The scent of incense and fresh rain filled the air.
Kyoto was healing.
The battle had left the city in ruins—temples scorched, streets cracked, the sacred shrines once desecrated by the Asura war. But now, under the golden light of the rising sun, people were rebuilding.
Arjun walked through the repaired torii gates of Fushimi Inari Shrine, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood. The monks had worked tirelessly to restore the sacred ground, their chants filling the morning air.
He should have felt at peace.
But inside—something lingered.
The battle was over. But the war was not.
Emi approached from the shrine steps, her kimono still slightly torn from the final battle. She studied him, her gaze sharp. “You’re leaving.”
Arjun exhaled. “Yeah.”
Takeshi stood nearby, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar. “Tch. Figured. A warrior like you doesn’t stay in one place.”
Arjun smirked. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
Takeshi scoffed. “You don’t.”
Emi stepped closer. “Where will you go?”
Arjun glanced toward the horizon. “There are still pieces of this war left to clean up.”
He wasn’t wrong. There were whispers of lingering Asura cultists. Fragments of Ravana’s influence that hadn’t fully faded.
But more than that…
Something else was waiting for him.
Something unresolved.
The battle had changed him. But there were still questions left unanswered.
Takeshi studied him for a moment. Then he smirked. “Don’t die, Rao.”
Arjun chuckled. “You’re the one who still hasn’t beaten me.”
Takeshi’s smirk widened. “Yet.”
Emi sighed. “Be careful, Arjun.”
He nodded. Then he turned, walking away from the city he had saved.
Kyoto would be fine without him.
But his journey wasn’t over.
Arjun moved through the dense forests of Mount Kurama, his steps slow, deliberate.
He had been traveling for days, following a trail that should not exist.
The war was over. Kyoto was healing. But something still pulled at him. A whisper in the wind, a presence that refused to fade.
And now—he was close.
He reached a small clearing, where the ruins of an abandoned shrine stood. The torii gate was broken, half-buried in moss. The air felt thick. Wrong.
Then, he saw it.
An arrow.
Stuck in the center of the shrine’s altar.
But not just any arrow.
It glowed faintly, its energy familiar—too familiar.
Arjun’s breath slowed. This was an Astra. But not one of his own.
Someone else had fired this.
Someone like him.
He reached forward, fingers brushing against the arrow’s shaft—
A sudden gust of wind roared through the shrine.
Arjun spun, his Chakra Dhanush forming in an instant.
But no enemy appeared.
Only a voice.
Cold. Precise. Watching.
“You’ve come far, Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun’s grip tightened. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Then—a figure stepped from the shadows.
A man, clad in a dark cloak, a hood covering his face. But in his hand, he carried something unmistakable.
A bow.
Not divine. Not corrupted. But something else entirely.
Arjun’s heart pounded. Another archer.
The stranger raised his hood slightly, just enough for Arjun to see his sharp, calculating eyes.
“You’re not the only one chosen by the gods.”
Arjun exhaled, his instincts sharpening.
This wasn’t over.
Not yet.
The air crackled with tension.
Arjun held his ground, his Chakra Dhanush glowing faintly, golden embers flickering in the twilight. Opposite him, the mysterious archer stood unmoving, his own bow resting at his side.
But Arjun could feel it.
This man wasn’t an ordinary warrior. His presence was controlled, precise, like a predator waiting to strike.
Arjun narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
The stranger exhaled. “A shadow. A forgotten name.” He lifted his bow slightly. “But if you must call me something—‘Indrajaal’ will do.”
Arjun frowned. “Never heard of you.”
Indrajaal smirked, his voice low. “And yet, I have been watching you for some time, Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun tensed. Watching me?
Indrajaal stepped forward. “You think you are the only one chosen by divine forces? The only warrior who walks the path between gods and men?”
He lifted his free hand, and in an instant—his bow transformed.
It wasn’t like the Chakra Dhanush. It didn’t glow with celestial energy, nor did it pulse with demonic corruption.
It was pure void.
A weapon of absence.
A bow that drew its power from something beyond both Dharma and Adharma.
Arjun’s instincts screamed.
This man was dangerous.
Indrajaal watched him carefully. “I came to see if you were worthy.”
Arjun’s fingers twitched toward his bowstring. “And?”
A flicker of amusement passed through Indrajaal’s gaze. “Let’s find out.”
Without another word—he fired.
Arjun barely had time to react.
The duel had begun.
Two arrows clashed mid-air.
