CHAPTER 158: EVEN MERCY HAS A COST

But as the night deepened, and the forest hushed...

Zorawar looked at the beast totem in his hand again.

"I don’t want to just protect," he whispered to himself.

"I want to rebuild this world... one beast at a time."

He placed the totem beside the others.

And as the stars blinked above —

A thought passed through his mind like a shiver:

"If creation is power... then what happens when that power no longer needs me?"

Vyuk’s voice grew quieter as he spoke to Aamir.

"That was the moment he truly started to change. After that night... I never saw him smile again."

Three years later.

The wind was dry. Not cold. Not warm. Just... dead.

Sand clung to the torn flags above what used to be a village. Roofs had caved in. Blood had dried. No birds sang here.

Zorawar stood at the edge of the broken settlement — a quiet figure in dark robes, his hair longer now, tied in a thick warrior’s braid that fell to his back. Beside him, Kairav and Vyuk scanned the ruins, hands tight on their weapons. Neither spoke.

They didn’t need to. They’d seen too many ruins like this in the past year.

But this one felt different.

Here, Zorawar saw not just destruction... but a message.

And that message was cruel silence.

A small whimper reached his ears.

Zorawar’s head turned. Just twenty steps away, a child — barely five or six — knelt beside a corpse. It was a woman. Her arms wrapped around him in death. Her back had been slashed open.

In the woman’s cold hand... was a half-carved beast totem.

Just like his, from so many years ago.

Zorawar’s chest tightened. He walked slowly toward them, his boots brushing away ash and bone. The boy flinched but didn’t run.

Zorawar crouched beside him.

"Who did this?" he asked softly.

The boy didn’t speak.

Zorawar touched the totem in the dead woman’s hand. Her fingers were frozen around it.

"You don’t have to speak," he said, voice low. "Just know this..."

He looked up — and in his eyes, a storm brewed.

"I’ll kill them all."

Later That Night...

The fortress gates stood tall, surrounded by soldiers — but none saw Zorawar enter.

Not through walls.

Not through shadows.

He walked through the wind itself, silent as breath.

Inside the commander’s hall, torches flickered. Guards were posted. Dancers paused mid-performance. The music stopped.

And then screams began.

But not loud screams.

Whispers.

Breathless choking.

Fear itself was being eaten — pulled from every living being like smoke from lungs.

At the center of the room stood a creature no human had ever seen before.

Its body was made of hollow bone. Its eyes were twin voids. And in its ribs, hundreds of faces silently screamed.

A new beast.

One born not from earth or bone...

But from Zorawar’s mind alone.

The enemy commander, armored in silver, collapsed to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. His own heartbeat felt like thunder in his ears.

Zorawar stood before him — calm, unreadable.

"You ruled through silence," he said, his voice emotionless.

He looked at the bone-beast.

"Now die in it."

Aftermath...

Not a single scream left the fortress. But every soldier within died — their hearts stopped from fear before a blade ever touched them.

Zorawar stood outside the next morning, watching the villagers from the destroyed settlement reclaim food and weapons.

But they didn’t cheer.

They just looked at him.

Afraid.

That night, Kairav pulled him aside.

"What you did... That wasn’t justice, Zorawar," he said. "That was vengeance."

Zorawar didn’t flinch. He looked straight at his old friend.

"Then maybe vengeance is what justice becomes... when no one listens."

Kairav shook his head. "We used to fight to protect. Not punish."

Zorawar’s voice turned cold. "You still believe we can protect with words? With mercy? Did mercy stop them from burning that village?"

Kairav opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak.

"You saw that child," Zorawar said. "And you still want me to fight like a hero?"

"Even mercy has a cost, Zorawar.

But the cost of losing it... is everything we once stood for."

Zorawar stared at him. For a brief second, something flickered behind his eyes.

But it was gone.

He turned away.

"I want you to stay human," Kairav whispered.

But Zorawar was already walking away.

Vyuk’s voice broke the silence again.

"By then, he had already created a hundred beasts. Some walked like men. Some soared like nightmares. And not one of them... gave him peace."

He paused.

"He could make beasts from nothing now. He didn’t need bones, or totems, or prayers. Just anger. Just pain. Just will."

Aamir listened quietly.

"How old was he?" Aamir asked.

Vyuk sighed.

"Twenty-five. But he felt like fifty. His back was straight, his eyes still sharp... but his heart..."

He looked down.

"...was starting to rot."

