The situation inside the Giant Tree had turned desperate.
The moment the Fake Ostap fell to Avi's blade, the entire tree shuddered violently, as if his strike had disturbed the very heart of the creature. The walls pulsed with unstable Zhivava, and the hollow core trembled around them.
Andry and Ruslan had survived the ordeal—but barely.
Their bodies were riddled with wounds from the thorned vines. Poison burned through their veins, draining the last of their strength. Even standing had become a struggle.
Avi saw the truth immediately.
They did not have time.
Without a word, he lifted both brothers—one on each side—and helped them walk toward their captured brother.
When they finally reached him, the composure both of them had held until now broke.
Tears streamed down their faces.
Ruslan slowly raised his trembling hand. With the final reserve of Zhivava left in him, a weak flame formed in his palm and shot forward, burning through half of the vines binding Ostap.
Andry followed immediately.
Ash gathered in his hand and surged forward, destroying the remaining bindings.
The vines snapped.
Ostap's body collapsed forward.
Both brothers caught him before he could fall.
His body was frail and weakened, but the monstrous form the tree had forced upon him was gone. Somehow, he had regained his human form. He remained unconscious in their arms.
Andry and Ruslan held him tightly, refusing to let him slip away again.
For a brief moment the battle faded, leaving only the three brothers reunited at last.
Avi stood beside them, silent.
Watching.
The sight stirred something in him. A quiet ache he rarely allowed himself to feel. He was never one to show emotion, yet a faint jealousy crept into his chest.
They still had their family.
He only remembered fragments of his own.
Just his mother's words… echoing somewhere far away in his mind.
The moment ended when the entire tree shook again—this time far more violently.
The hollow chamber groaned as if something ominous were about to awaken.
Avi's eyes sharpened.
"This place doesn't look stable," he said firmly. "We need to evacuate. Now."
The brothers nodded, but their bodies were too weak to move.
So Avi acted.
He drove his icy broadblade into the wall, carving a passage toward the opening they had used earlier. The frozen steel cut through the inner bark like a blade through brittle stone.
When he reached the edge of the opening, he looked down.
The height stunned even him.
Before entering the tree, he had never realized how enormous it truly was. From this vantage point the ground looked impossibly far away. A fall from here would crush any ordinary person.
Yet hope appeared in his eyes.
Far below, someone was flying through the battlefield, cutting down the mutated beasts circling the tree.
It was unmistakable.
"YUDHIR!" Avi shouted.
The wind shifted.
High in the sky, Yudhir heard the call and immediately turned. Within seconds he shot toward the opening near the top of the tree and slipped inside.
He landed beside Avi, breathing heavily from the relentless fighting outside.
"Hey…" he said between breaths. "Did you save them?"
Avi shook his head slightly.
"They saved themselves. I only helped."
Andry forced out a pained laugh.
"Hah… he's just being humble."
Ruslan, barely conscious, gave Avi a faint smile.
"Thanks… big bro… for saving my brother."
Avi returned a small smile.
"We'll talk later. First we escape."
He looked at Yudhir.
"Can you carry Andry and Ruslan? I'll take Ostap."
Yudhir rolled his shoulders, wind gathering around him again.
"On it, Captain. Ready to board Dragon Airlines?"
Andry blinked in confusion.
"Huh… what?"
Ruslan frowned weakly.
"Why does that sound fami—"
Before he could finish, Yudhir jumped.
Straight out of the opening.
Ruslan screamed instantly, the memory of their earlier plunge into Simargl's realm flashing through his mind. Even Andry panicked for a moment.
But Yudhir's control over the wind was flawless. The rushing air steadied their descent, carrying them safely through the sky like a powerful current.
Avi watched them drop.
Then he formed a plan.
He placed Ostap across his shoulder and stepped onto his greatsword, shaping it with ice into a broad frozen platform.
Then he jumped.
The blade slid through the air like a hovering surfboard. Streams of ice burst downward from its edges, slowing their descent as Avi guided the fall with perfect balance.
