the crossfire. These battles were not just fights; they were carnages that turned men into mere pawns in the grand scheme of the conflict.

Despite the overwhelming chaos, Rudra found himself slipping into his combat training almost instinctively. His movements were precise, his strikes deadly. He moved with a fluid grace, dispatching foes with ease and using his considerable strength to protect his comrades. However, this proficiency did not go unnoticed. His fellow soldiers, including Siddhartha, began to recognize Rudra’s exceptional skill.

Siddhartha, fighting beside Rudra, observed with growing admiration how Rudra handled himself in the heat of battle. His strength and agility were extraordinary, his ability to fend off multiple attackers almost superhuman. The men in Rudra’s company soon realized that he was far more than the average soldier. His skill was undeniable, but Rudra was careful not to let his prowess shine too brightly. He knew that revealing too much could blow his cover and attract unwanted attention.

As the battle raged on, Rudra’s main focus was to ensure his own survival and that of his new comrades. He fought with a controlled fury, suppressing the full extent of his abilities to avoid drawing attention. Each swing of his Trishul, each calculated strike, was tempered by the need to remain inconspicuous. His aim was to blend in, to become just another soldier in the ranks, even as his heart and mind were plagued by the thoughts of his past and the longing for a certain demigod’s presence.

The battle was relentless, and the strain of combat took its toll on everyone. Rudra’s resilience was tested repeatedly, but he persevered, driven by a combination of duty and personal resolve. The brutality of war was a stark reminder of the harsh realities faced by common soldiers, and it deepened his understanding of the conflict that had been waged for so long.

After the battle, as the sun set and the battlefield was littered with the fallen, Rudra found a moment of respite. The intensity of the fight had left him physically drained, but emotionally, he remained focused on his goals. Siddhartha, ever curious, approached Rudra with a mix of concern and admiration.

“You were incredible out there,” Siddhartha said, clapping Rudra on the back. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that.”

Rudra gave a modest nod, his expression hidden beneath the mask of his cloak. “Just trying to do my part,” he replied. “We all have to pull our weight.”

Siddhartha looked at Rudra with a newfound respect, but Rudra kept his responses measured, avoiding any indication of his true abilities. The camaraderie he felt with Siddhartha and the other soldiers was genuine, but he remained vigilant, aware that his true strength must remain a secret until the right time came.

As the days of the campaign wore on, Rudra continued to navigate the treacherous landscape of war, balancing his desire to protect his comrades and his own need for revenge. His skill in battle remained a guarded secret, known only to those who fought alongside him, while the brutal realities of the conflict drove him ever closer to the heart of the war he had vowed to understand and ultimately, to change.

The fifth battle that Rudra faced was unlike any he had encountered before. It was a colossal clash, a true epic of war. The battlefield stretched out as far as the eye could see, a vast expanse where thousands of soldiers from both sides collided in a frenzied conflict. The air was thick with the roar of combat, the clash of steel, and the anguished cries of the wounded. The ground was churning into a mire of blood, mud, and chaos.

On one side stood the army of Kerala, led by King Bami, the demigod son of Hiranyakashipu. His immense power and strength were renowned, his presence on the battlefield commanding fear and respect. On the opposing side, the forces of Arjuna, the king of the kingdom of Kerala and the demigod son of Surya, were assembled with equal might. Arjuna's prowess in battle was legendary, and his leadership was marked by both strategic brilliance and fierce combat skills.

The battle unfolded in waves, with the common soldiers caught in the middle of the storm. Rudra fought amidst the chaos, his heart heavy as he observed the brutal reality of the conflict. The sheer scale of the battle was staggering, with tens of thousands of warriors engaged in a bloody struggle. The soldiers fought not for glory or honor but simply because they were bound by duty or coerced by their leaders.

As Rudra engaged in combat, his mind was consumed by the sight of the carnage around him. The common soldiers, whether human or asura kin, were nothing more than pawns in the grand game of power. They fought desperately, their lives expendable in the eyes of the demigods who commanded them. The realization struck Rudra with a heavy blow—the soldiers on both sides were essentially being used, manipulated by their divine rulers to fight battles that were beyond their control.

The battle became a grim spectacle of suffering and destruction. Rudra witnessed the fall of countless warriors, both enemies and allies, their lives snuffed out in an instant. The demigod devas and asuras fought with an intensity that left little room for mercy, their battles creating pockets of devastation that consumed everything in their path.

Amidst the fighting, Rudra's gaze fell upon the faces of the common soldiers, their expressions a mixture of fear, determination, and resignation. He saw families torn apart, brothers and friends falling side by side, and the unending cycle of violence perpetuated by those who wielded the true power. The soldiers fought not out of choice but out of obligation, driven by the orders of their higher beings.

The stark reality of the conflict weighed heavily on Rudra. The battle was not merely a clash of armies; it was a grim reminder of the cost of ambition and the cruelty of the divine game. The demigods wielded their power with impunity, while the common soldiers bore the brunt of their desires and conflicts.

Rudra fought with a new understanding, his resolve hardened by the sight of the suffering around him. He fought not just for survival but with a growing sense of empathy for those who were caught in the web of divine machinations. His own quest for vengeance seemed intertwined with a larger realization—the need to break free from the cycle of manipulation and suffering that bound the mortal and divine alike.

As the battle raged on, Rudra's focus shifted from mere survival to a deeper understanding of the conflict and the forces at play. The sight of the common soldiers' plight fueled his determination, not just to avenge his own loss but to seek a resolution that would bring an end to the senseless suffering that pervaded the world. The battlefield, with its epic proportions and unrelenting chaos, became a stage for Rudra's awakening—a realization that his fight was not only against his father but against the very nature of the divine struggle that ensnared countless lives.

The sixth battle was a different beast entirely compared to the grand scale of the previous conflict. This engagement was more contained, a clash of forces with fewer troops and fewer demigods involved. The battleground was marked by trenches and fortifications, a stark contrast to the vast, chaotic expanse of the last fight. The air was still heavy with tension, but the scale was reduced, allowing for more strategic maneuvering and focused combat.

As Rudra prepared for battle, his heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Among the soldiers arrayed before him, he spotted a familiar figure—Durga. The sight of her stirred emotions within him, bringing back memories of their brief encounter during the battle he had intervened in. Rudra's gaze lingered on her, noting how she commanded respect and authority even in this smaller scale confrontation.

Despite his desire to speak with her, Rudra was filled with apprehension. He remembered all too well the time when he had saved her and the fact that his face had been partially exposed. The realization that Durga might recognize him if he approached was a troubling thought. He had been careful to keep his identity concealed since then, but the fear of being discovered lingered.

Durga was commanding her soldiers with the same fierce determination and grace he had observed before. She moved with a fluidity that spoke of her experience and her divine heritage, her every action marked by precision and strength. Rudra watched her from a distance, his mind torn between the urge to reconnect with her and the need to maintain his disguise.

As the battle commenced, Rudra took his place among the soldiers, focusing on the task at hand. The smaller scale of this engagement allowed for more direct and personal confrontations with the enemy. He fought with a mix of skill and restraint, mindful of the need to keep his identity a secret while still performing effectively on the battlefield. His movements were swift and calculated, a blur of strength and agility as he took down foes with practiced ease.