The fortress gates stood tall, draped in banners of gold and green — symbols of pride, of wealth, of cowardice. The guards had been silenced long before Zorawar reached the inner courtyard.

He walked calmly, steps soft against the stone. No one dared approach. No alarms were raised. Fear had arrived before him.

The enemy commander, General Rajendrak, sat in his chamber, drinking sweet wine as if the world outside didn’t burn.

The door creaked open.

Zorawar entered. Alone.

The commander blinked, startled. "What is the meaning of—?"

Zorawar raised his hand. He didn’t speak.

From his palm, a soft hum echoed. A strange sphere of dark mist formed in the air, pulsing like a heartbeat. And from that mist... a creature emerged.

It wasn’t large. It didn’t need to be.

It floated above the ground, its body like black smoke shaped into a wolf. No face. Only a hollow mouth that breathed silently.

Rajendrak stepped back, knocking over his wine. "What... what is that?"

Zorawar finally spoke.

"You ruled through silence. Now die in it."

The beast leapt.

No screams followed — only stillness. The fear-drinker fed not on blood, but on the soul. The commander’s body withered, mouth open, eyes lifeless.

Zorawar stood watching, arms folded, face unreadable.

When the deed was done, he walked out. No blood. No war. Only judgment.

Later that night...

The campfire flickered low. Kairav sat on a rock, sharpening his blade. Vyuk was quietly feeding one of the younger beastlings. A few others were resting.

Zorawar returned without a word and sat beside the flames.

The others didn’t speak — they knew better now.

But Kairav did.

He stood slowly and walked over, stopping just behind Zorawar.

"You didn’t have to do it like that."

Zorawar didn’t look up. "Like what?"

"He wasn’t a beast. He was a man. A man who could’ve been tried. Punished properly."

Zorawar’s voice was calm, low. "Like the court that let the orphaned beastkind starve? Or the kings who ignored the fires we screamed through?"

Kairav’s voice rose slightly. "That doesn’t mean we get to become monsters."

Zorawar looked up, eyes glowing faintly.

"Then maybe vengeance is what justice becomes... when no one listens."

A silence fell between them.

Kairav’s hands curled into fists. "This isn’t why we started. You said we’d build a new world, not burn the old one down."

Zorawar stood.

His shadow stretched long in the firelight.

"To build something new, Kairav... sometimes, you have to destroy what keeps poisoning the roots."

Kairav stared at him, heart heavy.

Vyuk watched from a distance, quiet... torn.

Three Days Later — A Beastkind Council

The valley trembled with voices.

A circular gathering of beastkind elders, warriors, tamers, and rebels had assembled under an ancient stone arch — the remains of a time long past. Zorawar stood in the center, older, sharper, dressed in darkened robes layered with bone-carved symbols of beasts. Twenty-five winters behind him now.

He was no longer just a tamer.

He was a creator.

Hundreds of beast totems hovered around him — some floating on their own, others alive and breathing beside their creator. The world had not seen this before. Not even the ancient sages.

Zorawar raised a hand. The crowd silenced.

"I called you here not for war..." he began.

"But for truth."

He paused.

"For years, we waited. We begged. We bled. And no one came."

"The kings shut their gates. The gods stayed silent. The Guardians watched from afar."

"But now... we are no longer the hunted. We are the future."

A beast with golden feathers perched on his shoulder, letting out a soft call — a phoenix-born, his most recent creation.

Murmurs echoed among the crowd.

Kairav watched from the side, silent.

Zorawar continued.

"There are still kingdoms who trade our young. Who poison beastkind waters. Who burn forests sacred to us."

"They must answer."

A voice called from the crowd. "What do you propose, Zorawar?"

He answered without hesitation.

"A march."

"We move, together. Not to destroy... but to demand justice. And if they still deny us?"

His tone deepened.

"Then we show them what creation looks like... when the creators stop asking."

Later That Night — Vyuk’s Thoughts

Vyuk sat alone on the ridge, watching the stars.

Kairav joined him.

Vyuk whispered, "He’s changing."

Kairav sighed. "He already changed."

They were silent for a moment.

"He still believes he’s saving us," Vyuk said.

"Maybe he is," Kairav replied. "But at what cost?"

They looked down at the glowing camp — beasts of every kind resting beside warriors, the night alive with unnatural energy.

Zorawar sat alone in his tent, staring at a half-finished totem... one that refused to come to life.

He didn’t smile anymore.