Scene 3 : Fiery wolf's cry

Deep beneath the seething hot spring, Varun drifted downward, his body sinking in slow, dreamlike descent. The water around him boiled with blistering heat—but to him, it felt muted. His dormant magic stirred, an unconscious shield, calming the fury of the spring like a womb of stillness.

Above, the chaos of the waking world thundered—howls, splashes, muffled cries—but those sounds were swallowed in the quiet pressure around him. And then—it all faded, as if a veil had been drawn.

He was dreaming.

Not of the cavern. Not of battle. But of something... intimate. Long-buried.

He stood now on the tiled floor of a college swimming complex. The air smelled of chlorine and echoes, clean and sterile. The rippling water of the pool stretched out before him—blue, vast, and quietly threatening. A memory, sharpened by time.

There, by the far end of the pool, stood a boy—no older than ten, his frame slight, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to hold himself together. His eyes were fixed on the water, and in them—a tremor. Fear.

The boy’s expression was haunted. He hated the water. No—he feared it. The idea of submerging, of letting go, of floating in something that could swallow him whole—it filled him with dread.

And yet… he was there.

He stood at the edge because something pulled him forward, stronger than fear.

Varun watched him. The boy took a small step. His bare toes touched the edge. He trembled, hesitated, then sat down. Dipped his legs in.

He wanted to learn. That was stronger than his hate. He needed to conquer the fear.

But he couldn’t do it alone.

Varun walked forward in the dream, inching closer to the boy. The water rippled with anticipation. He reached out a hand—not to pull the boy in, but to say, “I’m here.”

The boy looked up. Their eyes met—fearful ones locking with eyes full of calm.

But before anything more could be said, the dream space shifted—the pool faded into a shadowy blur, replaced by a dim room lit only by the glow of a television screen.

The boy sat cross-legged on the floor now, transfixed. On the screen, a man—blurry but composed—stood tall. He was speaking passionately, though the sound was muffled, lost in the haze of memory. Still, Varun could feel the impact of the man’s speech like a drumbeat in his chest.

The boy’s eyes lit up. His back straightened. Something inside him changed.

And then, another shift.

Now the boy was in the water again—but different this time. Not trembling at the edge, but in the pool, mid-stroke. He was pushing himself across the water, every limb focused, every breath calculated. He was still learning, but no longer shackled by fear.

The pool’s echoes were now filled with cheers, not dread. Other students watched from the edge—some in admiration, others in awe. He had become someone who earned belief, even if he hadn’t believed in himself at the start.

Varun smiled. A quiet pride bloomed within. He remembered that boy now. Not as someone else—but as a reflection. A younger version of himself, long buried beneath courage, instinct, and years of growing up.

The ghostly boy turned back and smiled faintly. That same gentle pride mirrored on his ethereal face. A shared acknowledgment. Then, he faded.

The scene dissolved—water returning, darker this time.

Now, Varun was sinking again—but through deep, cold lake-water, silent and endless. There was no panic. No hesitation. Just stillness. He no longer feared drowning. He had faced it once—and rose above it.

Something stirred beneath the dark—a shape. Vast. Coiling. Regal.

From the gloom emerged a creature with shimmering scales that danced like cloudlight—deep blue, silver, the color of waves and sky combined. Its eyes met his, and Varun felt not terror, but kinship.

There was power in that gaze. Not brute strength—but ancient, elemental grace. The presence of something older than the world itself.

Then, a voice—not loud, but impossible to ignore—cut through the silence:

“Go, my son… Make me proud.”

It was faint through the water—but clear in his heart. As if the voice had always been there, waiting to be heard.

And just like that—

Varun stirred.

The cavern roared with chaos.

Avi was in the center of it all, calm yet burning with resolve. Around him, the ground erupted as towering ice shards speared upward—a fortress of glistening frost rising to hold the fiery tide. The dome of ice above shimmered with cracks, heat warping its surface as one fiery wolf launched blistering fireballs with relentless fury, and the second beast clawed and bit at the barriers like a beast possessed.

Sweat trickled down Avi’s brow, but his expression remained peaceful, composed. Devoid of wrath, he didn’t scream, didn’t rage—he simply endured. His hands glided through the air like a painter shaping the world around him.

“Hold the line…” he murmured, frost licking his arms as he pressed his palms to the ground, channeling power with unwavering poise.

Beside him, Ruslan, determined but visibly strained, floated his runic knife through the air. His eyes glowed faintly with magic as he telekinetically directed the blade like a serpent—dancing, slashing, trying to find weak points in the fire wolves’ assault.

