The final roar of Varkash echoed into silence, and the battlefield—once a raging storm of power, blood, and screams—was now a graveyard of stillness. The thick air of death hung heavy around Armaan as the dust began to settle. His body trembled, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what he was about to face.
He turned around—his steps uneven and broken—his eyes locking onto Tara's body lying in two parts, motionless… lifeless.
His heart clenched.
"T-Tara…" he whispered, voice cracking.
She had been with him for just a few hours, yet in that fleeting moment of time, she'd left an imprint. A brave soul, fighting beside them. Armaan remembered her smile… her kindness… how she hadn't hesitated to throw herself into battle.
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling as they hovered over her broken form. Then… he broke.
Tears fell—hot and fast—as he bent forward, his forehead resting lightly against her bloodied shoulder.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Tara…"
Footsteps padded toward him, and Advika slowly knelt beside him. He looked at her, eyes pleading.
"Please… can you heal her?" he asked, barely able to speak the words.
Advika placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her eyes filled with sorrow.
"I… I can only heal if the spirit is still inside the body. Tara's… she's already gone, Armaan. I'm sorry…"
His chest rose and fell in sharp, painful sobs as her words sank in. Tara… was gone. Just like that.
Behind him, Reet and Manvi walked forward quietly. Reet placed a gentle hand on Armaan's right shoulder, and Manvi on his left. Neither said a word.
They didn't need to.
Their silence, their tears, their presence—it said everything.
A breeze passed by, gentle as if the world itself was mourning her loss. A few petals from a shattered blossom drifted past the broken rocks. And in that quiet moment of shared sorrow, time itself seemed to slow, allowing them to grieve the price they paid for victory.
Armaan slowly rubbed his eyes, wiping away the tears with the back of his blood-stained hand. His breathing steadied. His sobs faded. Silence lingered for a few more moments—until he finally spoke, voice low but firm.
"You know…" he whispered, looking at Tara's still face, "she smiled… just the moment before she was going to be killed."
Everyone around him—Reet, Manvi, Advika—nodded silently. They remembered.
Armaan's gaze didn't leave her. His voice trembled with a fragile strength.
"Her eyes… they were like—like she was saying, 'Become strong. Protect everyone. No matter what happens… I'm always with you.'"
A pause.
Then, he glanced down at the chain of his blade—once gleaming silver, now dusted with dirt and dried blood.
"My eyes shifted to this chain," he said quietly. "They're not just simple links of metal, like I said before. For me… Tara is alive."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"She's alive… in my heart. In your hearts. And in this chain. Her love for us—it's not gone. It's right here."
He looked up, his eyes burning—not with grief, but with resolve.
"And I'll use that love… her strength… in this chain. I'll forge it into something no evil can break. I'll devour every last creature that tries to disturb the peace of this world. For Tara. For all of us."
Silence again—but this time, it wasn't heavy.
It was sacred.
And in that silence, the wind gently moved Tara's hair—like the world itself was bowing to her.
Armaan looked around.
Reet's eyes were red and swollen. Manvi's lips quivered as she tried to hold back another wave of tears. Even Advika, who rarely let her emotions show, stood with her head lowered, hands clenched tightly.
They were all broken.
Armaan took a deep breath. He knew he had to be the one to speak now—not as a friend, but as a leader.
"We will never forget her sacrifice," he said firmly, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet battlefield. "Never."
He looked each of them in the eye.
"What she did for us… what she gave up—it wasn't just bravery. It was love. And we'll carry that love forward as our strength."
A pause. He clenched his fists.
"Do you think… she'd be happy to see you like this?" he asked. "After she sacrificed herself… just so we could win this battle? So we could live?"
No one replied. The silence was heavy again—but now, it stung.
"She would be disappointed," Armaan continued. "Tara wanted us to live, not just survive. So we'll live—for her. We'll fight on—for her."
He walked over and gently lifted her body into his arms. His steps were steady now.
"Stand up," he said softly but with command. "We're taking her home. And we'll give her the farewell she deserves—a proper tributary cremation."
He looked up at the sky, where the storm had finally cleared.
The sun was beginning to rise.
"She deserves peace," he whispered. "And we'll make sure she gets it."
Everyone slowly stood up.
Though their hearts were heavy, Armaan's words had lit a small flame within them—a resolve to honor Tara the way she deserved.
Reet gently knelt beside Tara's lifeless body and took out a soft, white cloth from her satchel. Manvi followed, unfolding a patterned blue wrap that shimmered faintly under the rising sun. Together, with trembling hands and tear-filled eyes, they wrapped Tara's body with the utmost care, as if afraid she might feel pain even now.
There was silence—no one spoke. Only the sound of cloth folding, the rustle of grass, and quiet sniffles.
Meanwhile, Advika knelt beside Armaan, who had collapsed from exhaustion moments ago. Blood still dripped from his wounds, painting the dirt beneath him in streaks of red. She extended her hands, her aura glowing with gentle warmth as she began to heal him.
"You pushed your limits," she said quietly, her voice laced with concern. "You always do."
Armaan looked down, not replying. His eyes were tired—but determined.
