The forest was thick with tension as Vajra and Agastya made their way back through the dense trees travelling farther, the earthy scent of damp soil rising around them. Their minds were still swimming with thoughts of the day's lessons when they heard the frantic sound of movement—branches snapping, leaves rustling violently. It was unmistakable. Someone was in danger.

Agastya, ever alert, placed his hand on Vajra's arm, signaling him to stop. They crouched low, scanning the forest, and within moments, their eyes fell upon a sight that made Vajra's heart race. A young girl, her arm bloodied, was struggling to defend a terrified tribal man from an enormous, ferocious beast. Its golden fur streaked with black, the beast moved with brutal efficiency. It wasn't just any tiger—it was a liger, the hybrid of a lion and a tiger, its size and strength far exceeding that of an ordinary predator. Its jaws snapped viciously as it lunged at the girl, tearing through her flesh with terrifying ease.

Time slowed for Vajra as he looked on. The girl's face, etched in pain, remained resolute. She wasn't trying to defend herself; her eyes were locked on the tribal man behind her, her only concern was his safety. Her courage was extraordinary, but it was clear she wouldn't last much longer.

Without a second thought, Vajra leapt into action. He grabbed his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver, but as he aimed, something held him back from striking the liger directly. Killing the beast in one blow could be risky—it might thrash in its final moments and hurt the girl further. His sharp eyes flicked to the pouch of sedative medicine they carried, a survival trick taught to them during their time in the wild. Quickly, he slung the pouch onto his arrow and took a deep breath, steadying his focus. He had only one shot.

The arrow flew straight, piercing the pouch midair. The powder exploded in a fine cloud around the liger's head, sedating the massive creature. It let out a mighty roar, its golden eyes burning into Vajra's as it charged him, claws extended. Vajra's body stiffened, prepared for impact, but the animal, groggy from the sedative, slowed just enough for him to dodge. Still, one massive swipe grazed his arm, cutting deep, but Vajra didn't falter. Blood poured from the wound, but his attention remained fixed on the girl.

As the liger stumbled back, dazed and disoriented, Vajra rushed to her side. She was lying on the ground, her body limp, blood pooling beneath her from the deep gashes on her arm and abdomen. Despite her injuries, she was still pointing toward the tribal man, her lips moving as if urging Vajra to make sure he was safe. Vajra's heart clenched. Even on the brink of death, her concern wasn't for herself.

"Mrityunjay!" Vajra shouted, his voice thick with urgency. "Get the man out of here! Now!"

Agastya didn't hesitate. He rushed toward the tribal man, pulling him away from the place and deeper into the cover of the trees. Vajra knelt beside the girl, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he carefully lifted her into his arms. She was so light, fragile in his grasp, yet he felt an overwhelming sense of strength radiating from her. There was something about her that stirred something deep within him, a connection he couldn't quite understand, something far beyond the moment. But he had no time to dwell on it.

The blood was pouring too quickly. He needed to act fast.

"Stay with me," Vajra whispered, his voice filled with a determination that surprised even him. "You'll be okay. I won't let you die here."

He tore a strip of cloth from his tunic, wrapping it tightly around her arm to slow the bleeding. His hands moved quickly, efficiently, as he had been taught. Yet beneath his calm exterior, his mind was racing. Who was this girl, and why had she risked her life for someone she barely knew? And why, despite the danger and chaos surrounding them, did he feel this unspoken bond between them, as though their paths had been meant to cross? 

Her breaths were shallow, and her eyes fluttered closed as her body began to give in to the loss of blood. Panic surged through Vajra, but he pushed it down, focusing instead on her fragile pulse as he held her wrist. 

"I'll get you help," he murmured, tightening his grip on her, his heart pounding in his chest. "I swear it."

As he carried her through the forest, every step filled with purpose, he felt a shift deep within himself. There had been countless moments of valor in his young life, but nothing had shaken him quite like this. The weight of her fragile body in his arms, the sight of her blood-soaked clothes, the unwavering bravery she had shown—it was unlike anything he had ever witnessed.

For the first time, Vajra wasn't fighting for glory,duty or honor, or even to prove himself worthy. He was fighting for something far more profound. Something he couldn't yet name.

