CHAPTER 159: RISE OF ZORWATH

The stars above the camp flickered faintly through torn clouds. Wind rustled the edges of the canvas tent. Inside, Zorawar sat cross-legged on the cold floor, a dull chisel lying beside an unfinished totem.

He wasn’t carving anymore.

Not tonight.

His hands rested still. His eyes were distant—focused on something far beyond this world.

The flap of the tent shifted, and Vyuk stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders. He saw Zorawar and sat quietly beside him.

"Hey, man," Vyuk said softly. "You’ve been quiet since the village meeting. What’s going on in your head?"

Zorawar didn’t answer at first.

Then slowly, he turned his face toward Vyuk. His eyes didn’t hold their usual warmth. They held something heavier—older.

"This isn’t right," Zorawar whispered.

Vyuk tilted his head. "What isn’t?"

"These humans," Zorawar muttered. "They’re not meant to live like this. Always fighting, always breaking, always taking. They destroy what they don’t understand. They kill because it’s easier than healing."

Vyuk frowned. "Zorawar... you’re human too. And so am I. What are you saying?"

Zorawar looked away. "It’s different with us, Vyuk. You feel it too, don’t you? We see the pain. We don’t just walk past it. We try to understand it."

"And the rest don’t?" Vyuk asked, voice calm but firm.

Zorawar’s jaw tightened. "Most don’t even care. And those who do... they’re too scared to act. That’s why this world stays broken. Someone needs to fix it."

Vyuk leaned back slightly, studying him.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked.

Zorawar looked down at his hands, the hands that used to carve totems to calm beasts... but now, they trembled with a deeper energy—one that needed no wood or stone.

"I’ve realized something, Vyuk," he said. "I don’t need these anymore." He nudged the half-finished totem aside.

"I can command beasts without them. It’s not about the tool... it’s about the will."

Vyuk’s eyes narrowed. "What are you planning?"

Zorawar’s voice was low, steady.

"I will grow stronger. Not for revenge. Not for glory. I’ll take control of this world. Rule it, if I must. And make it better—for the weak, for the lost, for everyone who’s been stepped on by the powerful."

There was silence.

Then Vyuk spoke, softly but clearly:

"It’s not just about helping the weak anymore, is it?"

Zorawar flinched slightly. "No—no, it’s not like that."

Vyuk stood, brushing his hands together. His tone was steady.

"Okay," he said. "Then I’ll help you."

Zorawar blinked.

Vyuk continued, "But listen to me. The moment your path turns dark... the moment your strength starts hurting the very people you promised to protect—

I’ll be the first one to stand against you."

Zorawar smiled faintly, for the first time in days.

"That’s why I want you with me."

The fire crackled outside the tent.

And under a sky full of ancient stars, a silent promise was made.

The protector of beasts had begun walking a new path—not just as a tamer, but as a leader.

A ruler in the making.

One who no longer needed totems—only resolve.

Present Vyuk...

That time, I thought I could stop him.

But I was wrong.

He drifted too far from me... too far from who he once was.

Sometimes, I wonder—if I had just ended it then...

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Back to the past...

Zorawar’s creation magic didn’t just grow stronger—it evolved.

The beasts he once carved from wood or stone... he could now create them from nothing but air and will.

No chants. No totems.

Just his desire... and power.

The world started to notice.

And soon, cities began to fall.

He didn’t see himself as a conqueror.

He saw himself as a savior with a sword.

But slowly, the line blurred.

Once, he used to kneel beside wounded villagers, speaking softly, placing a totem in their hands.

Now, he stood on blood-soaked battlegrounds, staring down kings and generals.

Vyuk walked past charred walls, past the silent crowd of Beastkind survivors... and found Zorawar at the edge of the city.

He stood still, his coat tattered by battle, blood on his hands—some not his own.

"Zorawar..." Vyuk spoke, voice low.

Zorawar didn’t turn. "They used to laugh at us... Remember?"

"I remember," Vyuk nodded, stepping closer.

"They called our kind animals. Now look who’s on the run."

Vyuk looked around at the destruction. "You won... but this doesn’t look like victory."

Zorawar finally turned to face him.

"I’m not trying to win anymore, Vyuk. I’m trying to change the world."

"But at what cost?"

Zorawar’s eyes, once full of warmth, were now sharp... tired.

"If I don’t do it... no one will. You think I enjoy this? You think I like seeing blood?"

