Weeping Willows!

At the Mahoraga Residence

Maqbir Mahoraga sat at a low wooden table, scanning through a stack of documents resting beside a steaming cup of tea. His brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages absentmindedly. After a moment, he turned his gaze toward Dakuni, who was arranging a tray nearby.

"Dakuni, have you seen Shailya anywhere?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

Dakuni paused, tapping her fingers against her chin in thought. "I haven't seen him all day. But now that I think about it, I do remember him leaving early this morning."

Maqbir frowned. "Where could he have gone at such a crucial time? Could it be that he doesn't even know about the Clan Meeting?" His voice grew sharper with worry. In an instant, he turned back to Dakuni, his eyes searching hers. "Did you tell him about the meeting?"

Dakuni shook her head. "No, I didn't mention it to him. Why? Is something wrong, honey?"

Maqbir quickly looked away, his hand instinctively reaching to wipe the sweat forming on his brow. "No, it's nothing," he said, but his anxious expression betrayed him.

"Maqbir, where are you going?" Dakuni asked, concern lacing her voice as she noticed him hastily pushing aside the papers and rising to his feet. "The meeting is in just three hours. Shouldn't you be here preparing for it?"

Maqbir moved toward the door, adjusting his robe. "I'll be back before the meeting begins. Please, trust me, Dakuni. Just look after our guests while I'm gone."

Dakuni sighed, studying him carefully. Something was definitely off, but she chose not to press him further. "Fine," she relented. "But don't take too long. I'll be waiting."

Maqbir nodded, gave her hand a brief squeeze, and stepped outside, closing the gate behind him. 

The sun loomed high over Diwankula, casting golden light through the thick canopy of banyan trees. Maqbir moved quickly, his footsteps crunching against the gravel path as he made his way toward the Sacred Tree—a towering, ancient presence at the heart of the village.

As he hurried along, he noticed something unusual. A swarm of tiny creatures—ants, beetles, and other insects—were all scurrying in the same direction, moving as if guided by an unseen force.

"Is this another one of Vahalla's tricks?" Maqbir muttered under his breath.

Despite his curiosity, he had no time to dwell on it. His focus remained on finding Shailya. He picked up his pace, overtaking the marching insects, but soon encountered something even stranger.

A massive creature—one he had never seen before—stood in the middle of the path. Its form was unfamiliar, its dark silhouette shifting under the sunlight. Though the sight unsettled him, Maqbir forced himself to ignore it. "I don't have time for distractions," he thought, pushing forward.

However, the creature did not take kindly to being disregarded. It let out a low, guttural sound and immediately started chasing after Maqbir.

Maqbir gritted his teeth but didn't slow down. His focus remained on the Sacred Tree ahead. As he approached, his heart sank—Shailya was nowhere to be seen.

He quickly scanned his surroundings, his sharp eyes darting between the thick tree roots and the stone pathways. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something—a shadow, moving swiftly between the trees.

"Shailya?" he whispered under his breath.

Without a second thought, Maqbir took off after the shadow. It moved fast, weaving through the trees, as if deliberately avoiding him. Maqbir quickened his stride, determined not to lose it.

Behind him, the creature also increased its speed, its massive form tearing through the underbrush as it pursued him.

From above, the scene looked like a bizarre game of tag, with Maqbir chasing the shadow, and the creature hunting Maqbir in turn. The tension in the air grew thick, the moment charged with impending conflict.

And all the while, the sun continued its slow descent—bringing them ever closer to the hour of the Decadal Clans Meeting. 

Maqbir's pulse pounded in his ears as he pressed forward, his eyes darting across the thinning woodland for any sign of Shailya. The once-dense trees had given way to a shallower, more open forest, where the setting sun cast long, eerie shadows over the uneven ground. The golden light filtering through the sparse canopy bathed the landscape in an unsettling glow, making every twisted root and fallen branch seem alive.

Then—a sound.

Footsteps.

They were faint but distinct, trailing behind him at an unnerving pace. Instinctively, Maqbir turned his head to look over his shoulder. Nothing.

Yet something was off.

The patches of grass behind him had turned black, their lush green completely drained of life. A deep frown creased his forehead as he bent down, brushing his fingers over the soil. The once-rich earth crumbled at his touch, dry and brittle like ancient parchment. His eyes widened. All nutrients… completely gone.

A wave of unease rippled through him. This isn't natural.

The realization struck him like a blade—this wasn't just decay; it was corrosion, as if something had seeped into the ground and poisoned it beyond recovery. Within a minute, he pieced it together: this had to be the work of something secreting concentrated acid.

Maqbir exhaled sharply, his breath misting slightly in the cooling air. Whatever was behind him… wasn't human.

But he had no time to investigate further. He tilted his head upward, squinting at the horizon. The sun was dipping lower, and darkness would soon creep over Diwankula. He clenched his fists. Time was slipping away. He needed to find Shailya—now.

Straightening up, he steeled himself and pressed on.

Behind him, in the dimming light of the forest, a presence lingered.

It had followed him long enough—watched him run, struggle, worry. Now, the game of chase had grown dull.

A guttural chuckle rumbled through the trees. "Today was your lucky day, human."

The voice was deep and jagged, like rusted iron scraping against stone. Each word carried an unnatural weight, as though reality itself recoiled at its presence. As the creature spoke, thick clouds of poisonous gas billowed from its maw, curling through the air like spectral tendrils.

Small creatures—field mice, lizards, even birds perched on dying branches—collapsed instantly. Their fragile bodies convulsed as the toxic air burned through their lungs. Within moments, they lay still, lifeless, forming a ring of death around the unseen beast.

It did not look back.

Instead, it turned, retracing its own steps, retreating into the shadows from which it had emerged.

The forest, once alive with the sounds of chirping insects and rustling leaves, fell into a heavy silence.

Maqbir sprinted, his lungs burning with each breath. The edges of his vision blurred with exhaustion, but he forced himself forward, ignoring the sharp protests of his legs.

"Shailya!" He called again, his voice echoing into the wilderness. No response.

He had been gone from home for far too long now—the meeting was approaching, and he was running out of places to search.

As he crested a small incline, the land sloped downward, revealing a sudden break in the trees. His boots skidded slightly on the dry dirt as he came to a stop. At the very edge of Diwankula, he found it.

A cave.

It was nestled between the drooping branches of two towering trees, their long, slender leaves swaying gently in the evening breeze. Shadows clung to the cave's entrance, making it impossible to tell how deep it ran.

Maqbir narrowed his eyes.

A cave at the very border of the town? Strange. He had lived in Diwankula all his life, yet he had no memory of this place.

Something about it felt… wrong.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward, the damp earth softening beneath his feet. His fingers brushed against the hanging leaves, plucking one free from the branch. As he held it up to inspect, his eyes widened in shock.

The leaf disintegrated into ash the moment it left the tree.

Maqbir's breath hitched. His gaze flickered between the tree and the fine black dust crumbling between his fingers.

"A Weeping Willow in Malwai? That's rare." His voice was barely a whisper. He took a closer look at the massive trees framing the cave, their twisted trunks and unnaturally smooth bark.

Then he realized—these were no Weeping Willows.

Up close, the bark had an unusual texture, almost scaly, like the hide of some ancient creature. And the leaves, now that he studied them, bore an unsettling glow, their veins pulsing faintly like the slow rhythm of a heartbeat.

A shiver crawled down Maqbir's spine.

"What is this tree…?"

For the first time since beginning his search, uncertainty crept into his mind.

If Shailya had entered that cave… was he still inside?

And more importantly—was he still alive?

[To be Continued in Chapter 33]