The Monster King

Chapter 55

Rahagir crouched low, trying to steady his breath as the sound of giggling girls grew nearer. His body ached, still frail from the injuries that plagued him, yet the fire for revenge burned stronger than ever. He couldn't risk being discovered now. Not when he was so close.

The soft rustling of dresses and whispers floated through the air, and Rahagir tensed, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Princess, look at these flowers!" one of the girls exclaimed, her voice light and carefree. "They'll be perfect for the evening ritual!"

Rahagir froze. The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and through the foliage, he could see a group of young women gathering near the bushes where he was hiding.

"Yes, let me pick a few," a voice rang out. It was soft but commanding, one that carried both grace and strength. Meera, the one they called princess, bent down to gather roses from the very bush that concealed him.

"Let us grab some from there also!" the girls called out as they moved ahead, leaving Meera behind, still focused on picking the wild roses. Rahagir pressed himself against the large tree, trying to stay hidden as the group moved away.

Suddenly, a sharp, painful cry pierced the air, causing Rahagir to whip his head around. He peered back and saw the girl they referred to as "Princess" struggling, her foot tangled in the wild bushes. A thorny vine had wrapped itself around her leg, and she was trying, unsuccessfully, to free herself. Her face twisted in pain, yet she made no sound beyond that initial cry.

For a moment, Rahagir hesitated. He was weak, tired, and in no position to draw attention to himself. But seeing her struggle ignited something inside him—a sense of pity he hadn't felt in a long time.

Without thinking further, he rushed toward her, crouching down beside her in silence. She gasped, startled by his sudden appearance, but her fear quickly gave way to relief as he pulled a dagger from his belt and began cutting through the thorny branches. His movements were swift yet careful, ensuring he didn't hurt her further.

The thick vines fell away, and he helped her sit down on a nearby rock. Meera looked at him with a mix of surprise and gratitude, her breaths heavy from both the pain and the unexpected encounter. Rahagir knelt beside her, gently taking hold of her leg. He worked methodically, pricking out the embedded thorns from her skin, one by one, his rough hands moving with surprising tenderness.

"There," he said quietly, after removing the last thorn. "You're free."

Meera winced slightly as she flexed her foot, the pain still present but lessened now that the thorns were gone. "Thank you..." she whispered, her voice soft and uncertain, her eyes studying him with a mixture of curiosity and caution. "Who are you?"

But Rahagir said nothing, standing up quickly and backing away, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the others. He couldn't stay longer. Too much risk. Yet, as he turned to leave, something in the princess's gaze lingered in his mind—a fleeting connection that neither of them fully understood.

"At least tell me your name," Meera called after him, her voice laced with gratitude. She gazed up at him, eyes wide and sincere. "Someone who helped me like this... I should know his name, to thank him properly."

Rahagir paused, his back still turned to her, his heart caught between the urge to vanish.

He turned slightly, just enough for Meera to catch a glimpse of his face. The sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on his weathered features. He looked at her, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes, before answering in a low voice, "Names don't matter."

Meera's brows furrowed. "It does to me. You saved me."

A flicker of something—pain, perhaps—crossed Rahagir's face, but he quickly masked it. "Thank me by forgetting you ever saw me," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. With that, he turned and began limping away, his figure soon merging with the thick foliage.