POV: Guhan
Night returned like a promise.
The village slept peacefully, lanterns swaying in the wind. Guhan stood watch near the river, eyes fixed on the treeline. He felt it—something wrong in the wind.
Then he heard it.
An arrow screamed past his head, embedding itself in the tree behind him.
He didn't move.
Another arrow followed—faster, sharper, enchanted. Guhan raised his hand.
Clink.
He caught it.
> "You're not from this world," said a voice from the shadows.
"But your death will serve ours."
Abhimanyu stepped into view—elegant, deadly, bow drawn. His armor shimmered with dark enchantments.
Guhan said nothing. Just stepped forward.
One arrow fired. Guhan dodged. Another came—this time, he deflected it with his armguard, then lunged forward.
Abhimanyu blinked. Guhan was fast.
They clashed—blades, fists, and shadows between trees.
And when Guhan touched him—briefly during a counter—he felt it.
> A flash of forests, endless practice, elf archery techniques, memories of pain and war.
Seconds later, Guhan drew a bow from thin air.
> "You're not the only one who learned from elves," he whispered.
And his arrow found its mark.
Abhimanyu vanished into the forest, wounded, shocked, and afraid.
The village never knew.
But the message was clear:
> Guhan was not just a healer. He was a storm waiting to be seen.