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After gaining Zephon's power of wind, Chirag felt something different inside him. His fire still burned strong, but now it danced with the wind—faster, sharper. His movements had become more fluid. Every step, every breath, felt lighter. But with power came responsibility. And the more he gained, the heavier the burden grew.
As the trio descended the Tempest Peaks, the skies calmed. The storm that once roared now whispered through the leaves, carrying with it a message: The gods were watching. Closer than ever.
Their next destination was the Whispering Forest, a place feared by demons and rulers alike. It was said that the trees could talk, that the forest itself was alive. But deeper within those woods lived the fourth forgotten god—Aramis, the god of secrets and memory. He was once a wise counselor of the divine, until he hid forbidden knowledge from the Council and vanished into the forest.
"If anyone knows the truth about the gods' plan," Siya said as they walked, "it's Aramis."
"But truth always comes at a price," Kuro muttered, eyeing the woods ahead.
The forest stood like a wall of green shadows. Its trees were tall, twisted, their branches reaching like hands. A thick fog rolled across the ground, and the air smelled like old books and forgotten dreams.
Chirag took the first step in.
The moment they entered, the silence wrapped around them like a blanket. Even their footsteps made no sound. It felt like the forest had swallowed the world whole.
Then came the whispers.
Soft voices, just at the edge of hearing. They seemed to call from every direction.
"You shouldn't be here."
"He sees you now."
"Turn back before the truth breaks you."
Chirag kept walking, his jaw tight. "Don't listen to them. They're only testing us."
Siya nodded, though her hand never left the hilt of her blade. Kuro looked around nervously, ready for anything.
As they moved deeper, the forest changed.
Time itself seemed to bend. One moment it was morning light, the next it was dusk. Trees moved positions when no one looked. Paths circled back. Twice they passed the same moss-covered stone, even though they walked in a straight line.
"This place is cursed," Kuro grunted.
"No," Chirag said. "It's protected. Aramis doesn't want to be found."
Suddenly, the whispers grew louder—and one became clear.
"Chirag."
He stopped.
That voice… he knew it.
It was his mother's voice.
"Why did you let us go?"
His eyes widened. The fog in front of him shifted, and a shape appeared—a woman, her face soft, her eyes full of sorrow.
Siya grabbed his arm. "It's not real."
But Chirag couldn't look away.
"Mother?" he whispered.
"You were weak," the vision said. "You were never meant for greatness. You should've died in the streets."
Chirag stepped back, his fire flickering in his palm.
Another shape rose beside her—his father. "You are nothing but a tool for demons now. Do you think power makes you worthy?"
"Stop it!" Chirag roared, flames bursting from his hands. The illusions vanished in smoke.
Kuro exhaled. "Well, that was fun."
"The forest is feeding on our memories," Siya said. "Trying to break us."
"We don't turn back," Chirag said, his voice firm. "Let it show me everything. I won't break."
Finally, after what felt like hours—or maybe days—they reached a clearing.
A giant tree stood at its center, taller than anything they'd seen before. Its bark shimmered with silver lines, like veins, and its leaves glowed faintly blue.
Sitting beneath it was Aramis.
He looked like a man carved from old wood, with hair made of moss and eyes like still water. He didn't speak right away. He simply watched them, as if reading their souls.
"You have come far," he said at last. "But not far enough to understand the path you walk."
"We need answers," Chirag said. "The gods are moving. They attacked once. They'll do it again. I need to stop them."
Aramis tilted his head. "And what makes you think you can?"
Chirag stepped forward. "Because I've survived what should have killed me. Because I've protected those I love. Because I've gained the power of gods who were forgotten, and I'm still standing."
"Power alone does not bring victory," Aramis replied. "You seek to change fate—but fate is not a thread you can cut. It is a river. And every step you take makes waves."
He rose slowly, placing a hand on the tree.
"This tree holds the memories of the world. Every truth. Every lie. You may drink from it. But beware—what you learn may change you forever."
Chirag looked at Siya. She nodded.
"I need to know," he said.
Aramis touched Chirag's forehead.
In an instant, Chirag's mind exploded with visions.
He saw the first war between gods and demons, when the world was still young. He saw the Council of Gods, creating rules not for justice—but for control. He saw how humans were kept weak on purpose, how the rulers were tricked into staying neutral, and how demon power was sealed by divine lies.
But the most terrifying vision was of the god king—a being of pure light, hidden above the Council. A god who had never spoken, but who controlled everything.
The true enemy.
Chirag stumbled back, breath ragged. His hands trembled.
"I saw it all," he whispered. "They don't just want power. They want to erase choice. They want obedience."
Aramis nodded. "And now you know. What will you do?"
"I'll fight," Chirag said. "But not just to protect the demons. Not just to protect Siya. I'll fight for freedom. For every being that's been used, broken, or forgotten."
Aramis smiled—a slow, sad smile.
"Then take my gift. Let memory be your blade."
A swirl of silver light flowed into Chirag's chest. He gasped as ancient knowledge, lost languages, and divine secrets filled his mind.
It was overwhelming—but he held on.
Siya stepped beside him. "Three gods remain."
Kuro rolled his shoulders. "Let's bring them home."
Chirag looked at the tree one last time.
No more running. No more fear.
He was no longer a boy abandoned in an alley.
He was the fire.
And the storm.
And now—he was the keeper of truth.
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