Despite the chaos of combat, Rudra's attention frequently darted towards Durga. He saw her in action, her prowess evident as she held her ground against the opposing forces. Her presence was a beacon in the midst of the conflict, and Rudra felt a pang of regret that he could not approach her. The possibility of recognition, and the complications that could arise from it, made him hesitant.

The battle was intense but manageable compared to the previous encounters. The smaller scale allowed for moments of clarity amid the violence, and Rudra seized these opportunities to keep an eye on Durga. He admired her bravery and skill from afar, his feelings for her remaining a silent, unspoken part of his heart.

As the battle drew to a close, with the forces on one side gaining the upper hand, Rudra found himself conflicted. He had fought with determination and skill, but the opportunity to speak with Durga had eluded him. The battle was won, but the emotional turmoil of seeing her without being able to reveal himself left Rudra with a lingering sense of unfinished business.

With the battlefield quieting down and the soldiers beginning to regroup, Rudra knew he would have to wait for another opportunity to connect with Durga. For now, he would remain vigilant and continue to navigate the complexities of his situation, all the while keeping a careful watch on the woman who had captured his admiration and affection.

As the battle raged on, Rudra watched with a growing sense of dread as the conflict between demigod devas and demigod asuras unfolded with deadly precision. Each clash between these formidable beings was a spectacle of raw power and divine fury, and the outcomes varied dramatically.

In one fight, two demigod adversaries, locked in combat, unleashed their most devastating abilities. Their struggle culminated in a catastrophic explosion of energy, and both combatants fell, having fatally wounded each other in their final blows. The resulting void left a gap in the lines of both armies, adding to the chaos of the battlefield.

In another encounter, a demigod asura, whose fists were engulfed in searing flames, unleashed a devastating blow. With a fierce punch, he drove his fiery appendages through the chest of his opponent, a demigod deva. The searing heat and force of the impact incinerated the deva’s heart, sending him crashing to the ground in a blaze of divine fire. This victory for the asura sent him rushing to join his comrade, who was currently engaged in a fierce struggle with Durga.

Rudra, fighting back-to-back with Siddartha, was deeply concerned. The sight of Durga being forced onto the defensive as the newly arrived asura joined the fray was a stark reminder of the dangers of the battlefield. Durga’s fierce determination was evident as she fought valiantly to hold her ground, but the odds were increasingly stacked against her.

Amidst the tumult of battle, Rudra’s thoughts were consumed by a torrent of conflicting emotions. He was acutely aware of the risk Durga faced and the potential for catastrophe if he did not intervene. As he fought alongside Siddartha, his internal struggle intensified. The realization struck him with a painful clarity: he might have to reveal himself to save Durga and Siddartha from the encroaching asura forces. The thought of exposing his identity and compromising his cover was a heavy burden.

In the midst of the chaos, Rudra berated himself. He had stayed in the human kingdom, hoping to get closer to Durga, and now faced the possibility of failing both her and Siddartha. His original mission—to avenge his mother by confronting his father—seemed distant and secondary to the immediate danger that surrounded him. Rudra’s internal voice echoed with self-reproach, accusing him of losing sight of his true purpose.

"You’ve forgotten your revenge," the voice in his head chastised. "You are a terrible son, letting your personal desires distract you from your duty. How could you be so foolish?"

The voice’s harsh words pierced Rudra’s resolve, sharpening his focus. He knew he had to act decisively to protect Durga and Siddartha, even if it meant risking exposure. As the demigod asuras closed in, Rudra’s heart pounded with determination. He could no longer afford to hesitate or be swayed by personal feelings. The time had come to fulfill his promise to his mother and confront the threat before him.

With a deep breath and a surge of adrenaline, Rudra prepared to make a choice. He knew that in saving Durga and Siddartha, he might reveal his identity and alter the course of his quest for vengeance. But the weight of his responsibilities and the urgency of the moment drove him to act with unwavering resolve.

As he moved to engage the encroaching asuras, Rudra’s thoughts were a whirlwind of purpose and regret. The battlefield was a crucible of destiny, and his actions in these critical moments would shape not only the immediate conflict but also the path he would follow in his quest for justice

The battle had reached a critical juncture. The tide of the fight turned decisively against the humans. The once-organized ranks of the human soldiers were now a chaotic mass of retreat and despair. The demigod asuras, their power bolstered by their recent victories, pressed their advantage with ruthless efficiency. Screams of anguish filled the air as the human forces were overwhelmed.

Amid the chaos, Rudra's eyes were drawn to the sight of Durga. She fought valiantly, her every movement a testament to her skill and bravery, but the demigod asuras were relentless. In a brutal display of strength, one of the asuras hurled her against a stone wall. Durga crumpled to the ground, her face etched with pain and exhaustion.

The two victorious demigod asuras approached her with malicious glee. Their laughter cut through the din of battle as they joked about their plans to take Durga as a prize. The words they spoke were laced with crude intent, their voices filled with derision.

As Rudra watched the scene unfold, he felt a familiar surge of fury rise within him. It was a sensation he had grown all too accustomed to over the past decade—a relentless, all-consuming rage that had been his constant companion since the day his mother had died. The training, the discipline, the anger—it had all been building towards this moment.

He had always known that his rage was an indomitable force, one that could either drive him to greatness or consume him entirely. As he watched the demigod asuras taunt Durga, the anger within him flared uncontrollably. He no longer cared about the consequences of his actions; all that mattered was the primal drive to protect and to exact vengeance.

Rudra's growl was a low, guttural sound that resonated through the battlefield, almost lost in the cacophony of combat. Siddartha, caught up in the chaos, glanced over at Rudra, his face a mixture of confusion and concern.

“What are you talking about?” Siddartha shouted over the roar of the battle. The clamor of clashing weapons and cries of the wounded nearly drowned out his voice.

Rudra’s eyes, now blazing with a fierce determination, met Siddartha’s. He took a deep breath, drawing in the air as if preparing himself for something monumental. The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon him, but his resolve was unwavering.

“I’m sorry for lying, man,” Rudra said, his voice a raw whisper against the backdrop of destruction. “You were my first and greatest friend.”

Without waiting for a response, Rudra’s rage erupted in a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very air around him. It was a primal, bone-deep sound of fury and defiance, a roar that heralded his intent to battle with an unrestrained ferocity. The sheer power of his cry seemed to ripple through the battlefield, drawing the attention of both the demigod asuras and the remaining human soldiers.

The sound of his roar was a declaration of his intent to fight—to protect Durga, to avenge his mother, and to confront the enemies before him with an unyielding fury. As the echoes of his roar faded into the chaos of the battlefield, Rudra stepped forward, his resolve as unshakable as the stone walls surrounding them.

The rage within him was a force of nature, a tempest that would not be denied. With every step he took, Rudra’s anger and determination propelled him towards the fray. The time for hesitation was over; now was the moment to act, to fight, and to honor the promise he had made to himself and to those he cared about.

The battle continued to rage, but Rudra was a force unto himself, a storm of vengeance and protection in the heart of the conflict.

