"We have never set foot in this territory before. We don't even know who you are. Why would we come for you?" asked Raghav, his voice firm but steady.
"You didn't come, but your men did," the figure said, voice low and burning with anger. "They looted us. They took away our resources. They killed our people. If it were up to me, I would kill every last one of you."
"This is a misunderstanding. We have never sent men into this area," Rudra replied calmly, his eyes sharp and studying every movement.
"You think I don't recognize the weapons?" she retorted. "The ones carrying them were soldiers—better equipped than you. You took those weapons to Sarthak, and now he rises to power. He has men, weapons, and ambition. You fed the fire. I killed as many of those smugglers as I could, but I knew eventually someone would come for me."
Rudra and Raghav exchanged a heavy glance. The unsaid understanding between them was immediate. So this was why Sharvas had been smuggling weapons. He had been preparing Sarthak in Jangal Mandala, grooming him as a subordinate ally. Sharvas, close to Rankriti, had orchestrated a delicate chain of betrayal, and Sarthak's sudden rise made perfect sense now.
Rudra took a breath, choosing his words carefully. "You have it wrong. The weapons were stolen from us by Sharvas, a warlord who went to war against us and lost. When we regained control, we found that the smuggling continued, but we never sanctioned it. We were merely tracking the source of the attacks. We have no dealings with Sarthak."
The figure stood silent for a moment, the rage in the figure's body barely restrained. Her knuckles whitened around her weapon.
"Well, you found us," figure finally said. "Go ahead. Take us to your prisons. Or better yet, kill us here. It would be far less humiliating than being a prisoner of a human."
Raghav frowned. "He just said we mean no harm. And what do you mean by 'prisoners of a human'?"
In answer, the figure pulled back the hood. A beautiful yet fierce face emerged from the darkness. She was young, her hair coloured in dark red, her skin an unusual shade of brown, marked by intricate tattoos that ran across her arms and neck. Her eyes were large and intense, gleaming with suspicion and pride. Strange jewelry adorned her ears, nose, and wrists—made not from gold or gems but from something foreign and raw, something tied deeply to the earth. A long, saree-like cloth was wrapped elegantly around her, though its make was unlike anything from the cities.
The four others with her—3 men and 1 woman—removed their hoods as well. They looked the same. They too had tattoos and strange ornaments.
"Vanmargi people," a whisperer gasped, stepping back in fear.
The twins turned sharply toward the whisperer, who looked pale, his body trembling.
Raghav helped steady him. "What is it?"
"We've seen them in Padmapur... we thought they were just humans practicing some strange culture—painting their skins, wearing different clothes. We didn't know they were a different race."
"Who are you?" Rudra asked, voice even.
The woman stood tall. "Like your man said, we are Vanmargis. We are not humans. We are of a different race."
Silence swallowed the forest. No one moved.
The air between them was dense with uncertainty.
Raghav exhaled slowly. "We mean no harm to you. We were only trying to understand who was attacking our men. Now that we know it was a misunderstanding, I propose a treaty. We will ensure no illegal weapons are supplied to Sarthak from our city. In return, we ask that our men be allowed to pass through your lands safely."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "I don't even know you. Why would I trust some boys with painted promises?"
"You have my word," Raghav said, stepping forward boldly. "Tell us where your settlement lies, and we will send an official letter, sealed with our mark—a shield with two crossed swords. It will bear Arya Vardhan's authority. You will recognize it."
The woman and her companions laughed, but it was not a laughter of humor; it was bitter.
"You think a piece of paper will stop Sarthak?"
"Then come with us to Sarthak," Rudra offered. "See for yourself."
"You could be his men. His spies. We've hurt Sarthak's men before. Why should I believe you?"
"Then we have reached an impasse," Raghav said, his voice turning cold. "Prepare to die. We have no more need of you."
At his signal, the twins' men raised their weapons, ready to strike.
The woman raised a hand quickly. "Fine! We will both back away for now. But hear me: if I see another smuggler or soldier near Padmapur or Jangal Mandala without an official consent letter, they will not live to see the next sunrise."
Raghav held her gaze, then nodded.
He gestured to his men to lower their weapons. Slowly, cautiously, both groups separated and melted into the dense shadows of the forest, retreating toward their respective homes.
As the Vanmargis moved deeper into the woods, one of the men approached the woman.
"Why did you let them go? We had a chance. Even if they had reinforcements, we could have called ours too," he said, frustration tinged in his voice.
The woman kept walking, her steps silent over the forest floor. "They were scouts. And they weren't lying. If they had been, they wouldn't have revealed their identities so freely. And I have seen those boys before. One of them was captured by the smugglers I killed a few months ago. They were definitely not smugglers."
Another Vanmargi, younger and less sure, asked, "What happens next?"
The woman—Netra—smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it.
"We wait. We watch. And we keep patrolling."