They glided down the massive trunk of the tree before finally landing on the ground below.
The soldiers and fighters gathered around the battlefield stared in disbelief.
Varun was the first to shout.
"GUYS! Thank god you're back!"
Rusalka crossed her arms, observing Ostap carefully.
"So that's what he really looks like," she said. "You two brothers look like you've walked through hell."
Before anyone could say more, a massive figure rushed forward.
Boris reached them and pulled the three brothers into a crushing embrace.
Relief flooded his face as tears formed in his eyes.
From the moment he learned he had three nephews, something inside him had changed. Accepting the truth had not been easy, but now he had a new bond to protect… a new responsibility to carry… and a new reason to keep living.
He could never face his sister again if anything had happened to her sons.
Ruslan's muffled voice broke through the hug.
"Uncle… you sweat… it stinks…"
Andry chuckled weakly.
"He's right… let us breathe."
Boris burst into laughter, ruffling their hair.
"You little rascals…"
Varun, Yudhir, Avi, and Rusalka laughed at the exchange. The tension of battle finally loosened for a moment.
But one man remained alert.
Gabriel was staring at the tree.
"Hey," he called. "Look."
Everyone turned.
The mutated beasts that had been emerging from the tree were now retreating back into it.
Varun frowned.
"That doesn't look good."
Avi narrowed his eyes.
"Yudhir… it's preparing something."
Yudhir felt the surge of energy building inside the tree, and his expression darkened.
"Yeah… it's going to detonate. But why… just to destroy us?"
Before anyone could answer, a powerful presence approached.
Simargl arrived beside them.
"To destroy Pskov," the Guardian said. "Then scatter its seeds across the land and infect every living organism… turning them into its minions."
Rusalka exhaled sharply.
"A horrifying plan."
Yudhir clenched his fists.
"Then we stop it… or at least reduce the blast."
Avi stepped forward, eyes fixed on the towering giant.
"I will freeze the tree."
Yudhir looked at him.
"And if it still detonates?"
Simargl answered calmly.
"Then I will reclaim the Zhivava it stole from me."
Varun frowned.
"But you're still weakened."
The Guardian's fiery eyes burned brighter.
"Even so… a guardian must stand for Pskov. If I let you bear this burden alone, I would disgrace my authority."
The ground trembled again as the massive tree convulsed.
Avi walked forward and stopped before the monstrous trunk.
Beside him stood the Guardian of Pskov.
Ice gathered along Avi's blade.
Flames flickered around Simargl.
Both of them prepared to bring the Giant Tree down—
once and for all.
For a brief moment, Avi fell silent.
His breath slowed—steady, measured.
Eyes closed.
Body stilled.
Not exhaustion…
discipline.
It was as if something older than memory guided him—his stance correcting itself, his presence sharpening into something calm, something unshakable.
Then—
In a single, decisive motion, his eyes snapped open.
He dropped into a low crouch, palm pressing firmly against the fractured earth. A cold breath escaped his lips, thin and white, curling into the air like a whisper of winter.
Avi (low, almost inaudible):
"Dragon God Style — Frozen Form: Permafrost Invasion."
The ground answered.
Ice surged outward from beneath his hand—silent at first, then relentless. It spread like a living tide, racing across the battlefield, climbing the colossal body of the Tree Giant. Roots froze mid-twist. Branches locked in place. The corruption that pulsed through its veins was smothered beneath an advancing dominion of frost.
It wasn't just ice—
It was judgment.
Nature itself reclaiming what had been defiled.
The Giant trembled, its stolen Zhivava thrashing violently beneath the growing prison, desperate to break free.
Around Avi, the remaining beasts lunged in a final frenzy—
but they never reached him.
Yudhir's winds tore through the sky, shredding airborne threats before they could descend.
Varun's serpents of water coiled and crushed the charging masses.
Rusalka moved like a silver flash, her blade weaving through enemies with lethal grace.
They held the line.
For him.
For all of them.
Within moments—
The impossible stood still.