The battlefield was a swirling maelstrom of chaos, the clamor of clashing armies and the roar of war mingling with the acrid smoke. Rudra moved with lethal precision, his immense frame a blur as he cut through the mayhem. His trishul gleamed ominously, the deathly steel reflecting the fire and blood that surrounded him.

He locked onto the closest demigod asura, the one who had been tormenting Durga. With a swift and powerful kick, Rudra's foot connected with the asura’s side. The impact was like the crash of a thunderbolt; the demigod was propelled into the stone wall with such force that his body shattered upon contact. The wall was painted with a grotesque splatter of blood and gore, a gruesome testament to Rudra's ferocity.

The second demigod asura, momentarily stunned by the explosive demise of his comrade, turned to face the new threat. His eyes widened in shock as he beheld Rudra, now unmasked and towering over the chaos. The recognition in Durga’s eyes was instantaneous—she knew this was the same powerful figure who had once saved her. The sight of Rudra, unmasked and revealed in his full, intimidating glory, struck her deeply.

Rudra wasted no time. As the second demigod asura struggled to block a fire spear thrown by Durga, his attention was diverted. This created a window of opportunity for Rudra, who lunged forward with the trishul. The steel weapon cut through the air and drove itself into the demigod’s neck with a brutal, decisive thrust.

The asura’s mouth opened in a strangled gasp, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and disbelief. The trishul’s blades were driven with such force that they punctured through, causing the asura’s body to convulse before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

In the aftermath, the battlefield seemed to hold its breath. The remaining combatants, both human and asura, watched in stunned silence as Rudra stood over the fallen demigod. His breath was heavy and his chest heaved with exertion, but his gaze remained resolute and unyielding. The rage that had fueled him was now focused and controlled, channeled into every precise movement.

Durga, still recovering from the shock of Rudra’s appearance and actions, looked at him with a mix of awe and gratitude. She recognized the fierce warrior who had intervened with such power and was now standing amidst the carnage, his bare face illuminated by the flickering flames of battle.

Rudra’s gaze met hers with a fierce determination. His role in the battle was far from over, but for now, he had made a significant impact. The asura army, seeing the devastation of their demigod leaders, began to falter. The sight of Rudra’s raw power and the death of their formidable leaders struck fear into their hearts.

Rudra, feeling the surge of adrenaline and the intensity of his rage, drew in a deep breath. He threw his head back and let out a bone-rattling roar, a sound of primal fury that echoed across the battlefield. The roar was a declaration of his might and a rallying cry for his allies.

The effect was immediate. The asura army, overwhelmed by the loss of their leaders and the sheer force of Rudra’s presence, began to retreat. The once-unyielding lines of the asura forces crumbled as they fled from the battlefield, their resolve shattered by the overwhelming might of Rudra’s roar and the devastating power he had unleashed.

As the asuras scattered and the battle began to wind down, Rudra stood amidst the chaos, his eyes locked on Durga. The fight was over for now, but the promise of future battles and the quest for vengeance loomed ever closer.

Rudra trudged down the long road towards Lanka, the weight of his past and the vengeance he sought pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had spent so many years training, preparing, and plotting for this moment, but now that it was here, the journey felt more daunting than he had ever imagined. The faces of the people he had left behind—Durga, Siddartha, his company—flashed through his mind, but he pushed them aside. He had a mission to complete, and he couldn’t afford distractions.

On the second day of his journey, as dusk began to settle over the landscape, Rudra found a small, nondescript inn nestled beside the road. The warm glow of its windows beckoned him, promising food, drink, and a brief respite from the journey. He entered quietly, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head to avoid attracting attention. After ordering a meal, he settled into a corner table, hoping for a moment of solitude.

As he began to eat, the inn's door creaked open, and Rudra’s heart nearly stopped when he saw who walked in. Durga and Siddartha. The two of them scanned the room, their eyes searching until they locked onto Rudra. He froze, not understanding how they had found him or why they were here. His mind raced, but before he could react, they were already making their way toward him.

Durga’s expression was a mix of relief and something else—something that made Rudra’s heart beat a little faster. Siddartha, on the other hand, looked both determined and frustrated. They reached his table, and without waiting for an invitation, both sat down across from him.

“What are you two doing here?” Rudra asked, his voice rough with surprise.

Durga’s eyes softened as she looked at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “We were looking for you,” she said simply. “You saved us, twice now. We wanted to thank you properly.”

Siddartha, however, leaned forward, his expression fierce. “And to give you a piece of my mind,” he added, his tone sharp. “You disappeared on us, Rudra. Did you really think you could just vanish like that? Like our friendship didn’t mean anything?”

Rudra was taken aback by Siddartha’s words, guilt gnawing at him. He had been so focused on his mission that he hadn’t considered how his sudden departure would affect those he left behind.

“I… I didn’t want to drag you both into this,” Rudra admitted, his voice quieter now. “I have things I need to do, things that are dangerous. I didn’t want either of you to get hurt because of me.”

Siddartha scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not for you to decide, Rudra. We’re friends. You don’t just walk away without a word.”

Durga, her voice softer, added, “We were worried about you. And… intrigued,” she said, her eyes locking onto Rudra’s. “You’ve saved me twice, but I don’t even know your name. I had to find out who you were.”

Rudra shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, feeling an unfamiliar warmth creeping up his neck. “It’s Rudra,” he said, finally revealing his name. “But I didn’t do it for thanks. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

Siddartha leaned back in his chair, his frustration slowly giving way to understanding. “Well, Rudra, thanks or not, you can’t just leave like that. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”

Durga nodded, her smile returning. “And besides,” she added, a playful glint in her eyes, “I still owe you a drink.”

Rudra looked at them both, the weight of his loneliness lifting slightly as he realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to face everything alone. “Alright,” he said, a small smile forming on his lips. “I’ll take that drink.”

The three of them settled in, sharing stories and laughter as the night went on. Though Rudra knew his journey to Lanka would still be filled with challenges and dangers, he couldn’t deny the comfort he felt in the presence of his friends. And as he sat there, with Durga and Siddartha by his side, he found himself thinking that perhaps there was more to life than just vengeance—though that goal would still guide him, at least now he had companions to walk the path with him.

As the night deepened and the inn quieted, Rudra knew it was time to share the truth with Durga and Siddartha. He had come to trust them more than anyone else in his life, but what he was about to reveal could change everything. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for their reactions.

“I need to tell you both something,” Rudra began, his voice low and somber. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about my past.”

Durga and Siddartha exchanged glances, but they remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“My father… my father is Ravan,” Rudra said, the words heavy as they left his lips. “He’s the son of Vritra, the king of asuras. I’m asura-kin.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the inn’s fire. Rudra could feel his heart pounding in his chest, fear gnawing at him as he waited for their response. He knew all too well the deep-seated hatred humans held for asuras and their kin. The wars between devas and asuras had raged for countless Yugas, and the enmity between their peoples ran deep. Even though Rudra looked more human than some of his monstrous kin, he had never forgotten what he was—a being that many would see as a demon.

Durga’s eyes widened slightly, and Siddartha’s expression grew more serious. But to Rudra’s surprise, neither of them recoiled or showed signs of disgust. Instead, they simply looked at him with concern and a touch of sadness.

