He paused for a breath, gazing at the ruined horizon. His fists were clenched.

Avi: “But I keep wondering... why us? Why were we sent to this world?”

Yudhir: “I’ve asked myself the same. But after seeing all this... I think it’s clearer now. Maybe we’re here to stop it.”

Avi’s expression softened, the resolve in his voice deepening like the calm before a storm.

Avi: “To protect kids like Ruslan. That’s reason enough for me. I’ll keep fighting—until I find and bring back all of my brothers. That’s my promise.”

Even amidst the ruins, something in Avi’s words gave Yudhir hope. They weren’t heroes. Just boys trying to do what was right.

Yudhir (smiling faintly): “You haven’t changed, have you?”

Avi: “By the way… have you or Varun remembered anything about our past selves?”

Yudhir: “Not exactly. But... it’s strange. I feel it in my bones. Like we’ve fought side by side before. Maybe those other four—maybe they’re part of this too.”

Avi: “Then we must’ve been a team. All seven of us. And if we were… I’m glad I found you two first.”

Yudhir (grinning): “So… what were we called? You remember that?”

Avi (pauses, thinking): “Maybe we called ourselves… Dragon Fury.”

Yudhir: “…That sounds too familiar.”

Avi (smirking): “Then let’s bring it back. Maybe the others will remember when they hear it.”

Yudhir: “And if they don’t want to return?”

Avi (firmly): “Then we wait. Or lie. Or drag them back kicking and screaming. I won’t leave anyone behind. My Dragon God Father told me — our memories depend on each other. So I won’t give up. Not until we’re all together again.”

Yudhir (with admiration): “Yeah… you were definitely our Captain.”

Avi (smirks): “Then listen up, soldier. Our next mission—aid Simargl and be ready for Gabriel.”

Yudhir (saluting playfully): “Roger that, Captain.”

With newfound energy, they sprinted through the stone alleys and smoke toward the chaos echoing in the distance.

When they reached the heart of the battlefield—what was once the city square—they saw it.

A storm of roots, vines, and fire.

Ostap, no longer himself, towered with bark-forged limbs and demonic strength, tangled in the roots of corruption. Simargl, the mighty guardian beast of Pskov, roared against the bindings choking him—iron shackles on his limbs, cracked fangs bared, fur soaked with blood and ash.

Ostap (possessed): “Simargl... Give me the Regalia. And I will let you die with honor.”

Simargl (snarling): “The Sacred Regalia shall never fall to your cursed hands.”

The possessed Ostap grinned—his voice warped, a symphony of demonic whispers.

Ostap: “Fool. Your friend, Alkonost—the Novgorod Guardian—is dead. The Regalia he guarded is already in the hands of the mayor. Yours will be mine and then I will get the other Regalia from that man too.”

The news hit Simargl like a blade to the heart.

Simargl (shaken): “Alkonost… no...”

His strength faltered. Vines wrapped tighter, curling around his throat, his limbs—his flame flickering out. The city's final hope was falling.

Ostap (raising his arms): “Now die, you relic of a dying world!”

Suddenly—

CRACK!

A glacial spear shot through the air, impaling Ostap’s side with a burst of freezing mist. The tree-man howled in fury.

Through the haze stepped Avi, his hand still extended from the throw, eyes burning with righteous fury.

Avi: “You talk too much for a possessed corpse.”

Ostap roared and lashed out, launching vines toward him—but a blade of wind sliced them mid-air.

Yudhir had joined the fray, his arms glowing with sharp, wind-carving energy. The two boys didn’t flinch.

Ostap: “You again… You ruined my perfect ambush!”

Avi (calm but resolute): “And I’ll ruin you again.”

He summoned a broad sword of ice, pulsing with cold fire, and with a cry, cleaved a wave of frost through the roots coiling around Simargl. The bindings shattered like glass, freeing the Guardian in a surge of divine breath.

Simargl blinked at them, surprised—but nodded, recognizing their intent.

Ostap: “Meddlesome brats!”

He extended both arms, conjuring dozens of roots to lash at them. Yudhir spun, slashing with air blades that roared like typhoons, shielding Avi as he readied his stance.

Avi planted his feet, the icy sword rising. In his mind, he thought of Ruslan, of the children huddled in the temple, of the people who still had hope. He shouted—

Avi: “Dragon Fury, bring him down!”

The battlefield shook again—not from despair, but from the arrival of its unexpected heroes.

The possessed Ostap seethed with fury the moment his eyes landed on Avi. Rage twisted his already corrupted face as his magic surged like a rising tide. The very air around them thickened, alerting everyone to the storm of wrath that was about to break loose.

Suddenly, his voice changed—eerily ghostlike, distorted, echoing with something ancient and vengeful.

Ostap (ghostly voice): “Subzero... this time you won’t leave alive. How dare you foil my plans?! Now—repent for your sins!!”