As the trees thinned and the safety of the ashrama neared, Vajra could feel the beginning of something—a shift within himself. 

Vajra paced outside the small hut, his steps quick, restless, his mind consumed with worry. His own wound had been tended to with slight stiches, but it was as if he didn't feel the pain. His focus was solely on the girl who lay inside, fighting for her life. The image of her bloodied form, the ferocious bravery in her eyes as she defended the tribal man with a spear, and her refusal to think of herself haunted him. He had seen courage before, in duels and in the faces of warriors, but this was different. Her selflessness, her determination to save a life —it was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. 

The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows through the trees as the hours passed. Vajra's anxiety grew with every minute. He had faced countless challenges, stood tall in the face of death during the periods of training, yet now, the uncertainty of the girl's fate left him feeling helpless. He silently prayed for her safety, his lips moving in quiet meditation, seeking peace for her.

Yet beneath the surface of his worry, there was something more, something he couldn't quite place. Her eyes kept replaying in his mind, those fierce yet compassionate eyes. He had seen so much in that brief moment, a depth of strength that he couldn't shake. It was different. Very different.

As the night deepened, a healer finally emerged from the hut. Vajra tensed, holding his breath, waiting for any sign of news. The healer looked tired but relieved. "She is safe," she said softly, nodding. "Her wounds were grave, but her will is strong. She will survive."

A rush of relief surged through Vajra's body, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His heart, which had been pounding wildly, began to steady. "Thank you," he whispered, though his voice was barely audible.

At that moment, the tribal man, who had fainted from exhaustion and fear, stirred and rushed forward as if awakened by the news. His face was pale, eyes wide with concern. "Is she—?" he stammered, his voice thick with emotion.

"She's safe," Vajra reassured him.

The man's shoulders sagged with relief, and tears filled his eyes. He looked toward the hut with an expression of deep reverence. "Aparajita," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude and awe. "She saved me once again, as she always does. She is our savior, the one who shows us a way beyond the darkness."

Vajra froze.

Aparajita?

The name echoed in his mind, a revelation that sent a shockwave through him. The girl he had just saved—the one who had risked her life, unflinchingly, to protect the tribal man from the jaws of a deadly liger—was Aparajita? The girl whose name had already stirred a quiet curiosity in his heart, the young leader revered for her wisdom and compassion, was the very same person now lying inside that hut, teetering between life and death?

His breath caught in his chest. His thoughts tangled as he tried to process what this meant. How could someone so young, so seemingly fragile, wield such unimaginable courage? She had faced the brutal force of the liger without hesitation, driven not by any desire for glory or recognition, but by a deeper, almost sacred sense of duty to another's life.

A slow, dawning respect began to take root in Vajra's heart. She wasn't just any girl. She was the one who had moved an entire tribe of men from the darkness of savagery into the light of humanity, the one who saw purpose where others saw fear. The one whose compassion was as fierce as her bravery. In an instant, everything he had heard about her fell into place. He now understood why people spoke of her in whispers of awe.

Without even realizing it, Vajra took a step forward, his gaze locked on the hut's entrance. The reverence he had for her deepened. Everything he had witnessed—the way she had fought, her willingness to sacrifice herself—now made perfect sense. Aparajita wasn't just a girl of legend to him; she was the embodiment of a strength so rare, so pure, that it defied any conventional understanding of power.

Agastya, who had stood silently watching his friend, now looked at Vajra with wide eyes. He saw it too—something  was shifting in Vajra, something undeniable. His best friend, the boy who had always carried the weight of his future with unflinching resolve, the undefeated warrior who never bent before anyone or anything, was changing before his eyes. And then, something happened that left Agastya stunned.

Vajra—son of Bhanu and Suthanu, future protector of Indraprastha, a warrior whose name commanded respect throughout the ashrama—did something unimaginable. Slowly, without a word, he bowed his head. It was barely perceptible, just a slight lowering, but in that gesture lay a profound truth. Vajra, who had never shown reverence lightly, was offering a deep respect to Aparajita—an acknowledgment of her spirit, her strength, and her unyielding compassion.