Rudra pressed on, explaining the rest of his story. He told them about his mother, a woman of great kindness and strength, and how she was killed by Ravan when Rudra was just a boy. He recounted his escape into the jungle and the ten years he spent training under his master—everything, except the true identity of his teacher.

When he finished, there was a long silence. Rudra braced himself for the worst, for rejection, for anger, for them to walk away. But what came next surprised him even more.

Durga let out a small, almost incredulous laugh. “You’ve been living in the jungle for ten years, and you still haven’t learned how to read people,” she said, shaking her head with a smile. “Rudra, do you really think we’d judge you for something that’s not your fault? You’re not responsible for what your father did, and you’re certainly not like the asuras we’ve fought against.”

Rudra blinked, unsure if he was hearing her correctly. “But… the wars, the hatred between our peoples… I thought you’d hate me for being asura-kin.”

Siddartha leaned forward, his expression softening. “Rudra, you’re our friend. We’ve fought alongside you, seen the kind of person you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re asura-kin or human or anything else. You’re Rudra, and that’s enough for us.”

Rudra was taken aback, his heart swelling with a mix of relief and disbelief. He had spent his life expecting rejection, anticipating prejudice because of his lineage. But here they were, accepting him without hesitation.

Durga reached out and placed a hand on his arm, her touch warm and reassuring. “Your father’s actions don’t define you. You’ve already proven you’re different. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “I’ve seen how you fight, how you protect those around you. You’re not the monster you think you are, Rudra.”

Rudra felt a lump form in his throat, and he blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. He had never expected to find acceptance, let alone friendship, after leaving the jungle. Yet here were these two—Durga, the fierce daughter of Agni, and Siddartha, his first true friend—standing by him without reservation.

“Are you really sure about this?” Rudra asked, his voice trembling with emotion. “Can you both just leave everything behind to join me on this journey?”

Durga nodded firmly. “I’ve already spoken with my mother. She’s been worried about me staying in the army, especially with how dangerous it’s been getting. She agreed it was time for me to find a new path—and I’ve decided that path is with you.”

Siddartha grinned, his usual teasing tone returning. “Like I said, Rudra, I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m an orphan, no family, no real ties—just a lot of time and a good friend who needs me. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you, right?”

Rudra looked between them, emotions swirling within him—gratitude, relief, and something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. The tears he had been holding back finally spilled over as he spoke, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m glad,” he said, his heart full. “I’m so glad the first two people I met since leaving the jungle were you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Durga smiled warmly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone anymore, Rudra. We’re with you, no matter what.”

Siddartha raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin wide and genuine. “Here’s to new friends, new adventures, and kicking some serious ass along the way! Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into.”

Rudra couldn’t help but laugh through his tears, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. With Durga and Siddartha by his side, he knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, he wouldn’t face them alone. And as they sat there in the quiet of the inn, Rudra realized that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his journey than just vengeance.

The journey to Lanka was long, and Rudra knew that every step brought him closer to the confrontation he had avoided for so long. With Durga and Siddartha by his side, the once daunting path seemed more bearable. But Rudra also knew that this journey wasn’t just about him anymore—it was about ensuring that his friends were prepared for whatever lay ahead.

On the second day of their journey, as they stopped by a river to rest, Rudra turned to Siddartha with a determined look in his eyes.

“Siddartha,” Rudra began, his voice firm, “I’m going to train you, the same way my master trained me.”

Siddartha’s eyes widened in horror. He had heard enough stories from Rudra about his brutal training in the jungle, and the thought of enduring something similar made him shudder. “Wait, what? You’re serious?”

Rudra nodded. “I am. I can’t have you coming with me if you’re not strong enough to hold your own. We don’t know what we’re going to face in Lanka, and I need to know that you can protect yourself—and Durga, if it comes to that.”

Durga, who had been refilling her waterskin at the river’s edge, looked up with a raised eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh, this should be good,” she said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the prospect of watching Siddartha squirm.

Siddartha groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really going to make me do this, aren’t you?”

Rudra crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression leaving no room for argument. “Yes, I am. And you’ll thank me for it later.”

For the next several days, Rudra put Siddartha through rigorous training sessions. They would wake before dawn, and Rudra would lead Siddartha through exercises that tested his endurance, strength, and agility. They ran long distances, climbed steep hills, and lifted heavy stones. Rudra even taught Siddartha some basic combat techniques, drilling him on how to throw punches, defend against attacks, and wield a weapon effectively.

Siddartha, for his part, complained constantly—about the early mornings, the sore muscles, and the relentless pace. “I thought we were supposed to be walking to Lanka, not killing ourselves before we even get there!” he would grumble, wiping sweat from his brow.

But despite his protests, Siddartha persevered. There was a resilience in him that Rudra had seen glimpses of before, and it became more evident with each passing day. Slowly but surely, Siddartha began to improve. His punches grew stronger, his stamina increased, and he started to move with more confidence and precision.

Durga, meanwhile, watched the whole process with an amused smile. She would often spar with Rudra herself during their breaks, using the time to sharpen her own skills and get to know him better. The more time they spent together, the closer they grew. Their banter became more playful, their conversations more personal. Rudra found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t with anyone else, sharing stories of his past, his hopes, and his fears.

Durga, in turn, revealed more about herself—her childhood, her relationship with her mother, and her struggles with the expectations placed on her as a demigod daughter of Agni. She spoke of her desire to forge her own path, to be more than just a warrior in her father’s image. And as they talked, Rudra found himself drawn to her not just for her strength and beauty, but for the depth of her spirit and the kindness in her heart.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon and painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, Rudra and Durga sat together by the campfire. Siddartha was fast asleep after another grueling day of training, his soft snores filling the quiet night.

Durga glanced at Rudra, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You’re really putting Siddartha through the wringer,” she said, her tone teasing. “I’ve never seen him work so hard.”

Rudra chuckled, poking at the fire with a stick. “He’ll be stronger for it. And besides, he’ll need every bit of strength he can get in Lanka.”

Durga’s smile faded slightly as she studied him. “You’re really determined to go through with this, aren’t you? To face your father.”

Rudra’s expression grew more serious as he nodded. “I have to, Durga. It’s something I’ve carried with me for so long. I don’t think I can ever truly move on until I’ve seen this through.”

Durga reached out and placed her hand on his, her touch warm and comforting. “I understand. But just remember, you don’t have to face it alone. Siddartha and I—we’re here for you. Whatever happens in Lanka, we’ll face it together.”

Rudra looked at her, his heart swelling with gratitude. He hadn’t expected to find such companionship, such loyalty, outside of the jungle. And yet, here they were, willing to stand by him in the face of whatever dangers awaited them.

“Thank you, Durga,” he said softly. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Durga squeezed his hand gently. “So am I, Rudra.”

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Rudra found a sense of peace in the company of his two friends. The road ahead was still fraught with uncertainty, but with Durga and Siddartha by his side, he felt ready to face whatever challenges awaited him in Lanka. And as they continued their journey, Rudra couldn’t help but feel that he was no longer just a man on a path of vengeance—he was a man who had found something worth fighting for beyond revenge.