Avi, unfazed, narrowed his eyes. His mocking tone was laced with steel as he responded with calm defiance.

Avi (mocking, turning cold): “Subzero? Is that some sort of slang?... Doesn’t matter. All I know is—I need to crush your plans and save Ostap. You better be ready... to suffer my wrath.”

He lifted his broad, ice-forged blade and pointed it toward Ostap in silent challenge.

Then—Ostap slammed his fist into the ground.

The earth shuddered.

In the blink of an eye, the battlefield transformed. The ground ruptured as roots exploded outward. Within seconds, a forest erupted—lush, violent, and alive. Trees spiraled toward the heavens. Vines lashed like whips. Bushes bloomed, thorns unfurled, and nature devoured the ruins around them.

Simargl, despite its massive form, was ensnared by the vines and branches, struggling as the possessed Ostap siphoned its life force. Avi and Yudhir leapt nimbly across rapidly sprouting branches, moving like phantoms through the untamed canopy. Avi swung his greatsword, slicing through the wood—but it regenerated as fast as he cut. Yudhir’s wind-based attacks fared no better; even the sharpest gusts only delayed the relentless growth.

Suddenly, a cold, commanding voice echoed through the wild.

Ostap (resonant, cold): “Welcome to my Verdant Court! You now stand before The Verdant Sovereign... and for your transgressions, you shall be judged.”

The trees parted to reveal a grand throne of twisted vines and flowering thorns, rising from a living dais of tangled roots. At its center sat Ostap, now fully possessed, his form regal and monstrous, like a lord of the forest gone mad.

Avi, standing on a massive branch, leapt into the heart of the forest court. His landing was silent, but his challenge thundered louder than words.

Around them, the forest consumed the shattered city—swallowing buildings, absorbing corpses, and siphoning magic from Simargl, feeding the unholy power of the possessed.

Despite the grim setting, Avi’s face remained calm—too calm. His posture, his breathing, even the way he held his blade—all pointed to a warrior with immense discipline. Memories may have failed him, but instinct did not.

Avi: “I don’t know if I’ll ever regain my past self… but something tells me—I wouldn’t have spared someone like you. So I’ll carve out a new path, and carry the weight of both my past and present.”

“I will protect the people of this city... and end this war of madness. You will pay. Remember that.”

Ostap let out a roar, shaking the forest canopy.

Ostap (furious): “Such arrogance! That pride will be your downfall. Let me show you the might of a forest.”

Avi (calm and firm): “Dragon Fury, get ready... it’s showtime.”

Yudhir, without a word, sprang into action. He understood the unspoken command—free Simargl, and stay alert for Gabriel’s arrival.

As the possessed Ostap descended the staircase of roots with the poise of a monarch, Avi took his stance below. His ice blade stood upright before him, like a knight awaiting his fated duel.

Ostap opened his palm. Seeds fell and embedded into the ground. Within moments, thick, muscular plants sprouted up to his waist. He grasped them and, with a twist of magic, pulled forth an elegant wooden sword, sculpted from living flora—a weapon both graceful and terrible.

He stood poised.

Ostap (curious): “This stance is Romanov Swordsmanship. An art of this land. But yours… I’ve never seen it before.”

Avi (coolly): “Oh, this? I call it... Dragon Style. Prepare to be slashed by it.”

The two locked eyes.

Their auras swelled.

Then—they clashed.

Ice met wood, and the shockwave rippled through the trees, making even the possessed forest tremble. The impact sent leaves flying and cracked the bark beneath their feet.

But this was only the beginning.

High above, Yudhir’s eyes widened. Ostap was doing something worse—using Simargl’s drained energy to conjure a twisted, corrupted mockery of the divine beast. A monster made of roots and bark—a Simargl-shaped abomination—began to rise from the forest floor, glowing with stolen power.

Yudhir clenched his fists.

“If I don’t save Simargl now…” he thought, “that thing will tear through the city and everything left in it.”

As Avi battled Ostap below in a clash of blade and belief, Yudhir steeled himself. A second war was beginning—one that had to be won before it even took form.

Scene 5 : Melody of Battle

Varun and Rusalka sprinted through the ruined streets toward the garrison, where the remaining leaders of Pskov were believed to be held. As they neared the fortified structure, Rusalka suddenly halted, raising an arm to stop him.

They ducked behind the charred remnants of a collapsed house. Smoke rose in the air. The garrison was swarming with Novgorod soldiers—armed and alert.

Varun crouched close beside her, clearly more interested in her than the mission. Her damp seaweed-colored hair swayed as she peered through the cracks, focused. But Varun’s eyes didn’t leave her for a second.

Varun (softly, with a grin): “Judging by your looks, I’d say you’ve got water-type magic. Am I right?”

Rusalka (cold, but slightly shy): “So what? Looking at you... I can guess you do too.”

