SHADOWS OF PAST

The cold had begun to sink into Priya's bones, but she wasn't sure if it was just the mountain's brutal winds or something deeper—something clawing at the edges of her mind. The higher they climbed, the more the air thinned, the more the past felt like it was seeping into the present. 

Her legs ached with each step, but it wasn't just the exhaustion. It was the weight of the monks' blood still on the snow behind them. The way their bodies had collapsed, their lifeless eyes still open, the crimson staining the pure white ground—it wouldn't leave her mind. 

But Manav? 

He hadn't even flinched. 

Now, he walked ahead, his posture straight, his pace steady, as if he hadn't just cut down men who were merely trying to protect something sacred. As if their deaths meant nothing at all. 

Priya clenched her fists, feeling her nails dig into her palms. "Manav," she called out. Her voice was weak against the howling winds, but he heard. He always did. 

He slowed, turning his head just enough to glance at her. "What?" 

She wanted to ask him—*Why didn't they fight back? Why didn't they use their aura?*—but instead, the words that left her mouth were different. 

"Do you ever think about before?" 

Manav raised an eyebrow, slowing his steps even further. "Before what?" 

"Before all of this. Before we even thought about immortality. Before we… became this." 

His expression didn't change. "No," he said simply. 

Priya looked away, exhaling softly. She expected that answer. 

But something about the silence around them felt wrong. 

She closed her eyes for just a moment—just to blink away the exhaustion—but when she opened them, the world had changed. 

They were no longer on the mountain. 

They were home they used to live when they were in earth during ww3

--- 

Priya stood in front of a small house—one she hadn't seen in decades. Their childhood home. The old wooden structure, barely held together, sat under the shade of a massive banyan tree, its twisted roots tangling into the earth like veins. She could hear the distant laughter of children, the soft hum of a lullaby their mother used to sing. 

The sky was golden, the air warm. 

A dream? No, something more. 

A memory. 

Her breath hitched as she turned her head and saw **him**. Manav. 

But not the Manav she knew now. 

A younger one—frail, thin, **human**. 

He sat on the steps, staring at a bowl of rice in his hands. His fingers trembled as he lifted a spoonful to his mouth. Priya remembered this moment. 

This was the day their father died. 

She stepped closer, watching as her younger self appeared beside him, sitting down. 

"Eat," she had told him. 

"I'm not hungry," young Manav had murmured. 

Priya felt her chest tighten as she watched her past self push the bowl toward him. "Papa wanted us to eat," she had insisted, her voice shaking. "He wouldn't want us to starve." 

Manav's hands gripped the bowl, his jaw tightening, his eyes dark. "Papa wouldn't have died if he was stronger," he muttered. 

The words hit Priya like a blade. 

She **remembered** this. But hearing it now, standing here as the person she had become, made it feel different. 

It wasn't grief that had consumed Manav that day. 

It was **resentment**. 

The scene flickered. The memory shifted. 

Now, they were older—both in their early twenties, standing outside a burning village. 

A village **they had burned down**. 

Priya's stomach turned as she saw herself, standing beside Manav, watching flames engulf homes, watching **people scream**. 

She had **forgotten** this. She had buried this. 

She turned sharply toward Manav, her real Manav, the one still climbing beside her on the mountain. "Are you seeing this?" she asked, breathless. 

He didn't respond. 

The flames reflected in his eyes, but his expression was empty. He wasn't reacting. 

Priya turned back to the memory. 

"Do you regret it?" Her past self had asked Manav, voice shaking as the village collapsed into embers before them. 

Manav had looked at her, silent for a long time. Then, finally, he spoke. 

"No." 

Priya's heart pounded. 

She stumbled back, feeling **something** shift in her chest, like the ground beneath her was crumbling. 

This was a hallucination, wasn't it? Some trick of the mountain? A test? 

Her mind spun, the fire around her shifting again, morphing into something **else**. 

The mountain. The present. The cold. 

The memory was gone. 

She gasped, her hands trembling, her body drenched in sweat despite the ice and snow around them. 

She turned to Manav, whose gaze was fixed ahead, as if **nothing had happened**. 

"You saw it, didn't you?" she whispered. 

Manav finally looked at her. "Saw what?" 

Priya's blood ran cold. 

Of course. 

Of course he hadn't seen anything. 

Because Manav didn't **look back**. 

He never did. 

Her chest ached as she swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep walking beside him. She couldn't shake the feeling clawing at her, the doubt creeping into her bones. 

They were walking toward **immortality**, toward **forever**— 

But if Manav had **never** questioned anything before, would he ever question it now? 

Would she? 

Was there still time to turn back? 

Or had they already gone too far? 

The snow crunched beneath their feet. 

Manav walked on without hesitation. 

Priya followed, her hands clenched into fists. 

The shadows of the past lingered behind them. 

But they didn't stop. 

They never did.