Agastya stood frozen. He knew how Vajra carried himself—proud, resolute, never faltering. Yet here he was, honoring a girl who had almost lost her life for the sake of another, not out of weakness, but out of a kind of strength that transcended the physical.

Vajra's face was calm, but his heart was a storm of realization. The world he knew, where strength was defined by skill in battle, had just expanded. He now saw that true strength could also lie in the quiet, unseen acts of selflessness and duty that it existed with anyone who tried irrespective of their birth race. 

As he slowly lifted his head, Vajra felt something new stirring within him. His heart, long forged in the fire of discipline, duty, and battle, now softened, touched by a rare compassion he hadn't felt before. That felt stronger than his own. It wasn't just Aparajita's physical courage that moved him—it was her soul. Her purpose, her ability to see the sacredness of every life, her willingness to give of herself without hesitation.

He realized then that this was the kind of strength he had never been taught in the training grounds of warriors. This was a different kind of power, one that came from a place deeper than swords or arrows could ever reach. And it left a mark on him, a quiet, invisible mark that would stay with him forever.

"Mrityunjay," Vajra said softly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, more thoughtful. "She's different. There's something about her... something I can't explain."

Agastya, still processing what he had just witnessed, nodded slowly. He could see it too—something extraordinary about Aparajita, something that had stirred his friend in ways no warfare or victory ever could. For Agastya, who had always seen Vajra as a brother and an unshakable force, this was a new side of his friend, one that was not about strength in arms but strength in heart.

In that moment, Agastya felt something stir in himself too—a realization that there was more to this world than the physical battles they trained for every day. There was a deeper battle, one of spirit and compassion, and Aparajita was fighting that war with a fierceness neither of them had seen before.

Vajra stood quietly, his thoughts still racing, but for the first time, he felt a sense of calmness settle over him. He had found something rare, something precious. Aparajita had shown him a truth about strength and it's power to make a change, and it left a deep, indelible mark on his soul.

This moment was one they would both remember, for it was not just a lesson in courage, but a profound awakening to the depth of humanity itself. And as Vajra stood there and he knew that his journey was beginning in a new form. 

All three remained in a close shelter for the night just in case things detoriated. 

The forest hummed with the sounds of the early morning as VeerBhadra approached the ashrama. His steps were hurried but careful, his eyes scanning every movement in the trees, his heart pounding with a familiar mix of worry and urgency. Aparajita—the one he had vowed to protect, the one who had given his life meaning—was gravely injured. Though the tribal man's hurried message had assured him she was safe, his heart would not rest until he saw her with his own eyes.

As he neared the clearing, his sharp gaze caught sight of the tribal man standing outside the hut, where Aparajita was recovering. VeerBhadra's chest tightened. The relief that she had survived surged through him, but so did the bitter taste of guilt—he hadn't been there when she needed him most.

The tribal man, spotting him, ran forward. "VeerBhadra!" he cried, his voice thick with emotion. "She's alive, thanks to the one who saved her."

VeerBhadra's jaw clenched, his rugged face betraying the depth of his concern. "She's safe?" His voice was gruff, barely containing the storm within him.

The tribal man nodded, his face lighting up with gratitude. "Yes, she is resting. But it was Narasimha, the one who saved her from the liger."

VeerBhadra's eyes narrowed as he turned toward the hut. He had heard whispers of this Narasimha, a warrior from Rishi Agastya's gurukula. But there was no space in his heart for gratitude. Not yet. His mind was too consumed with the thought of Aparajita lying inside, injured, vulnerable.

The tribal man, sensing his tension, gestured towards Vajra, who stood a few paces away. "This is him, VeerBhadra. Narasimha—the one who risked his life to save her."

VeerBhadra's gaze snapped toward Vajra. His eyes were hard, his posture defensive. He took in the sight of the young warrior—strong, calm, the scars from the liger's attack still fresh on his arms. This was the boy who had saved Aparajita? But rather than gratitude, VeerBhadra felt a surge of protectiveness rise in him like a flame. Aparajita was his responsibility, his vow. He had been with her through everything, and the thought of another man stepping into her life—however noble—sparked a bitterness in him that he couldn't quite explain. He couldn't bring himself to trust someone easily. 

VeerBhadra approached, his steps deliberate, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over Vajra. "You saved her?" His voice was low, almost a growl, laced with an edge of skepticism.