The Tree Giant, once a force of ruin, now stood frozen in its entirety—
a towering monument of ice.
But inside…
The Zhivava still roared.
Boiling. Screaming. Trapped.
Avi's strength finally gave way.
He dropped to one knee, breath uneven, vision blurring—
Yet he did not look away.
And that was when—
The Guardian moved.
Simargl stepped forward, flames rising once more—not wild, not destructive, but divine.
Controlled.
Purposeful.
His fire did not melt the ice.
Instead, it entered it.
Threading through the frozen structure like veins of light, his flames sought out the stolen Zhivava within. One by one, he reclaimed it—purifying, consuming, and restoring balance without disturbing the prison Avi had created.
The battlefield began to change.
The mutated beasts faltered… then faded.
Their bodies unraveled into nothingness, as though they had never belonged to this world to begin with.
The stolen power returned.
To the Guardian.
To the heroes.
To the land itself.
And at last—
Silence.
The Tree Giant stood no more as a living calamity but as a hollow, frozen relic. A massive, lifeless structure stripped of its will, its corruption erased.
Only snow remained.
Soft flakes drifted from its branches, carried gently by the wind across the ruins of Pskov.
Not destruction.
Not terror.
But… an ending.
Yudhir exhaled deeply, shoulders finally lowering.
Yudhir:
"…It's over."
Varun, despite his exhaustion, let out a breathless laugh as he jogged toward Rusalka.
Varun:
"Man… look at that thing. Hard to believe that monster was tearing the city apart just moments ago…"
Rusalka didn't smile.
Her gaze moved across the battlefield—the broken buildings, the fallen, the silence left behind.
Rusalka (quietly):
"…Yeah. But it didn't come cheap."
Her words settled heavier than the battle itself.
No one argued.
Boris stood near his nephews, watching them with a quiet, guarded relief—the kind a man feels only after fearing the worst.
Gabriel moved among his soldiers, checking the wounded, his silence louder than any command.
Yudhir's eyes were already scanning the field again, his mind working even in stillness.
Varun knelt beside the brothers, helping however he could, masking his fatigue behind restless energy.
Rusalka stayed close, her presence sharp, watchful.
And the Guardian—
Simargl bowed his head, flames dimmed, offering a silent prayer for every life lost.
At the edge of it all, Avi remained seated.
Exhausted.
Spent.
But… peaceful.
His gaze rested on the frozen giant, its surface now glowing under the fading light of the setting sun. The orange hues reflected across the ice like molten gold, turning the monument into something almost sacred.
A reminder.
Of what they had endured.
Of what they had protected.
Avi's thoughts drifted.
Only two days.
That was all it had been since he arrived in this world—
And yet, it already felt like fate had wrapped itself around him, pulling him deeper into something far greater than he had intended.
He remembered the words of his Dragon God father.
Remembered the purpose he had carried.
At first, he had only one goal—
to find the brothers-in-arms he had lost to memory.
But now…
Something within him had changed.
Not just a goal—
but a will.
A resolve.
The courage to keep moving forward, no matter what waited ahead.
And for the first time since arriving—
Avi didn't feel lost.
Scene 12 : The Needle Beneath the Sunset
The setting sun painted the frozen giant in hues of gold and amber, making the battlefield appear almost peaceful at last. Snowflakes drifted quietly through the ruined streets of Pskov, settling over shattered stone, burnt roots, and exhausted warriors.
It looked like the ending of a nightmare.
But nobody noticed the new shadow that had already arrived.
Not even Bezlik.
Far above the battlefield, hidden atop the remains of a shattered tower, Bezlik's eyes narrowed beneath his hood.
For the first time since arriving in Pskov…
His instincts failed to detect someone.
No footsteps.
No killing intent.
No disturbance in Zhivava.
Nothing.
And that surprised him.
Yudhir laid down on the ground while keeping an eye out for future threats, equally drained. Varun leaned against a collapsed pillar, trying to laugh through exhaustion while helping Rusalka tend to the wounded.