“C’mon! One little scratch is enough… You guys really don’t like cooling off, huh?” he muttered, trying to force humor into his fear.

The knife arced around one wolf’s flank, slashed its hind leg—but the beast snarled, shook it off, and intensified its attacks. Ruslan’s hands trembled from the effort, his face pale with exhaustion.

Then—

A thunderous shockwave shook the air.

From afar, Yudhir had been hurled by a devastating fireball, his body flipping midair like a discarded puppet. He crashed against the mossy red wall with a grunt, leaving a scorched streak behind him.

But he stood.

Devoid of impatience, Yudhir rose with a steady breath, brushing ash from his jacket. His smart glasses flickered with tactical overlays as he eyed the fire beast now stalking toward him—its molten fangs dripping fire, its paws searing the earth.

“Now… I’ve measured your arrogance.”

He held out a palm.

A sphere the size of his hand began to form—a spinning orb of wind, tight and focused, laced with slicing gales and moisture from the surrounding steam. It whined softly like a sleeping storm.

“This is what waiting earns you.”

He launched it—precisely beneath the beast’s front legs.

The orb detonated.

A sphere of slicing wind and steam expanded in an instant—howling like banshees as razor-like air currents tore through the fire beast’s body. Water turned to vapor, flames extinguished with a violent hiss.

The creature gave a last, broken howl before disintegrating into cinders, lost to the storm.

Yudhir launched into the air, twisting as the shockwave chased him. His coat flared dramatically, eyes gleaming behind his glasses as he soared beyond the blast radius. He landed with finesse, boots skidding slightly.

“Finally, it is gone,” he said with a sharp breath, cracking his knuckles.
“My patience paid off.”

His eyes shifted toward the other two.

Avi’s defenses were cracking. The dome now shimmered with spiderweb fractures. The ice spikes were being overwhelmed. The fire wolves were pushing harder, sensing the weakness.

Ruslan was kneeling, gasping, clutching his head from the mental strain.

Yudhir clenched his fists.

“Hang on, you two…” he shouted, his voice cutting through the inferno.
“I AM COMING!!!”

And with that, he vanished into a blur—wind propelling him forward like a streaking gale, heading straight into the eye of fire.

The battlefield pulsed with volatile heat. Amid boiling vapors and crimson haze, Avi remained tranquil. He stood as if untouched by the chaos—a lone figure cloaked in frost, devoid of wrath, balancing power and clarity.

While the dome of ice protected them like a fragile shell, he raised jagged spikes of crystal ice with fluid grace. They shot through the ground, intercepting fireballs mid-flight and forcing the twin Volkazhars to retreat in snarling frustration.

Meanwhile, Ruslan, ever the thinker, had shifted his tactics.

He pulled out glowing magic beads, each pulsating with arcane symbols. With careful precision, he placed them around the dome’s perimeter. As the last bead clicked into place, the runes flashed—and the dome hardened, becoming reinforced with shimmering layers of protective energy.

“These are Volkazhars,” Ruslan muttered, eyes scanning the beasts.
“Servants of Simargl. If they’re here, it means Simargl knows we’ve entered his realm.”
“He wants us dead. We have to do something—quickly.”

Avi glanced at the structure with a nod of approval, his calm voice cutting through the noise.

“Yeah. We need to act fast.”
“Ruslan, boost your personal defenses. I’m dropping the dome. Brace for impact.”

“Okay, big bro,” Ruslan replied, breath sharp but steady.

With a practiced flick, Avi brought down the dome—the structure cracking like glass and evaporating into shimmering frost. Ruslan, already prepared, activated the same beads—this time forming them into a defensive bracelet. A glowing sigil circle flared around him, encasing him in a soft barrier of magical light.

But then—the battlefield shifted.

The two Volkazhars, mid-charge, froze. They turned sharply, their flaming eyes drawn toward the haunting death cry of their fallen companion—the one Yudhir had obliterated.

A soul-wrenching howl erupted from their throats, the very air distorting from their rage. The beasts twisted and coiled, their flaming bodies fusing together in a cyclone of crimson fire. The ground shook as a monstrous form took shape.

From the blaze emerged a single giant Volkazhar, twice the size of the others. Its body was made of dancing fire and molten hatred, its two crescent-shaped horns flaring like molten crescents. Eyes of pure revenge bore down upon the intruders.

Yudhir was dashing toward Avi and Ruslan, unaware of the monstrosity forming just ahead. He didn’t get a chance to react.

The giant Volkazhar moved with terrifying speed.

With a single blistering swipe of its massive paw, it struck Yudhir mid-air, sending him crashing across the battlefield like a ragdoll. His body slammed into the moss-covered wall, then slumped onto the ground, motionless—unconscious.