Varun (charmed): “Then isn’t that perfect? We’re an excellent match.”

Rusalka (eye roll): “Can we focus on the mission already?”

Varun (sighing, love-struck): “Whatever you say.”

She squinted toward the garrison. The high concentration of guards meant only one thing—the leaders were definitely inside. A sly smirk tugged at her lips as an idea sparked.

Rusalka: “I have a plan. But you must follow my orders. Exactly.”

Varun (immediately): “Yes, ma’am!!”

That mischievous glint in her eye should’ve warned him—but before he could process it, she shoved him out from cover—straight into the soldiers’ line of sight.

Varun (nervously): “Umm… Rusalka? Is this really part of the plan? Why do I feel like I’m the bait?”

Rusalka (whispering from cover): “Because you are. Now go distract them while I save the prisoners.”

A dozen Novgorod soldiers surged toward him like a tidal wave of steel and fury. Left with no choice, Varun exhaled calmly, clenching his fists as the battle cry rose within him. His feet shifted, his body flowed—
—and with the memory etched in muscle and spirit, he entered the forgotten stance...
The Dragon Style.
The very same form awakened by Avi and Yudhir while fighting Ostap—now awakened in him too.

Inside the garrison, Rusalka slipped past the chaos with practiced grace. Thanks to the commotion Varun caused, the number of soldiers guarding the interior had thinned significantly.

She moved like mist through a marsh, her moss-covered armor muffling every step. One by one, she disabled the remaining soldiers with elegant efficiency—her seaweed-blade sword flowing like water, striking like a serpent. She didn’t kill. Just incapacitate. Quick. Clean.

She moved from room to room, searching for the cell keys, whispering to herself with an edge of frustration.

Rusalka (thinking): Where are the keys? Are they hidden? I need to get these people out quickly... and then help that idiot… Why does he keep clinging to me? I’ve betrayed everyone I was ever close to. I shouldn’t stay... I can’t stay. I need to find my sister.

Her thoughts weighed her down more than any armor. A swirl of guilt, grief, and uncertainty clouded her mind. She had come to Pskov seeking clues about her sister, but instead, she had found conflict—and a strange kind of comfort. The boys—Ruslan, Yudhir, Avi, and Varun—made her feel something she had long shut away: belonging.

She didn’t want to care. But she was starting to. And Varun, with his maddening grin and unwavering faith in her, was somehow finding the cracks in her armor.

"I can’t let myself feel this. I have a mission... I have a sister. But I’ll save these people first. I’ll help them... just this once."

She pushed open the officer’s chamber—and froze.

Inside, smoke and ash danced in the air. A single figure moved with lethal precision, striking down the last of the garrison soldiers. He turned sharply, raising a knife-blade toward her.

Andry (husky voice): “You one of those Novgorod bastards? Get ready to be smoked.”

Rusalka (defensive, sword raised): “I’m not with them. Are you from Pskov? Did you sneak in here to save the prisoners?”

Andry (lowering blade slightly): “Yeah. My plan was working fine... until that mess you caused.”

Rusalka (deadpan): “So that’s why there were fewer guards deeper in.”

His glare sharpened. Frustration burned in his voice. Just as he was about to retort, Varun burst into the room with his usual charm—and completely derailed her sense of order.

Rusalka (panicked): “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! WHO’S HOLDING OFF THE SOLDIERS?!”

Varun (grinning): “Relax, relax. I already took care of them.”

“Impossible,” Rusalka thought. “Fifty trained soldiers?”

Andry blinked. Something about Varun’s expression told him it wasn’t a bluff. He extended his palm, releasing a wave of ash that crept into every room of the garrison.

Andry (quietly): “It’s true... no one's conscious. He really beat them all.”

Rusalka (softly, stunned): “Seriously...? He was really this strong...?”

Varun turned to Andry, finally putting the pieces together.

Varun: “Hey... you’re Ruslan’s brother, right?”

Andry (tense, emotional): “How do you know him?! Is he alive?! What have you done to him?! Please—give me back my brother!”

Varun: “Whoa—calm down. We didn’t do anything to him. We’ve been protecting him. Look—this is one of the healing beads he gave us. You’ll know it’s real.”

Andry snatched the bead, clutching it tightly to his chest. He closed his eyes. A flood of memories overtook him. Laughter. Siblings chasing fireflies under summer skies. The sound of Ruslan’s voice.

Tears burst from his eyes. He dropped to his knees.

“He’s alive... Thank the God Rod… he’s alive…”

Varun (gently): “We even found your older brother, Ostap.”

Andry’s head snapped up.

Andry (urgent): “Where? Where did you find him?! Tell me everything.”

Varun shared the story—skipping the sacred trials, but recounting their journey through the realm of Simargl, how they found Ostap turned into a tree-man, and the battles they faced.