"I had to," he whispered. "She gave everything. The least I could do… was not let it go to waste."
Advika didn't respond. She simply continued healing him, gently pressing a hand over a slash wound on his shoulder. The light from her palm pulsed softly, sealing flesh and easing pain.
While Advika's healing light continued to wash over Armaan's battered body, her hand suddenly paused. Her brows furrowed as she moved behind him, lifting the torn fabric of his cloak near the shoulder blade.
"Armaan…" she said softly, concern deepening in her voice. "This one's… not closing. It's too deep."
Blood was still seeping from the jagged wound, dark and slow. Her healing aura flickered as she tried again, but the flesh refused to respond.
Armaan turned his head slightly, feeling the sting but shaking it off. "It's fine," he said, his tone steady despite the pain. "Just wrap some bandages around it."
"But—" Advika began, her eyes narrowing.
He interrupted gently, "We have more important things to do right now. This wound can wait."
Reluctantly, Advika reached into her pouch and pulled out a thick roll of white bandages. She tore off a strip, carefully pressing gauze into the wound, and began wrapping it tightly across his back and shoulder.
As she worked, she muttered, "You act like you're invincible…"
Armaan gave a faint, tired smile. "No. I just don't want to waste time acting like I'm broken."
The moment lingered in silence again—pain, purpose, and quiet understanding settling in the air between them.
Reet and Manvi approached slowly, their arms trembling slightly under the weight of grief more than the body. "We're done wrapping her," Reet said softly, the fabric around Tara's form swaying gently in the breeze.
Armaan turned, nodded with a tired expression, and exhaled. "Alright… then let's return home now."
The walk was long and heavy, not just in steps but in silence. No one spoke, yet everyone's mind echoed with memories of Tara — her voice, her courage, her smile just before her final moment.
As they reached the clearing where their mission had begun, all four of them came to a stunned halt.
Cameras.
People.
The media.
Dozens of rakshaks.
A crowd had gathered at the base of the forest, held back by patrols. Lights blinked and cameras rolled. The sky was still marked with the faint glow of silver, a remnant of the lightning clash that had lit up even the farthest villages.
A man stepped forward from the rakshak team, his uniform marked with insignia of authority. He walked up to Advika and saluted respectfully. "Congratulations on the mission, Leader Advika. We heard it was a success."
He stopped mid-step, eyes shifting toward Reet and Manvi.
They were each holding one half of the same body.
His face fell. "Is that… Tara?"
Manvi nodded, unable to speak. Her eyes shimmered but no more tears came. She had shed all of them already.
The man stood still, then slowly lowered his head in respect. He knelt, placing his hand on his chest, and said, "May her soul find peace. She saved lives today."
One by one, every rakshak present followed suit. Kneeling. Heads lowered. A sea of warriors paying silent tribute to a comrade who had become a martyr.
The man looked up again. "Leader… we couldn't stop the media. That silver lightning—it lit up the sky. Everyone noticed."
Advika sighed but shook her head. "It's alright. Let them see… but ask them to turn off the cameras now. This moment belongs to her."
A reporter, holding a mic, stepped forward. "Ma'am… the world should know. That your squad didn't just defeat some creature. You saved villages from a monster that haunted them for decades. You gave people hope."
Advika looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Thank you. Just… be respectful."
The reporter lowered the mic, and the media slowly backed off, allowing the squad some space.
Meanwhile, under the shade of a distant tree, Armaan stood apart. His back rested against the bark, one leg bent, the sole of his foot pressed against the trunk. His eyes weren't on the crowd.
They were locked on the chain of his blade, fingers slowly brushing over its links.
The same chain he had sworn to wield with Tara's strength, her spirit, and her sacrifice.
He said nothing.
But his silence echoed louder than any tribute.
After leaving the forest, the squad quietly made their way to the nearby railway station. The ride was quiet — not a word was spoken. The silence felt heavier than the sky itself. Tara's body, carefully wrapped and protected, was placed into another secured jeep arranged by the higher authorities.
They had already transformed back to their usual clothes which they were wearing before the mission.
They reached Howrah Railway Station just before dusk. The city lights flickered on as the world moved like normal around them — unaware of the burden in the hearts of four young warriors.
Advika, standing firm despite the weight she carried as leader, turned to them and said, "We need to take her to the training ground… the one where Armaan trained."
No one questioned it. They knew it was the right place.
The jeep changed routes, and the squad followed silently until they arrived at the training grounds — the same place where Armaan had once bled, struggled, and risen. The ground was quiet, only the wind whispering through the scattered leaves.
There, waiting at the center, was Farmaan.
He stood with his arms behind his back, his aged eyes sharper than ever — but as soon as he saw them, his expression softened. When his eyes met Armaan's, he took a step forward, and then another, until he was right in front of him.
Without a word, Farmaan pulled Armaan into his arms.
"You've been through a lot," the old man said gently.
That was all it took.
The boy who had fought monsters, who had stood tall for his team, who had held back every tear from the moment Tara's body fell — broke.
His arms clung to Farmaan as he wept like a child.
"Why… why do I always lose someone important to me, Gramps?" he whispered between sobs, voice shaking, heart crumbling.