Vajra  raised his eyes slowly. His face was calm, though the weight of VeerBhadra's presence was impossible to ignore. "I did what anyone would have done," Vajra replied softly, his words laced with sincerity. "She is...remarkable."

VeerBhadra's eyes darkened at the words. Remarkable. Of course she was, but he didn't need some outsider to tell him that. Aparajita had always been more than remarkable. She was brave, compassionate, and carried the weight of an entire people on her shoulders. His people. His duty was to protect her, and now this Narasimha had entered the picture, already being hailed as a savior.

"You did what anyone would have done?" VeerBhadra repeated, his voice thick with challenge. "And yet, I wasn't there. I—" He stopped himself, but the bitterness was clear. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed her, and this young warrior had stepped into the space he should have occupied.

Vajra, sensing the depth of VeerBhadra's emotion, did not flinch. Instead, he remained steady, respectful. "You are her protector," he said, his voice soft but clear. "I only helped her in that moment. It was her courage that saved the tribal man. She—she fought bravely."

VeerBhadra's fists clenched. He didn't need to hear about Aparajita's bravery—he knew it better than anyone. But hearing it from someone else, from a stranger, only fueled the storm in his chest. This Narasimha spoke of her with a reverence that made VeerBhadra uneasy. It felt like something was shifting, something he couldn't control. He had always been the one at her side, the one who understood her strength, and now...now this boy had seen it too.

"Narasimha," VeerBhadra said, his tone hard, as he locked eyes with Vajra. "Do you know what she means to these people? What she means to me?"

Vajra met his gaze with a quiet strength. "I've only just begun to understand," he said honestly. "But I can see it. I can feel it."

VeerBhadra's jaw tightened. He wasn't sure whether it was the sincerity in Vajra's voice or the humility in his posture, but something about the boy disarmed him, if only slightly. Still, his protective instincts wouldn't allow him to let his guard down. Aparajita had been through too much, and he wasn't about to let some stranger—no matter how noble—come between them.

Before VeerBhadra could respond, the tribal man stepped forward again, his voice earnest. "VeerBhadra, this boy saved her life. He carried her in his arms when she was bleeding, when her breath was faint. If not for him, she might not have made it."

VeerBhadra's resolve wavered, but only for a moment. He turned back to Vajra, his expression hard but less hostile. "You may have saved her life," he said, his voice softer but still guarded, "but that doesn't make you her protector."

Vajra nodded, understanding the weight of VeerBhadra's words. "I don't seek that role," he replied. "I only did what was right."

There was a long pause as the two men stood facing each other, the tension thick between them. Agastya, who had been watching from a distance, finally stepped forward, sensing the need to diffuse the situation. "We are all here for the same reason," he said calmly. "Aparajita's safety, her recovery. Let that be enough for now."

VeerBhadra glanced at Agastya, then back at Vajra. After a tense moment, he finally exhaled, the fight leaving his body, if only for now. He gave a curt nod. "For now," he muttered, before turning toward the hut where Aparajita rested.

As VeerBhadra disappeared into the hut, Vajra stood in silence, his heart still heavy with the weight of the encounter. He hadn't expected gratitude, but the hostility in VeerBhadra's eyes had been deeper than he anticipated. He understood, though. Aparajita was more than just a girl—she was a symbol, a light of hope for many. And VeerBhadra...he had clearly dedicated his life to protecting her.

Agastya placed a hand on Vajra's shoulder, offering silent support. "He'll come around," he said softly. "Give him time."

Vajra nodded, though his thoughts were still with Aparajita. There was something about her—something that had stirred him in a way he couldn't yet explain. He only knew that he respected her deeply, perhaps more than anyone he had ever met than his own family. And that, in itself, was a feeling he couldn't shake.

For now, though, he would wait. He had no claim over her, no right to ask for anything. But something inside him knew that this meeting, this crossing of paths, was only the beginning.

To be continued...

Well , typical dramatic self of me :p

I enjoyed writing this part. And , how many are waiting for their first conversation?

And yes , please don't hate Veerbhadra. He will come around to be your favorite character after a while. 

Target - 80 votes

Please do leave your votes and comments !