When Naeem opened his eyes, it was already night.
The air was cold. Silent.
His body ached from every joint, but the pain was nothing compared to the storm in his heart.
He sat there for a long moment, trying to process what had happened. Slowly, the memories returned—the fight, the fireball, the explosion… the loss.
He turned his head.
Three lifeless bodies lay nearby.
One was missing its head. Another had Naeem's shadow dagger still lodged deep in the skull. Blood stained the earth.
And then his eyes fell on something else—his own severed arm, lying a few feet away, surrounded by a pool of dried blood.
The world suddenly felt heavier.
Naeem broke down.
He screamed. He cried. The grief poured out of him like poison.
"I won the fight," he whispered to himself between sobs, "but I lost everything…"
Tears streamed down his face.
"You think you're strong?" he said aloud, bitterly. "You couldn't even protect your own sister."
He buried his face in his hand, drowning in guilt and self-hate.
But then… a sound.
A soft, distant sob.
He froze.
It wasn't his own.
He lifted his head and looked around. The sound was faint—but real.
A child's sob.
His eyes scanned the battlefield, until they landed on something he hadn't noticed before—a mound of rock. It looked freshly disturbed.
His heart skipped a beat.
"I don't remember that being there…"
He stumbled toward it, a wild thought rising in his chest. He remembered Masud—standing right around that spot just before the fireball hit.
Could it be?
Could someone have survived?
He dropped to his knees and pressed his ear against the earth. The sobs were clearer now—weak, scared… and alive.
"Anisa…?"
He only had one arm. A dagger. And pure desperation.
The ground was solid. Hardened. Even his most powerful shadow-enhanced strikes left only deep scratches.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
With each cry he heard from beneath the ground, he struck harder, poured more energy into every blow—fuelled by fear, by love, by hope.
His dagger glowed dark purple and red. His muscles screamed. His vision blurred.
But he kept digging.
Kept cutting.
The night slipped away, and the first light of dawn broke over the horizon—golden rays falling on Naeem's bruised, bloodied face.
And then—finally—he saw her.
A small hand. A tear-streaked face.
Anisa.
She was alive.
Naeem let out a cry of relief as he reached down and somehow, with every last ounce of strength, pulled her from the collapsed shelter.
She blinked in the sunlight, clinging to him.
He held her close, sobbing again—but this time with joy.
Naeem held Anisa tightly in his arm—as if just loosening his grip would mean losing her forever.
"No one's taking you away now," he whispered fiercely.
He looked into her tear-stained face and asked gently, "Anny, are you okay?"
Anisa was still sobbing, her small frame trembling in his arms. Her voice cracked as she asked, "Nai… tell me the truth. Mom and Dad—they're not alive, are they?"
Naeem's heart twisted. He wanted to lie. To protect her with comforting words. But he couldn't bring himself to feed her false hope.
He stayed quiet.
And in that silence, Anisa understood.
Though she was just seven, Anisa had always acted older—more thoughtful, more composed. But today… today, she cried like a child. A real, broken child.
Naeem wrapped his arm around her tighter and let her sob into his chest.
His mind was tormented.
She had to see this day… while I was still alive. She had to watch them die.
He blamed himself. Over and over.
After a while, Anisa looked up. That's when she noticed—his right arm was gone. Her eyes widened in shock.
"Your arm…" she whispered, and began crying again.
Naeem forced a small smile. "Hey, hey… It's okay. No need to cry."
"But you're hurt!"
"Anny," he said softly, brushing her hair back with his one remaining hand, "You know how much I love you, right?"
She nodded, still sniffling.
"Then if you keep crying," he added, "I'll feel even worse."
She reached out and held his hand tightly—her small fingers trembling, her body still shaking from fear and grief.
And something strange happened.
He felt warmth. A pulse. The bleeding from his wound began to stop. The skin near his injury shimmered faintly, as if touched by sunlight.
His eyes widened.
"Wait…" he murmured. "Anny… you healed me."
She blinked in surprise. "I… did?"
Naeem looked at his arm. The wound hadn't completely regenerated, but the bleeding had stopped, and the pain had lessened. A gentle green glow flickered and faded.
He knew she hd plants element—but he didn't know she could heal, and without even focusing.
"A seven-year-old…" he whispered. "You didn't even try… and still…"
His eyes welled up, but not with sadness this time.
With hope.
Maybe life wasn't over.
Maybe, just maybe, something was beginning.
He looked at her and smiled through the tears. "You're amazing, Anny. And I promise… I'll protect you no matter what."
And in that moment, under the rising sun, Naeem found purpose again—not in revenge or power, but in the duty to make Anisa's life whole and joyful again.