The journey to Lanka had been long and grueling, but the sight of the city in the distance brought with it a strange mix of emotions for Rudra. His heart pounded with anticipation, dread, and something darker that had lain dormant for far too long. As they approached the outskirts of the city, Rudra pulled Durga and Siddartha aside, his expression serious.

“We’re here,” Rudra said, his voice low. “But before we go any further, there’s something you need to know.”

Durga and Siddartha exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to Rudra. He continued, “Lanka is not like any human kingdom you’ve seen before. While some of the asura kin look human, they are very rare, and those who do usually have a direct lineage from the asuras themselves—like me. My grandfather is Vritra, one of the most powerful asuras, and because of that, I can pass for human. But most of the asura kin here… they’re different. Some will look monstrous, and others will be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”

Siddartha nodded, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. “Got it. We’ll be careful.”

Durga, who had grown closer to Rudra during their journey, placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “We’re with you, Rudra. Just tell us what we need to do.”

Rudra looked at her, the flicker of warmth in his eyes dimming as he focused on the task ahead. “Wear these cloaks,” he instructed, handing them each a dark, hooded cloak. “It’ll help you blend in, or at least make it harder for anyone to get a good look at you. Keep your faces hidden, and don’t draw attention to yourselves. We’re here to find out what’s going on and to figure out when my father will return.”

Durga and Siddartha both nodded, pulling the cloaks over their heads and drawing the hoods low over their faces. With their disguises in place, the three of them continued into the city, slipping through the gates with the flow of traffic.

As they moved deeper into Lanka, Durga and Siddartha couldn’t help but be amazed at the sights around them. The architecture of the city was both grand and imposing, with towering spires and intricately carved stonework that gave the impression of a kingdom built for giants. The streets were filled with asura kin of all shapes and sizes—some who looked almost human, and others who were nightmarish in their appearance, with horns, fangs, and claws. The air was thick with the scent of spices, incense, and something metallic that neither Durga nor Siddartha could place.

“This place is… incredible,” Siddartha whispered, trying to take it all in without staring too openly.

Durga nodded, her eyes wide as she took in the strange blend of the familiar and the otherworldly. “It’s like something out of a legend. I can see why you were hesitant to come back here, Rudra.”

Rudra didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were scanning the streets, his senses on high alert as he listened to the conversations around them. The language was a mix of tongues—some that Durga and Siddartha recognized, and others that were completely foreign to them. But what caught Rudra’s attention were the snippets of news he overheard.

“…battle at the border… led by Ravan himself…”

“…the human kingdom of Vayunagara… destroyed…”

“…the son of Vayu, dead… the kingdom in ruins…”

Rudra’s heart clenched as the realization hit him. His father, Ravan, had led a massive battle against a human kingdom ruled by a powerful son of Vayu. The human ruler had been killed in combat, causing the human army to break and the kingdom to fall into chaos. The defeat had sparked a mass migration of refugees, with people fleeing to nearby human kingdoms in search of safety from the rampaging asura army.

It was clear that his father’s victory had been decisive and brutal. And that meant only one thing—Ravan would be returning to Lanka soon.

As Rudra processed this information, a dark expression crossed his face. The memory of his mother’s lifeless body flashed in his mind, a vision that had haunted him for years. The rage that had fueled him for so long began to bubble to the surface, and a twisted smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He could already see it—his father’s face twisted in pain, his body broken and bloodied. The thought of finally exacting his revenge was intoxicating.

Durga, who had been walking beside him, noticed the change in his demeanor. She had grown to know him well over the past weeks, and the expression on his face now was one she had never seen before. It was a look of pure, unadulterated hatred—an expression that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Rudra?” she asked cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you alright?”

Rudra didn’t answer immediately. His mind was too consumed by the thoughts of what was to come. But when he finally spoke, his voice was cold and distant. “It’s nothing. We need to keep moving.”

Durga frowned, concern etched on her features, but she said nothing more. Instead, she exchanged a worried glance with Siddartha, who looked equally unsettled by Rudra’s sudden shift in mood.

As they continued through the city, Rudra’s thoughts were consumed by the imminent confrontation with his father. The time for vengeance was drawing near, and Rudra could feel the darkness within him growing stronger. But even as he allowed himself to be consumed by his rage, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly ready for what was to come.

With each step they took, Rudra knew there was no turning back. The path he had chosen was one of blood and vengeance, and soon, it would lead him to the confrontation he had waited for his entire life. And when that moment came, Rudra swore to himself that he would not hesitate—he would make his father pay for everything.

No matter the cost.

Rudra stood at the edge of the city, his gaze fixed on the dense forest that stretched before him—the same jungle where he had spent ten long years honing his skills under the rigorous guidance of his master. He could feel the weight of the coming battle pressing down on him, the knowledge that soon he would face not only his father but also the powerful demigod generals who served him.

He turned to Durga and Siddartha, who had accompanied him to the outskirts, their faces a mix of concern, determination, and loyalty. It pained him to think of the danger they would face, and as much as he valued their presence, he knew what had to be done.

“I’m heading into the forest to train,” Rudra said, his voice steady. “I need to be at my absolute best when the time comes.”

Durga immediately stepped forward, her fiery eyes narrowing. “We’ll train with you,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ve been through so much together, and we’re stronger as a team.”

Siddartha nodded, determination flashing in his eyes despite the unease lurking there. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily, Rudra. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”

Rudra felt a mixture of relief and guilt. He knew they wouldn’t back down, and in truth, he was glad to have them by his side, even if it made things more complicated. He sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright, but this won’t be easy. The training I’m planning will push us all to our limits.”

Durga’s expression softened slightly, but she remained firm. “Good. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Siddartha grinned, though there was a hint of nervousness beneath it. “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Just don’t go easy on me.”

Rudra chuckled, feeling a warmth in his chest at their resolve. “Trust me, I won’t.”

As they prepared to enter the forest together, Rudra couldn’t help the thoughts that began to creep into his mind. He knew that no matter how strong they became, the battles ahead were different from anything they had faced before. The demigod asuras who served his father were no ordinary opponents—they were monstrous in power, with abilities that far surpassed those of even the most skilled human warriors.

In his heart, Rudra knew that when the time came to face them, he couldn’t risk Durga and Siddartha’s lives. They were his friends—his only true companions since leaving the jungle—and he couldn’t bear the thought of them being hurt or killed because of his quest for vengeance. No, he would have to find a way to keep them out of the most dangerous battles, even if it meant facing the demigod generals alone.

As they ventured into the jungle, the memories of his years of training came flooding back—of the grueling trials, the endless pain, and the unyielding determination that had driven him forward. This place had shaped him, turned him into the warrior he was today. And now, it would serve as the crucible in which he would prepare for his final confrontation.

Durga and Siddartha walked alongside him, their expressions serious as they mentally prepared for the intense training that awaited them. Durga, with her fiery spirit and unwavering resolve, was more than capable of holding her own against any opponent. Siddartha, though still new to this life, had the heart of a warrior, and Rudra had no doubt that he would rise to the occasion.