Avi sat against a fractured slab of stone, breathing slowly as he recovered what little Prana remained within him. His body ached from overusing Prana, his fingers trembling faintly from the strain of freezing an entire calamity. He stared silently at the giant frozen tree, remembering his mother's voice.
Be steady as the ice, my son…
For once, his heart felt calm.
Then—
ting.
A metallic sound echoed before him.
A thin surgical needle had embedded itself into the ground barely inches away from his foot.
Avi's instincts screamed.
His exhausted body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He twisted sideways instantly—
BOOM.
The explosion of compressed Zhivava erupted like a silent thunderclap.
A violent blast of compressed Zhivava erupted outward, tearing apart the frozen ground and hurling Avi across the battlefield. His body smashed through shattered stone before crashing hard against a boulder. Blood ran down the side of his forehead as his vision shook violently.
"Avi!!"
Yudhir shouted.
But before anyone could even react—
more needles descended.
Like silent stars falling from the heavens.
Explosions erupted across the battlefield one after another. Shockwaves blasted soldiers away. Gabriel's shield barely intercepted one before it detonated near his men. Boris protected Ruslan and Andry with his Iron Flame Gauntlets crossed before them, the explosion forcing even him backward several meters.
Yudhir forcefully redirected an incoming blast using wind pressure despite his exhaustion. Varun barely managed to shield Rusalka with a collapsing wall of water before another explosion sent all three skidding across the frozen ground.
Smoke swallowed the battlefield.
And through that smoke—
Something walked forward.
Simargl's weakened flames flared instinctively as the Guardian moved to protect the others.
But before he could fully react—
THUD.
A massive weapon pierced directly into his chest.
The Guardian staggered.
Divine flames flickered violently.
It resembled an enormous ceremonial syringe forged from blackened silver and frost-covered steel. Ancient runes pulsed along its hollow body while dark liquid circulated inside like corrupted blood.
A weapon created to oppose Zhivava itself.
A forbidden anti-Zhivava weapon.
Dark veins spread from the wound across Simargl's glowing body as the Guardian staggered backward in pain.
"GRAAAAHHH—!!"
For the first time since the battle began—
The Guardian of Pskov screamed.
And through the smoke…
She appeared.
A woman walked forward slowly, utterly calm amidst the chaos surrounding her.
Ash-white robes flowed behind her like funeral silk touched by winter winds. Her long ceremonial coat resembled the attire of an ancient battlefield medic, though altered into something far more ominous. Layered shawls wrapped around her shoulders like folded bandages, embroidered with glowing sutra-like patterns that pulsed faintly beneath the fabric.
Faded silver threads stitched through her attire shimmered softly like surgical wiring.
The high collar concealed part of her neck, where cracked frost-like markings spread beneath pale skin.
Long sleeves hung elegantly from her arms, split near the elbows to reveal faintly glowing inscriptions within the inner lining. Countless surgical threads extended from her fingertips—thin as spider silk yet glowing with dangerous Zhivava.
Attached to those threads were dozens of floating needles.
Some spun slowly like orbiting stars.
Others hovered completely still.
Each one carried enough force to kill.
White gloves covered her hands with almost ceremonial perfection, though several fingertips were stained faintly silver-blue—as though frost itself had seeped into the fabric.
A half-mask rested over part of her face, resembling a fusion between a plague physician and an ancient ritual healer. Beneath it, only her eyes were visible.
Like a healer who had walked too far into death and never returned.
The floating needles slowly aligned behind her like the halo of a silent executioner.
Simargl gritted his teeth as the anti-Zhivava weapon weakened the divine flames around his body.
The woman tilted her head slightly at the sight of the wounded Guardian.
Then she spoke.
Softly.
Calmly.
Almost compassionately.
???:
"You have fought long enough, Guardian."
Her surgical threads tightened gently around the massive injection buried within Simargl's chest.
???:
"Please… surrender the Regalia."
Her eyes were calm.
Too calm.
One glowed icy blue.
The other is dim gold.
She observed the battlefield not like a conqueror.
but like a surgeon examining wounded patients.
