They had been travelling for two days, with no specific destination in mind,

  trying to get as far away from the cult as possible.

  Now the trio approached a sleepy little trade town nestled between two ridgelines.

  As they got closer, Kian could feel a sense of sleepiness here.

  As if everything was nestled in a certain balance.

  Where no ambition festers, no suffering lingers.

  It was a strange feeling—like stepping into a dream that had never gone wrong.

  Was this what peace felt like? Or was it just the calm before something broke?

  “There is something different here… not in a bad way,” Kian whispered.

  The other two glanced at each other.

  “So, guess that's our cue,” Zeyk muttered, shifting in the cart. “Let’s stock up and get the hell outta here before anything changes.”

  The rickety cart just climbed onto the rocky path.

  Behind them, the jagged ridges were already fading in the haze.

  Ahead, the little town slumbered in the afternoon light. Clay-brick houses. Faded prayer flags. A lazy well. A dog sleeping in the middle of the road like it owned the place.

  Nahl sat sideways in the cart, boots resting on the side rail.

  She hadn’t said much since the escape. But Kian could feel her watching. Always watching.

  Not just him—everything. As if she were trying to fit herself into a world that had moved on without her.

  “You sure this place is clean?” she finally said, voice light.

  “I’m sure nothing here stirs the scales,” Kian replied, his tone more certain than he felt.

  ery few people were out on the street.

  Not in a haunted way, but a very dull way.

  In a way, it reminded Kian of how he was before he got the spark.

  Drifting. Moving because time moved, not because you chose to.

  No highs. No lows. Just… passing days.

  If he hadn’t been marked, if he hadn’t touched the divine... would he have ended up like this? Would he have been okay with it?

  A vendor leaned half-asleep against a fruit stall, a straw hat tilted over his eyes.

  A pair of children chased a worn leather ball with no urgency. Even the dust in the street seemed too lazy to rise.

  Zeyk yawned like it offended him. “Gods, this place is dead.”

  Nahl tilted her head slightly, scanning the buildings.

  “Not dead,” she murmured. “Just untouched. Like time doesn’t press here.”

  Kian nodded faintly.

  And yet, something deep in his bones told him this was temporary.

  Balance was never still. It held… until it tipped.

  He didn’t say that out loud.

  Instead, he gestured toward the general store. “Let’s grab supplies and move on before we disturb the peace.”

  “I’m gonna go get water and a new set of clothes.” Nahl walked off, “Don’t get into trouble.”

  Kian and Zeyk walked over to the general store. He barely acknowledged their presence.

  “What do you want?” he asked, not even trying to be polite.

  Kian and Zeyk exchanged a look,

  Kian turned toward the shopkeeper, “ How much for the meat pastries.”

  There was a delightful smell coming from them.

  “2 gold a piece,” he replied in he same tone.

  “2 gold! For one pastry?!”

  “Look here, you weren’t pastry, you need money,” he replied, slightly annoyed.

  “Alright, how much for the dates?” Kian tried putting his most confident look on.

  “5 gold a box.”

  “3” Kian countered

  “7”

  Zeyk leans in, grinning:

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  “Come on, just give him a nudge. That charm thing. Make him feel generous.”

  Kian flinches.

  “I could. But it’d shift my balance. That’s not free, Zeyk.”

  Zeyk raises a brow. “You used it on a guy who wanted to kill you.”

  “Exactly,” Kian says. “That had weight. This? This is lunch.”

  He walks away, stomach growling.

  A bowl of dates isn’t worth tipping the scales. Not today. Not here.

  ___________________________________________________________________________

  They settled for a sack of apples and two boxes of dried jerky.

  That would have to do for now.

  When they regrouped, Nahl had traded her dusty cloak for a loose cotton tunic and dark trousers. Simple, practical. She moved like the clothes weren’t new, like she’d always worn them.

  “Let’s get outta here,” Zeyk said, tossing the sack into the cart. “This place feels dead.”

  Kian nodded, but something still tugged at him.

  The balance here wasn’t wrong, not exactly. Just... unnaturally flat.

  Like a weightless room—no gravity, no tension, no friction.

  Nothing moved because nothing wanted to.

  It made his skin itch.

  He glanced at the well in the square, then the rooftop flags that hadn’t fluttered once.

  Even the wind had forgotten this place.

  Something wasn’t right.

  But the scales didn’t tremble.

  Yet.

  ___

  They began walking back to the cart.

  Kian glanced over his shoulder one last time.

  And that’s when it happened.

  The balance shifted.

  Subtle at first. Like a single string being plucked in a quiet hall.

  But he felt it.

  The stillness that once blanketed the town began to pull—

  Not unravel, not yet—just… coalesce.

  As if the calm itself was folding in on one spot.

  One point. One center.

  He turned his head slowly, heart skipping a beat.

  Near the edge of the square, past the sleepy well and the dozing dog,

  a figure stood beneath the shade of an old prayer tree.

  The balance didn’t just notice them.

  It was pointing at them now.

  Like the scales had chosen a side.

  Or had been forced to.

  "The hell..." Kian breathed.

  And in that instant, he knew—

  What it was,

  What it meant.

  Vikarma’s herald.

  His blood ran cold.

  "RUN!!!"

  Zeyk looked over his shoulder, confused—

  but the second he saw the figure, his hesitation vanished.

  He grabbed Nahl by the wrist and sprinted after Kian without a word.

  The lazy dust of the street exploded beneath their feet.

  The prayer flags shivered in the sudden wind.

  And behind them, the figure began to move.

  It began walking toward them — slow, deliberate. Yet, somehow, every step seemed to cover an impossible distance, closing the gap without haste.

  Zeyk whipped the reins, urging the donkey faster, panic rising. Beside him, Nahl tore off a piece of her old cloak,

  “Burn”

  It igniting it into ash with a burst of flame.

  With a snarl, she hurled the burning remnants at the Herald.

  “STRIKE!”

  It didn’t dodge. It didn’t even flinch.

  The ash struck, searing into its body. For a moment, it looked hurt — blood welled from the wound, and its head tilted back in what could almost be called agony.

  Nahl smirked in victory.

  Then a scream tore from Nahl’s throat.

  A glowing ripple of ash — like a ghost of her own attack — struck her squarely, hurling her to the ground. She gasped in pain, clutching at her shoulder.

  The Herald kept walking. Silent. Unstoppable.

  “Nahl!” Kian sprinted to her side, digging frantically through his pack for a jar of herbal paste.

  “We can't attack it!” he shouted over his shoulder. “It's using some Karmic power — it reflects what we throw at it!”

  He smeared the paste over the worst of the burns as gently as he could.

  Zeyk risked a glance back but only tightened his grip on the reins, urging the donkey faster.

  The cart rattled madly as they tore down the narrow path out of town, wheels skimming dangerously close to the edges of the rocky ridges. Dust and panic clouded the air. Then, with a heart-wrenching jolt, the ground simply vanished ahead of them—

  The road ended in a crumbling cliff, dropping into mist and nothingness below.

  Zeyk yanked the reins back, but the momentum carried them forward, skidding toward the edge.

  Behind them, the Herald kept walking.

  Unhurried. Inevitable.