But even as they trained together, Rudra couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leading them into something far more dangerous than they realized. He had made a silent vow to protect them, to ensure that they wouldn’t have to face the worst of what was to come. When the time came to confront his father’s generals, he would find a way to keep them safe, even if it meant deceiving them.

For now, though, he focused on the task at hand—training, growing stronger, and preparing for the battles that would determine his fate. The jungle welcomed them back, and as they plunged deeper into its shadows, Rudra steeled himself for what lay ahead.

The path to vengeance was a lonely one, but for the first time in his life, Rudra wasn’t walking it alone. And despite his resolve to protect them, he couldn’t deny the comfort he found in their presence. Perhaps, in the end, that would be his greatest strength—and his greatest weakness.

The dense foliage of the jungle enveloped Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha as they ventured deeper into the familiar territory. For Rudra, it was like stepping back in time, the sounds and smells of the jungle awakening memories long buried beneath the weight of his quest for vengeance. He felt a strange comfort in the embrace of the wild, as if the jungle itself was welcoming him back after all these years.

But as they moved further into the thick brush, the faint rustling of leaves and the almost imperceptible glint of eyes watching them caused Durga and Siddartha to tense. They exchanged nervous glances, their hands instinctively gripping their weapons.

"Rudra," Durga whispered, her voice laced with tension, "you should have told us there were tigers in this jungle."

Siddartha, his eyes darting between the shifting shadows, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it would have been nice to know we’re walking into a den of predators."

But Rudra, instead of showing the slightest hint of concern, broke into a broad smile. His eyes sparkled with recognition, and before either Durga or Siddartha could react, he sprinted forward into the underbrush, yelling with unrestrained joy, "My brothers!"

The bushes exploded with movement as several massive tigers, their fur gleaming in the dappled sunlight, emerged and charged toward Rudra. Durga and Siddartha instinctively raised their weapons, ready to defend themselves, but the scene that unfolded before them left them completely dumbstruck.

Rudra collided with the lead tiger, not in an attack but in a warm embrace. The tiger, a massive creature with golden eyes and a thick, powerful frame, rubbed its head affectionately against Rudra’s chest, purring loudly. Rudra laughed, a sound filled with pure, unfiltered joy, and proceeded to wrestle playfully with the enormous beast.

As Rudra rolled and tussled with the tiger, scratching its belly and ruffling its fur, the other tigers joined in, nudging him with their massive paws and playfully nipping at him. To Durga and Siddartha, it was a surreal sight—a man surrounded by deadly predators, treating them like old friends.

"They’re… they’re his brothers?" Siddartha muttered in disbelief, lowering his weapon. Durga, equally stunned, could only watch as Rudra continued his joyful reunion with the tigers, completely at ease among the fearsome creatures.

After a few moments, Rudra finally pulled himself away from the tigers, still grinning from ear to ear. "Come on," he said, beckoning his companions with a wave of his hand. "They’re leading us to my old home."

The tigers, as if understanding Rudra’s words, began to move through the jungle, leading the way. Durga and Siddartha hesitated for a moment before following, still trying to process what they had just witnessed.

The path the tigers took was well-worn, a sign of the countless times Rudra had traveled it during his years of training. Durga and Siddartha could see the remnants of Rudra’s past life—the heavy stones he had used for strength training, scattered along the path like ancient relics; the deep furrows in the earth from where he had raced the tigers, challenging them to matches of speed and agility.

Finally, they reached a clearing, where a modest shelter stood. It was overgrown with vines and moss, the wooden beams weathered by time and the elements. Rudra’s steps slowed as he took in the sight, his smile fading slightly as memories of his time with his master came rushing back.

At the center of the clearing stood a small stone lingam, a sacred symbol of Shiva, the Mahadev himself. Rudra approached it reverently, his heart heavy with emotion. He knelt before the lingam, reaching for the small earthen pot he had used every morning to pour water over the statue and offer his prayers. The pot was cracked, the water basin dried up, but the act of kneeling there brought Rudra a strange sense of peace.

Durga and Siddartha watched in silence as Rudra offered his respects, their own hearts touched by the sacredness of the moment.

Rudra rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the clearing. His gaze fell on the old sleeping area, now overgrown with thick vegetation. It was clear his master hadn’t been here in some time. The pang of disappointment gnawed at him, but he quickly pushed it aside. His master had always been a wanderer, and Rudra had known deep down that their paths might not cross again.

Durga stepped up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This is where you lived for all those years?"

Rudra nodded, his expression thoughtful. "This place made me who I am today. Every stone, every tree, every tiger—" he grinned at the nearest tiger, who huffed in response—"they all played a part in my training."

Siddartha chuckled softly, shaking his head in amazement. "You really are something else, Rudra."

Rudra gave a small smile but didn’t respond. His thoughts were already drifting to the challenges ahead—the battles he would face, the foes he would have to defeat, and the vengeance that had driven him for so long.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden light over the clearing, Rudra resolved to make the most of the time he had here. He would train, grow stronger, and prepare for the final confrontation that awaited him. But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t shake the lingering doubt—could he truly protect his friends from the dangers to come?

For now, he would push those thoughts aside. He had a journey to complete, and this was just one more step along the way.

As night descended upon the jungle, the sounds of nature filled the air—the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of animals, and the soft crackling of their campfire. Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha had spent the evening recounting their experiences, sharing stories, and preparing themselves for the challenges that lay ahead. Yet, as the fire burned low and the shadows deepened, Rudra knew it was time to rest and prepare for the intense training that awaited them in the morning.

“Tomorrow, the real work begins,” Rudra announced as he stretched, his silhouette cast against the dim light of the fire. “In the words of my master, this will bring you to your mental and physical limits.”

Siddartha sighed, half-jokingly, “I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy this.”

Durga smiled, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and determination. “We’re in this together, Siddartha. We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

Rudra’s expression softened as he looked at Durga, a warm feeling spreading through him. “Get some rest. We’re going to need it.”

The group dispersed to their respective tents, readying themselves for the night. Rudra and Durga entered the tent that had once belonged to Rudra’s master, while Siddartha reluctantly headed to the old tent Rudra used during his childhood years.

Inside the tent, Rudra and Durga lay down together on the simple bedrolls. The tent was sparse, filled only with memories of the past, but to Rudra, it was a sacred space—a place where he had grown from a young boy into the warrior he was now. As he wrapped his arms around Durga, holding her close, he felt a contentment he hadn’t known in a long time.

“I’ve been thinking,” Rudra began, his voice low and contemplative. “There’s something I want to tell you… about my master.”

Durga looked up at him, her curiosity piqued. “What is it?”

Rudra hesitated, then smiled, a mix of pride and affection in his eyes. “My master… was Kartikeya.”

Durga’s eyes widened in shock. She sat up slightly, staring at him in disbelief. “Kartikeya? The Deva of War? The son of Shiva?”

Rudra nodded. “Yes. He found me after… after my mother was killed. He took me in and raised me, trained me for ten years. Everything I know, everything I am, is because of him.”

Durga was silent for a moment, processing the enormity of what Rudra had just revealed. “Kartikeya… the same Kartikeya who is one of the strongest devas? And you’re an asura kin… a descendant of Vritra, no less.”

