The journey to the mountain temple had begun, but it was far from easy. Safal didn't know the way, and the road ahead was full of unknown dangers. He walked with Ram, the only surviving child of their village massacre, holding the boy's small hand tightly. His heart burned with a single desire—to become strong enough to take revenge on those who destroyed everything he loved.
But first, they needed food. Safal's stomach growled, and his pockets were empty. "We'll find something," he muttered to himself. He also needed money, weapons, and someone to rely on. A friend, an ally, or even a demon—it didn't matter. He was desperate.
As they walked through the empty path leading out of the village, the sun began to set. Long shadows stretched across the dirt road, and the air grew cold. Something about the silence felt wrong, and Safal's instincts screamed at him to stay alert.
The attack came suddenly.
Rustling sounds came from the bushes, and before Safal could react, three masked figures jumped out, surrounding him and Ram. They were armed with daggers and swords, their faces hidden, but their cruel laughter echoed through the air.
"Well, look at this," one of them said, his voice mocking. "A brave boy trying to protect a little kid."
Safal pushed Ram behind him and raised his fists. "We don't have anything. Just let us go."
The second bandit, a woman, chuckled and twirled her dagger. "Let you go? What fun would that be? Hand over whatever you have, or we'll take the boy instead."
Safal's heart pounded, but he didn't back down. "You'll have to get through me first."
The leader of the bandits smirked. "Oh, tough guy, huh? Let's see how long you last."
They lunged at him.
The first bandit swung his sword, but Safal grabbed a thick branch from the ground just in time to block the attack. The wood splintered, and Safal's arms shook from the force, but he didn't give up. He swung the branch at the bandit, forcing him to step back.
The woman darted forward next, aiming for Ram. Safal quickly moved to shield the boy, using the branch to push her away. "Stay back!" he shouted.
"Not bad for a kid," she taunted, slashing at his arm. Blood seeped from the cut, but Safal barely felt the pain. He kept swinging the branch, refusing to let them get to Ram.
While he was distracted, the third bandit grabbed Ram by the arm. Safal froze as he heard Ram's terrified scream.
"Stop!" the bandit growled, holding a knife to Ram's neck. "Drop the stick, or the boy dies."
Safal's heart sank. Memories of his village flooded his mind—burning homes, cries for help, blood everywhere. He had failed to protect them. He couldn't fail Ram too. Not again.
"Please," Safal begged, his voice trembling. "Please let him go. Take me instead."
The leader tilted his head, amused. "You'd trade your life for his?"
"Yes," Safal said without hesitation, tears streaming down his face. "Kill me if you want, but leave him alone."
The bandits laughed. "How noble," the woman mocked. "But what's in it for us? Killing you won't make us rich."
"I'll work for you!" Safal blurted out. "I'll do whatever you want. Steal, fight, anything. Just don't hurt him."
The leader raised an eyebrow. "A servant, huh? That could be useful."
"No, Safal!" Ram cried, tears running down his cheeks. "Don't do it! You can't!"
Safal looked back at the boy, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I have to, Ram. I promised to protect you."
The bandits yanked the branch out of Safal's hands and grabbed his arms. The leader sneered. "Alright, kid. You belong to us now. But remember—if you disobey, the boy dies."
Safal nodded, swallowing his fear. "I'll do whatever you say. Just don't hurt him."
Ram tried to run to Safal, but the woman held him back. "Quiet, kid, or you're next."
As they were led away, Safal felt a deep despair. He had lost this fight, but he wasn't giving up. One day, he would grow stronger. One day, he would defeat them all—the bandits, the killers of his village, and anyone who stood in his way.
For now, all he could do was endure.