"I know you don’t," Vyuk said softly. "But you’re starting to forget the difference between the guilty and the scared."

Zorawar didn’t reply.

A breeze passed between them. Embers floated in the air.

Later that night Zorawar set alone in his tent...

He sat silently, a small beast he created curled beside him. It purred like a cat but had wings like a hawk.

He ran his hand across its fur.

"I didn’t want this," he whispered. "I wanted peace."

He looked at his reflection in a water bowl — eyes hard, face older.

"But maybe peace was never something you ask for... maybe it’s something you take."

Present Vyuk Voiceovers again....

After that, I saw him less and less.

He was building a new empire — not just for Beastkind — but for anyone who had ever been forgotten.

But in doing so, he was forgetting himself.

He stopped using totems completely.

He stopped speaking gently.

He only spoke when he had to — and when he did, people obeyed.

"He’s not a tamer anymore," someone once said. "He’s a god playing king."

But I knew better.

He was still Zorawar.

Somewhere... deep inside.

One day...

The sun blazed high above the barren sand field, casting long shadows across the cracked earth.

Zorawar stood alone at the center.

In front of him—Kairav, heart heavy, eyes burning with disbelief.

Beside him stood Vyuk, silent... torn between past and present.

The wind howled around them like an ancient warning.

"Stop this madness, Zorawar!" Kairav’s voice echoed across the silence.

Zorawar didn’t move. His long coat danced with the wind, the marks of war etched on his face. His eyes—calm, cold, unshaken.

Kairav stepped forward, voice trembling with rage and grief.

"I never saved you so you could become this... this monster!"

Zorawar’s gaze lifted to meet his old friend’s.

"I’m not evil, Kairav."

His voice was low but steady.

"I just know how this world truly works. And I’m the only one who can fix it."

Kairav clenched his fists.

"By spreading fear? By killing innocents?"

Zorawar didn’t blink.

"These humans..." he said bitterly,

"They don’t understand love. So fear... fear is the only language they listen to."

Kairav’s voice cracked as he shouted,

"Zorawar Routhaan!"

The name hung in the air like a curse. Like a memory trying to stay alive.

But Zorawar’s lips curled into a distant, sorrowful smile.

"Zorawar Routhaan is gone."

He took a step forward.

"Now... it’s Zorwath. The one who will rule this broken world."

I stood there... frozen.

The boy I once shared food with, trained with, laughed with...

He was standing right there—but I couldn’t recognize him anymore.

Zorawar Routhaan... the hero of the forgotten... was gone.

Zorwath

had taken his place.

Kairav stepped back, shaking his head.

"You were our hope, Zorawar... You were supposed to be different."

Zorwath didn’t reply.

Instead, he summoned a beast — not made of fur or scales — but of smoke and bone, with eyes glowing like dying stars.

It roared behind him as if to say, This is who I am now.

Zorwath looked at Kairav and said:

"Hope... doesn’t survive in this world, Kairav. Power does."

That was the day I knew...

I couldn’t save him anymore.

Because Zorawar Routhaan didn’t fall in battle...

He chose to vanish.

And Zorwath...

Zorwath was born.

Kairav stared at Zorwath, as if hoping... begging... to see even a flicker of the old Zorawar behind those darkened eyes.

But there was nothing.

Just silence... and the weight of betrayal.

Vyuk took a step forward, eyes locked on the monstrous creature that loomed behind Zorwath.

"You created that..." Vyuk muttered.

Zorwath turned his head slightly, his voice colder than the desert wind.

"I create what I need. This world doesn’t gift peace — it demands control."

Kairav shouted, "This isn’t control, it’s tyranny!"

Zorwath didn’t flinch. He raised his hand.

The beast roared, sending tremors through the sand beneath their feet.

Kairav’s sword unsheathed instantly, glowing faintly with celestial energy.

Vyuk raised his hands too — not to attack, but to defend.

For a moment, the three of them stood like statues of fate — the savior, the fallen, and the witness.

Kairav whispered:

"Don’t make me fight you..."

Zorwath smirked, his voice like a blade drawn slow.

"You’re not ready, Kairav. And neither is the world."

With a snap of his fingers, he vanished, swallowed by his own creation magic.

The beast dissolved into dust, leaving behind nothing but cracked earth and shattered hopes.

Vyuk’s voice narrates from the present

That was the last time we saw him before the world burned.

Cities fell.

Empires bent their knees.

And we... we started planning the impossible — how to kill a god of our own making.