Rudra felt a pang of anxiety in his chest as he studied her reaction. He had grown up surrounded by asura kin, where being what he was had never been a cause for concern. But Durga was human, and he feared that knowing his true nature would drive her away, that she would see him as an enemy.

But to his surprise, Durga’s expression softened as she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “You’re not just an asura kin, Rudra. You’re you. Whatever blood runs in your veins doesn’t change the person you are.”

Her words filled Rudra with a warmth he hadn’t expected, and he leaned in to kiss her, grateful for her acceptance. As they lay back down, Durga broke the silence with a thoughtful question.

“You know,” she began, “it’s… astonishing that Kartikeya raised you. Devas don’t usually interact with mortals, especially not asura kin. They might favor their own demigod sons, but… what Kartikeya did for you is remarkable.”

Rudra looked down, his thoughts clouded with worry. “I was always afraid that if people knew the truth, they’d hate me for it… especially humans, like you.”

Durga shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. “I’m not like most humans, Rudra. And you’re not like most asura kin. I’ve never judged you by the blood in your veins. I judge you by the person you are.”

Her words soothed Rudra’s fears, and he felt a deep sense of relief wash over him. As they lay together, Durga continued to speak, her voice filled with curiosity.

“Kartikeya is… special,” she said. “You might not know this, but no one knows why, but he and his brother, Ganesha, don’t have any demigod children. All the most powerful devas have many, but for some reason, Shiva’s sons don’t. Kartikeya is incredibly powerful—the Deva of War, the strongest besides Indra. And yet… he chose you. An asura kin.”

Rudra raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this revelation. “Why do you think that is?”

Durga’s expression turned serious. “Maybe it’s because he saw something in you. Something worth protecting. Something worth nurturing. And as for the asura kin… they fear Shiva’s wrath too much to harm his sons. Ganesha is peaceful, so it suits him fine to stay out of battles. But Kartikeya… he’s a warrior at heart. It must be frustrating for him.”

She chuckled, a hint of bitterness in her voice. “Meanwhile, I’ve never even seen my own father. I’ve only heard his voice twice in my life, through fire. He told me he was proud of me… but that was all.”

Rudra’s heart went out to her. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for Durga, to have such a distant relationship with her father—especially when she was so fierce and capable.

Durga leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “Rudra… you must be special for Kartikeya to choose you as his only disciple. That means something.”

Rudra smiled, feeling a sense of pride swell within him. “I hope I can live up to what he saw in me.”

Durga pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her eyes shining with affection. “You already have, Rudra. And you will continue to.”

As they settled back into each other’s embrace, Rudra’s mind wandered to the battles that lay ahead. He knew that tomorrow would mark the beginning of the final chapter in his quest for vengeance. But for tonight, he allowed himself to be in this moment, with the woman he loved, feeling at peace.

Yet, even as sleep began to claim him, Rudra couldn’t fully silence the storm brewing inside him. He knew that when the time came, he would face his father, his father’s generals, and anyone else who stood in his way. And no matter how much he wanted to keep Durga and Siddartha safe, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the road ahead would test them all to their very limits.

But for now, he held onto the peace he found in Durga’s arms, knowing that when dawn broke, he would be ready to face whatever challenges awaited them.

Siddartha woke up to the sound of birds chirping, the jungle slowly coming to life with the first light of dawn. He stretched, wincing at the soreness that still clung to his muscles from the previous day's training. Despite the pain, there was a small sense of pride in his chest—he was still standing, after all.

As he sat up, he noticed that Rudra and Durga’s tent was still closed. Furrowing his brow, he wondered why they hadn’t woken up yet. Usually, Rudra was the first to rise, always eager to push them to their limits.

Curious, Siddartha got to his feet and walked over to their tent. He hesitated for a moment before calling out, “Rudra? Durga? Are you guys awake?”

When there was no response, Siddartha decided to check on them. He cautiously pulled back the flap of the tent, only to freeze in shock at what he saw inside.

There, tangled up in the blankets, were Rudra and Durga—clearly very awake and very much occupied with each other.

Durga let out a startled gasp, quickly pulling the blanket over herself as her face turned a deep shade of crimson. Rudra, on the other hand, looked up with a lazy grin, not at all bothered by Siddartha’s intrusion.

Siddartha’s eyes widened, and he quickly backed out of the tent, stammering, “I—I’ll just wait outside!” He turned and practically ran, his heart pounding with a mix of embarrassment and shock.

Outside, he leaned against a tree, trying to process what he’d just walked in on. His face was burning, and he couldn’t help but feel like a complete idiot for not knocking first.

A few minutes later, Rudra and Durga emerged from the tent. Durga’s face was still flushed, her gaze firmly fixed on the ground as she adjusted her clothes. Rudra, meanwhile, looked as if he was holding back laughter, his grin wide and unapologetic.

Durga shot him a look that clearly said, This isn’t funny, but Rudra just shrugged, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Siddartha, still red-faced, decided to lighten the mood with a joke. “You know,” he said, trying to sound casual, “a relationship between a direct descendant of an Asura and a demigod daughter of a Deva… that’s the kind of thing both sides would probably consider an abomination.”

To his surprise, both Rudra and Durga looked at him with wide eyes, as if the thought had never crossed their minds. He blinked, incredulous. “Wait… you guys haven’t thought about this? You’ve been together for a few months now!”

Durga’s face turned a little paler as the reality of what Siddartha was saying began to dawn on her. Rudra, however, quickly became serious, the smile fading from his face. His eyes darkened with determination as he said, “That’s just another reason for me to become stronger.”

He turned to Durga, his expression softening but tinged with sadness. “For now… this is a reason to keep our relationship a secret.”

Durga looked up at him, her heart aching as she realized the weight of their situation. She nodded slowly, her eyes reflecting a mix of understanding and sorrow. Standing so close to Rudra, she couldn’t help but notice just how much taller he was, how much he towered over her in both stature and presence.

With a sigh, she reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “We’ll figure it out,” she said quietly. “But you’re right. We have to be careful.”

Rudra nodded, giving her a small, sad smile. It was clear that they both knew their relationship was more complicated than they had initially thought, and that caution was necessary.

The three of them set out for their morning training, with Rudra leading the way. As soon as they began, it was immediately clear that Rudra was in a league of his own. He moved with a speed and agility that left everyone else—tigers included—in the dust.

Durga, thanks to her demigod powers, managed to keep up with the tigers, but just barely. She could hear their heavy breathing and the rustling of their fur as they raced alongside her, but Rudra was already far ahead, a blur of motion that seemed almost impossible to catch up with.

Siddartha, on the other hand, was struggling at the back of the group, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to keep pace. “This… is… bullshit!” he wheezed, his frustration clear as he trailed behind. “How are you two so fast?!”

Durga, despite the strain, couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ll get there, Siddartha! Just… keep going!”

When they finally regrouped, it was time for strength training. Rudra once again proved his incredible power, squatting with multiple tigers balanced on his shoulders, much to the disbelief of Durga and Siddartha. The tigers, of course, were less than pleased with their role in this exercise, their growls echoing through the jungle.