“YUDHIR!” Ruslan screamed, but his voice was drowned in the thunder of the beast’s next roar.

The creature wasn’t done. It turned, flame trailing from its maw like lava ready to erupt—charging toward Yudhir’s limp form to finish the kill.

A moment of stillness.

Then Avi moved.

His eyes narrowed—not with rage, but with a calm so sharp it could freeze hell itself.

“I won’t let you touch him.”

He knelt and pressed both palms to the searing hot ground. The water in the springs flashed to frost—solidifying around the Volkazhar’s legs in thick frozen shackles. The flames hissed violently, steam billowing as the beast roared and thrashed.

But the shackles weren’t enough.

With a furious twist of its monstrous form, the Volkazhar shattered the ice, molten fury dripping from its limbs. It lunged again.

Avi, already calculating, threw up a massive ice wall in front of Yudhir’s unconscious body—thick, reinforced, and wide as a fortress gate. The beast slammed into it, shaking the cavern with the impact, but the wall held.

Then came a new threat.

Fireballs. Dozens.

The Volkazhar launched them into the air, and they rained down like molten hailstones. Each one exploding on impact, filling the battlefield with blinding bursts of heat and smoke.

Avi spread his arms wide.

“Ruslan—stay down!”

From the air, he drew the surrounding steam and water and twisted it around himself like a cyclone. With a sudden flourish, he shaped it into a dome of jagged, overlapping ice petals—an armored lotus of frost, sheltering him and Ruslan from the firestorm above.

Each fireball that struck the dome sizzled and cracked, but failed to pierce it. Ruslan, crouched beneath the barrier, looked up at Avi in awe.

“You’re… insane, big bro…”

Avi didn’t respond. His gaze was locked forward, cool and unwavering.

“Let’s buy time... until Yudhir wakes up… or Varun rises.”

Outside the frozen dome, the greater Volkazhar stood, flames licking higher, the beast growing more furious, more primal.

And somewhere beneath the hot spring’s surface—ripples began to rise.

Scene 4 : The Lost Wraith

The battlefield had turned into a furnace of chaos.

Steam hissed like serpents. Flames twisted like spears. The Volkazhar’s roars made the cave tremble.

Ruslan, heart pounding, stared into the firestorm. Fear clawed at him—but he forced it down. He whispered a speed incantation, his fingers glowing with a faint electric blue, and dashed along the curving cave walls, dancing between exploding embers and falling debris.

The Greater Volkazhar locked eyes on him—eyes burning with ancestral vengeance.

It hurled another firebomb, but from the far side, Avi intercepted. With a graceful upward sweep, he summoned a barrage of ice javelins, shattering the projectile mid-air. Steam exploded with a deafening hiss, but Avi didn’t flinch—his expression composed, focused only on defense and timing.

Ruslan reached Yudhir, whose body was still limp. He fell to his knees, hands trembling, lifting him onto his back.

“Come on… you’re stronger than me,” he muttered, teeth clenched.
“You have to wake up…”

Then, a shift.

A tremble.

Ostap’s eyes snapped open.

At first, his gaze was unfocused—his monstrous, tree-like form still dominant. But within those glowing hollows, a flicker of human recognition returned.

He turned, his vision blurry—saw Avi, shielding them like a glacier in a volcano.

Then… he saw him.

“Rus…lan…”
“RUSLAN!!!”

The name ripped from his throat, raw and hoarse, like it had been buried in centuries of silence. His bark-covered body began to tremble violently. Vines burst from his limbs, writhing and twisting like living snakes, reaching toward the cave walls—and toward the others.

Avi turned, mid-strike, noticing the sudden awakening.

“Hey! You're awake?! Do you remember something? Look—there—that’s your brother!”

Ostap's mind was at war.

The man inside was clawing his way up through roots and rage. But his awakened instincts—wild, ancient, uncontrolled—lashed out without aim or mercy.

Suddenly, vines erupted from the ground and walls, snatching Avi mid-motion. He grunted, trying to twist free, but they pulled tighter and tighter, ensnaring his arms, legs, even his waist.

The last thing visible—his left hand, fingers still crackling with frost.

“Dammit… Ostap—control it! You’re not a beast!” Avi’s voice was muffled beneath the tangle.

But Ostap couldn’t stop.

He thrashed, screaming silently, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. His vines flailed—a storm of roots lashing without reason.

And the ice wall protecting Ruslan and Yudhir?
Cracks spidered across its surface.

The Greater Volkazhar was hammering it with relentless blows—each impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Cracks spread like lightning bolts—deep, jagged, and growing.