The first day of the journey passed quietly. Nothing remarkable happened—just the endless road, trees whispering in the wind, and a heavy silence hanging over them.
But on the second day, they encountered a group of survivors—people who had barely escaped a bandit attack in their village. The group looked worn and broken, covered in dust and silence. Their leader, a kind but battle-hardened man named Vivake, stepped forward and greeted Naeem cautiously.
Vivake gently led Anisa to a woman in the group and asked her to look after the child for a while. Then he turned to Naeem and began to speak.
His voice was low, rough with pain.
"They came without warning. The bandits... they killed our children, slaughtered the men, and took the women. We ran—some of us barely made it out alive."
Naeem clenched his fists. He understood that pain too well.
Vivake looked him in the eyes. "It's dangerous out here, especially for someone traveling alone with a child. You're strong, I can tell—but even strength can be outnumbered."
Naeem nodded and shared his story—about what happened to Anisa's parents, and how he was trying to find her remaining family. Vivake listened silently, then placed a hand on Naeem's shoulder.
"You're doing a brave thing," he said quietly.
That evening, Anisa was shy around the strangers at first, clinging to Naeem's side. But by nightfall, she had warmed up to them, laughing softly with the other children, sharing stories by the fire.
They shared a simple meal together—boiled roots, dried meat, and river water. Around the fire, stories were exchanged, some funny, some filled with sorrow. For the first time in days, Naeem saw Anisa smile freely.
The next morning, as they prepared to leave, Vivake and his group offered to let them travel together.
But Naeem declined. "We'll be safer traveling alone at night. Thank you... for everything."
Vivake nodded, understanding in his eyes.
That night, under the veil of darkness, Naeem and Anisa began walking again. They preferred traveling at night—the cold helped preserve their energy, and the shadows made it harder for enemies to track them. And for Naeem, whose powers grew stronger under the moonlight, night was an advantage.
On the fifth day of their journey, things changed again.
They walked in silence as usual, but as they climbed a small ridge, Naeem suddenly stopped.
In the distance, thick smoke curled into the sky, glowing orange with fire. His heart dropped.
They moved closer, cautiously. What they saw chilled them to the bone.
A village was under attack. Screams echoed through the air—cries for help, for mercy, for salvation. Flames devoured the rooftops. Bandits were everywhere, raiding and slaughtering without hesitation.
Naeem knew this wasn't the time to be a hero.
"We don't fight today," he whispered. "We survive."
He grabbed Anisa's hand and led her along the edge of the village, taking a wide path to avoid the conflict and cross unnoticed. The chaos kept most of the bandits distracted.
They were halfway through when Naeem's eyes caught movement.
A young boy, no older than ten, was running through the smoke—barefoot, bleeding, terrified. Behind him, a bandit chased, axe in hand, grinning like a madman.
Anisa gasped. Naeem froze.
This was a choice.
Survive... or save.