But when it came time for projectile training, the mood shifted. Durga and Siddartha exchanged wary looks as Rudra explained the drill.

“It’s simple,” Rudra said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll start by throwing small rocks at you at a slowish speed, and you’ll need to deflect them. It only hurt a bit when I first did this as a kid, but you’ll get used to it.”

Durga raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You mean to tell me your master did this to you when you were a child?”

Rudra nodded, a fond smile on his face. “He did. It toughens you up and sharpens your reflexes. Trust me, it’s effective.”

Siddartha groaned, clearly not convinced. “I’m starting to think your master was a bit sadistic…”

Rudra chuckled, tossing the first rock in the air. “Ready?”

Durga and Siddartha both steeled themselves, even as their apprehension grew. With Rudra leading the way, they knew the training would be intense—but they were determined to face whatever came next, side by side.

A month had passed since Rudra, Durga, and Siddartha began their rigorous training in the dense jungle where Rudra had once been raised. Each day had been grueling, the trio pushing themselves to their physical and mental limits under Rudra’s watchful eye. The tigers had become their constant companions, often joining in the exercises, and their presence added an extra layer of intensity to the training.

Rudra had slowly introduced close combat training a few weeks back, and now, after a month of relentless drills, he was impressed by how much Durga and Siddartha had progressed. Durga, already a powerful demigod, had become a force to be reckoned with. She had honed her skills to a point where Rudra believed she was now one of the strongest demigods he had ever seen. She moved with grace and power, her strikes precise and devastating.

Siddartha, though still human, had grown remarkably under Rudra’s guidance. His speed, strength, and reflexes had all improved significantly, making him nearly unbeatable against any normal opponent. However, Rudra knew that demigod asuras were still beyond Siddartha’s reach. Despite his progress, Siddartha would struggle to survive in a battle against such powerful foes. It was a harsh reality, one that weighed heavily on Rudra’s mind.

As the days passed, Rudra began to secretly plan his next move. He could sense the time was drawing near—his father, Ravan, would be returning to Lanka soon, likely within the week. The thought of finally confronting the man who had caused his mother’s death both excited and terrified him. He knew he couldn’t risk Durga and Siddartha in the battle to come. They were strong, but this was his fight—his vengeance.

Late at night, when the camp was quiet and his companions were fast asleep, Rudra would slip away to the edge of the jungle to think. He spent hours under the moonlight, crafting a strategy in his mind. His plan was simple yet dangerous: he would infiltrate the palace under the cover of darkness and assassinate as many of his father’s generals as possible before the alarms were raised. Each of the demigod asuras would be a formidable opponent, but if he could strike with precision and overwhelming force, he might stand a chance of killing them in a single blow.

Rudra knew that this was a risky endeavor. The demigod asuras were not to be underestimated—they were powerful, cunning, and deadly. But he also knew that eliminating them before the final battle would dramatically increase his odds of success. Without his generals, Ravan would be more vulnerable.

As Rudra finalized his plans, a sense of resolve settled over him. He would leave during the night, when Durga and Siddartha were asleep. He knew Durga well enough to realize that she would immediately sense his absence upon waking. She was perceptive and cared deeply for him. But Rudra hoped to finish this battle before they could follow or intervene. He couldn’t afford to let his feelings for her, or his friendship with Siddartha, cloud his judgment. They were dear to him, and because of that, he would protect them—even if it meant going it alone.

That night, as he lay beside Durga, listening to her soft breathing, Rudra's heart ached with the knowledge of what he was about to do. He turned slightly, looking at her peaceful face in the dim light of their tent. She had become everything to him, but he knew that this was something he had to face on his own.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered under his breath, careful not to wake her.

As the hours ticked by and the jungle grew quiet, Rudra steeled himself for what was to come. Tomorrow, he would set his plan into motion. He would face the darkness of his past, the demons of his lineage, and he would do so alone.

The dawn would bring a new day, but Rudra was determined that by the time the sun rose, he would have already begun his journey towards vengeance, leaving his loved ones behind—for their sake.

The night had fallen silently over Lanka, the darkness providing a shroud for Rudra as he slipped out of the jungle and into the sprawling city. He moved with practiced ease, blending into the shadows cast by the moonlight. The air was cool and thick with anticipation, a stark contrast to the heat of his anger and determination.

Rudra navigated through the labyrinthine streets of the kingdom, his senses heightened. He avoided the patrols and guards with precision, his movements a fluid dance of stealth and silence. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and dread as he neared the palace. The vast, imposing structure loomed ahead, a symbol of the power and authority of his father and the asura kin.

As he crept closer to the palace, Rudra overheard snippets of conversation from nearby guards and servants. His worst fears were confirmed: his father, Ravan, had returned with the army. More troubling was the news of his eldest half-brother, Karna, leading a company. Karna, unlike his other brothers, had always been indifferent towards him, but Rudra knew all too well that indifference could quickly turn to hostility. His other two older brothers had been nothing short of bullies, making his childhood a nightmare.

The knowledge of his brothers' presence gnawed at him. Would they stand in his way, or would they be allies in his quest for vengeance? Karna's indifference was unsettling, but the potential of his other brothers being obstacles was far more dangerous. Rudra’s mind raced as he contemplated the possibilities. Each brother presented a unique challenge, and he would need to be prepared for anything.

With a heavy heart and a determined spirit, Rudra returned to the jungle, sliding back into the tent beside a sleeping Durga. As he lay there, the sight of her peaceful face contrasted sharply with the turmoil within him. His thoughts drifted to his brothers—his half-brothers. He recalled the times he had been tormented by his older siblings and wondered if their presence would complicate his revenge. The thought of facing them, along with his father and the other generals, made his resolve even stronger. He knew that whatever lay ahead would be a battle of both physical and mental strength.

The following night, Rudra prepared himself for the mission he had been planning. He donned a black cloak, its dark fabric allowing him to blend seamlessly into the shadows. His movements were deliberate and calculated as he slipped away from the sleeping camp, leaving Durga and Siddartha behind once more.

As he approached the palace under the cover of darkness, Rudra's focus sharpened. He knew that the palace would be heavily guarded, and the generals would be formidable opponents. Each step brought him closer to the heart of his vengeance. The years of training, the pain, and the loss had led him to this moment.

The palace gates loomed ahead, their grandeur a stark reminder of the power he was about to confront. Rudra's breathing slowed, and his heart steadied as he prepared to enact his long-awaited revenge. The darkness was his ally, and his cloak was his shield. He moved with purpose and precision, determined to strike swiftly and decisively.

Tonight, Rudra would face his past, confront his enemies, and take one step closer to avenging his mother. He was ready to face whatever challenges awaited him, knowing that this was his chance to reclaim his destiny and fulfill the promise he had made to himself so many years ago.

Rudra approached the palace gates with the utmost caution, his black cloak blending seamlessly into the darkness. The guards stationed at the entrance were focused on their duties, unaware of the shadow slipping past them. With a fluid motion, Rudra leaped onto the wall, scaling it with practiced ease. His tiger pelt mask covered his face, though he was confident that his ten years of changes—his massive frame, numerous scars, and long black hair tied in a ponytail—would render him unrecognizable.