Farmaan didn't try to answer. He just patted his back softly.
"You did all you could," he said, his voice steady. "You made me proud."
Standing just a few feet behind, Advika turned her face slightly away, but tears slid down her cheek anyway.
Reet's hands trembled as she tried to stay still.
Manvi covered her mouth, eyes glistening.
Their bold Armaan — the one who always faced pain head-on — was breaking. And watching him cry was harder than anything they had faced in battle.
But in that moment, surrounded by those who truly understood, Armaan wasn't alone.
The burial was held at the very center of the training ground — the place that had shaped Armaan, the place where their bonds had grown. Now, it would forever hold the memory of Tara's sacrifice.
A quiet breeze passed as her body was laid into the earth. Reet and Manvi placed a white cloth over the coffin before lowering it, both holding back tears. Advika stood silently, her hands folded. Everyone present bowed their heads in tribute — there were no words that could match what she had done for them.
Armaan placed the chain of his blade gently beside the grave for a moment, knelt down, and whispered, "You'll always be with us. In every battle, every breath."
When the burial was done and the final soil was placed, a small wooden marker was put at the head of the grave. It simply read:
"Tara – A Light That Shone Even In Darkness."
He then turned to his team — Advika, Reet, Manvi — and gave a quiet nod.
"I'll see you all later," he said.
They didn't stop him. They knew he needed to go home.
Armaan returned alone. His footsteps slow. His heart heavy but steadied.
As soon as he reached home, the door burst open.
His mother came running down the stairs and pulled him into a crushing hug.
"I'm so glad you're alright!" she sobbed. "But you lied to me! You told me it was a school leadership program!"
Behind her, his elder sister Sohana peeked from the living room and smirked.
"By the way," she said teasingly, "you looked stunning behind that tree in the news footage. One leg up on the bark like some brooding anime hero."
Armaan raised an eyebrow, rolled his eyes, and for the first time that day… a soft smile crept onto his face.
"Shut up, sis," he muttered.
And in that small moment — surrounded by the warmth of home — a part of his heart began to heal.
The day Armaan returned home, he finally found a quiet moment to connect with those closest to him. Settling into his room, still sore from the wounds of battle—both physical and emotional—he called Samar, Roumit, and Alya on a conference call.
The moment the call connected, Samar's voice came through excitedly,
"Bruh! You looked like an absolute legend in that footage! Silver lightning? Standing all serious behind a tree? That was cinematic!"
Roumit joined in with a laugh,
"I swear, you didn't even have to say anything. The whole country probably thinks you're some kind of divine warrior now."
Armaan smiled faintly, rubbing his neck.
"You guys are hyping me way too much."
Then Alya's voice came, soft and gentle as ever.
"But they're right. You really looked… composed. Brave. I was just glad to see you safe."
Armaan's eyes softened. Her words meant more than the compliments.
He paused for a moment before his expression dimmed slightly.
"There's something else. One of my squadmates… Tara… she didn't make it."
The call fell silent for a few seconds.
Roumit's voice lowered,
"I'm really sorry, brother… I can assume how close you all were."
Samar added, more serious this time,
"She must've been someone amazing to fight by your side. We'll remember her."
Alya gently said,
"She must've been very strong… and kind. I'm sorry, Armaan."
He nodded slowly.
"She was. She saved all of us… I'll carry that with me."
The mood remained quiet for a while, each of them letting it sink in.
Then, Alya softly asked,
"Will you be coming back to school soon?"
Armaan sighed and leaned back.
"I think I need a few days to clear my mind… maybe three or four days. Just want to… reset."
"That's okay," Alya replied gently. "Take all the time you need. We'll be waiting."
Samar, trying to lighten the tone, said,
"Yeah, bro, but don't be surprised if people line up outside school to see the now-famous 'Rakshak Warrior.'"
Everyone chuckled.
"Come on, it's not like that," Armaan replied.
"It is now," Roumit said. "You're a national hero. Don't be shocked if you have fan clubs popping up in every city."
Over the next few days, Armaan slowly returned to his usual self. Though Tara's loss still weighed on his heart, he made sure to stay connected with his squadmates. He often called Advika to check on her and kept in touch with Reet and Manvi, knowing that they, too, were hurting. He didn't want any of them to feel alone after everything they'd been through together.
By the time he returned to school, everything had changed.
The Rakshak Organization, once a hidden force that operated in the shadows, had been officially recognized by the Indian government as a national defense force against Danawas and Shaitaans. India became the first country to legalize and promote the organization, making it the most respected and followed institution across the world.
And Armaan? He had become a symbol.
The boy who stood quietly behind a tree, gazing at the chain of his blade, had become the most talked-about figure in the country. News channels replayed his battle footage. Students at school whispered in the corridors. Girls blushed just seeing him walk by. Everyone wanted to know the boy who had faced monsters and survived.
But amidst all the attention, Armaan stayed grounded.
Because he knew that no one knew him like Alya did—gentle, thoughtful, and always by his side. And no one had his back like Samar and Roumit—his brothers in everything but blood.
Fame could come and go. But to Armaan, they were his real world.