The shockwave shattered the silence, sending fallen leaves scattering across the ancient shrine. Arjun landed lightly, rolling to a crouch as Indrajaal vanished into the treetops.
He’s fast.
Arjun’s Chakra Dhanush hummed in his grip as he fired again—three golden arrows streaking toward the branches where Indrajaal had disappeared.
But the moment they struck—nothing.
A whisper of movement. Then—
An arrow shot past Arjun’s cheek.
Too close. Too precise.
He twisted, barely dodging the next shot. Indrajaal wasn’t just fast—he was calculating.
This wasn’t a battle of brute force.
This was a game of shadows and precision.
Arjun exhaled, adjusting his stance. Then let’s see who bends first.
He moved—not to attack, but to control the battlefield.
He fired an Agni Astra into the trees, flames curling along the branches, casting flickering light into the darkness.
No more shadows to hide in.
Indrajaal dropped from the treetops, landing smoothly. For the first time, Arjun got a full look at him.
Lean. Not bulky like a warrior, but sharp, refined—like a blade honed to perfection. His bow, dark as the void, didn’t glow like an Astra.
It absorbed light. A weapon of absence.
Indrajaal tilted his head slightly. “You adapt quickly.”
Arjun smirked, nocking another arrow. “You’ll find that out the hard way.”
Indrajaal exhaled. “Good.”
Then he vanished.
No flicker of motion. No energy surge. Just pure silence.
He’s erasing his presence.
Arjun’s eyes flashed with Astral Vision. His pupils narrowed, seeing beyond the material world—into the very essence of movement.
A whisper.
A shift in the wind.
There!
Arjun twisted, loosing an arrow—but Indrajaal was already there.
Their shots met mid-air again.
Indrajaal smirked. “Now, this is interesting.”
Arjun grinned back, his heartbeat steady. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The battle was just getting started.
The arrows had stopped.
Arjun and Indrajaal stood across from each other, neither moving, their bows still drawn. The shrine around them was in ruins—trees splintered, the stone altar cracked from their battle.
But neither warrior had landed a decisive blow.
Indrajaal exhaled, lowering his bow slightly. “You are skilled.”
Arjun rolled his shoulders. “You’re not bad yourself.”
A smirk. “Not bad? I almost killed you.”
Arjun raised an eyebrow. “Almost.”
Silence stretched between them. Then, Indrajaal stepped back, slinging his bow over his shoulder.
“This isn’t the last time we’ll meet.”** His voice was calm, certain.** “The world is shifting, Dhanurvaan. Forces beyond your war with Ryojin are still in play.”
Arjun studied him. “What forces?”
Indrajaal shook his head. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Then—he was gone.
No dramatic exit, no lingering presence. Just gone, like a shadow slipping between realities.
Arjun exhaled, rolling his neck.
A new enemy. A new mystery.
He looked down at his bow, still warm in his grip. His fight wasn’t over.
It never would be.
But for the first time, he welcomed it.
Because he wasn’t just a warrior anymore. He was Dhanurvaan.
And his legend was just beginning.
The air between them crackled with tension.
Arjun stood firm, his Chakra Dhanush humming with divine energy, while Indrajaal’s void bow absorbed the light around it. Two archers. Two styles. Two warriors who had walked different paths.
Their duel had lasted only minutes, yet they had already learned everything they needed to know about each other.
Indrajaal lowered his bow slightly, his sharp eyes watching Arjun carefully. “You fight with the precision of a Kyūdō master, but the chaos of Dhanurveda. A contradiction.”
Arjun exhaled. “You fight like a ghost. No presence. No waste. A perfect assassin.”
Indrajaal’s lips curled into a faint smirk. “Yet neither of us won.”
Arjun didn’t deny it. Their duel had reached a standstill. Every attack countered. Every movement predicted. It wasn’t about strength anymore—it was about something deeper.
A test.
Indrajaal stepped back, returning his bow to his back. “You’ve proven yourself, Dhanurvaan.”
Arjun frowned. “That’s it? You vanish into the shadows again?”
Indrajaal tilted his head slightly. “For now. But know this—Ravana may have fallen, but the war of gods and men is far from over.”
Arjun’s jaw tightened. “What do you know?”
Indrajaal’s smirk deepened. “Find me again when you’re ready for the truth.”
Then—he was gone.
Not like a man walking away. Like a shadow fading from existence.
Arjun exhaled, his bow still gripped tightly. A new rival. A new mystery. And a war that hadn’t truly ended.
He turned, stepping away from the ruins of the shrine, heading toward the horizon.
His path wasn’t over.
It was only just beginning.