Avi tried to force himself up despite the blood running down his face.
The moment his eyes met hers—
His instincts screamed louder than they ever had before.
Not because of bloodlust.
That was the horrifying part.
She had none.
Her presence carried no rage.
No arrogance.
No madness.
Only inevitability.
The surgical threads around her fingers moved gently through the air, connecting to the scattered needles embedded across the battlefield.
Like a puppeteer stitching together fate itself.
The weakened flames around Simargl crackled as the injection spear continued suppressing his Zhivava.
The woman spoke.
Her voice was soft.
Gentle even.
Yet every word felt colder than the frozen battlefield around them.
???:
"So this… is the power of the Guardian of Pskov."
The battlefield fell silent.
Even the wind stopped moving.
Even for Bezlik, the appearance of this woman after the battle was completely unexpected.
For the first time since arriving in Pskov, the emotionless spy looked genuinely caught off guard.
His hidden eyes narrowed beneath the shadow of his hood, not in fear—
but in fascination.
The battlefield was reflected in his gaze like pieces on a chessboard suddenly rearranging themselves beyond prediction. He had watched kingdoms manipulate kingdoms, generals betray rulers, and monsters rise from human greed… yet this woman was something different.
Silent. Precise. Terrifyingly composed.
Even Bezlik, the unseen shadow who gathered secrets for Kikimora, had never heard rumors of an assassin like this.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
So this is one of them…
His thoughts sharpened instantly.
"This must be the person Alexander's aide was talking about…"
The floating needles.
The surgical threads.
The anti-Zhivava weapon is capable of suppressing a Guardian itself.
Everything aligned too perfectly.
"Judging from her attire and abilities… she must be one of the so-called Disciples mentioned by Mistress."
For the first time in a long while, Bezlik felt something stir within him.
Excitement.
Not the thrill of battle—he hated direct combat—but the thrill of witnessing history move from the shadows.
His gaze shifted toward the Regalia slowly being extracted from Simargl's body through the massive injection weapon embedded in the Guardian's chest.
"I need to contact her… fast."
His eyes then moved toward the battlefield below.
"But before that…"
A sudden pulse of icy Zhivava interrupted the moment.
Despite blood running down his forehead and his body barely remaining conscious, Avi forced himself upright. His knees trembled violently from exhaustion, yet his eyes remained steady. The others were too injured to move, Simargl was restrained, and nobody else could stop her.
So he moved.
Even now.
Even at his limit.
A small sphere of ice formed within Avi's palm—compressed so densely that cracks spread across the surrounding ice. It was tiny compared to his previous attacks, but the amount of control packed into it revealed sheer desperation.
With a strained breath, he launched it toward the mysterious woman.
The attack tore through the smoke like a frozen bullet.
The woman reacted instantly.
One of her floating needles moved on its own, intercepting the ice sphere before it reached her. The collision exploded into shards of frost and silver sparks.
For the first time since appearing on the battlefield—
Her expression shifted.
Not surprised.
Annoyance.
Her calm, mismatched eyes slowly turned toward Avi.
The temperature around him seemed to drop.
One surgical thread twitched slightly against her fingertips.
Then—
A needle shot toward Avi's head.
Fast.
Too fast.
Even exhausted, Avi's instincts screamed death at him. But his body no longer had enough strength to dodge.
The silver needle closed in—
—and suddenly deflected sideways midair with a sharp metallic clang.
The mysterious woman's eyes narrowed instantly.
Her threads tightened.
Every floating needle around her shifted formation as if searching for an invisible enemy.
Someone had interfered.
Someone skilled enough to alter the trajectory of her attack without revealing themselves.
Avi's blurred vision struggled to focus. Blood dripped into his eyes, distorting the battlefield into fragments of color and shadow. Through the haze, he barely managed to see a silhouette standing nearby.
A figure that felt strangely absent from the world itself.
No presence.
No sound.
No disturbance in nature.
Like a living blind spot.
The person who saved him was none other than Bezlik.