Drago: The Beginning Of Darkness

After an exhausting journey, Safal and Ram finally reached the thieves' lair, a notorious place whispered in fear among villagers—"The Hollow Den." Its name suited it perfectly. Nestled in a hidden gorge surrounded by jagged cliffs, the lair was a chaotic maze of wooden shacks, roaring bonfires, and bandits who seemed to thrive on chaos.

Safal and Ram were shoved into a damp, dark cell without a word. The iron door slammed shut behind them, the sound reverberating in the stillness. The air reeked of mold and despair, and the faint scurrying of rats in the corners only added to the ominous atmosphere.

Ram curled up in a corner, his small body trembling in fear. "Safal," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "what are they going to do to us?"

Safal didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the faint light streaming through the tiny barred window. "We'll survive," he said finally, his voice calm but firm.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the lair, Pranisha and the three bandits—Raghu, Sushil, and Bikash—approached their leader, Nishan Sapkota. The man was an enigma, a mixture of calculated ruthlessness and unexpected charisma. Clad in black, with a scar running across his left cheek, Nishan radiated a commanding presence. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, bore into Pranisha as she recounted every detail of their encounter with Safal.

"He's different," Pranisha said. "The boy's eyes… there's something there. Anger, maybe? Or hunger. I can't quite place it."

Nishan leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Hunger?" he murmured, more to himself than to them. "That's interesting." After a pause, he stood, his movements deliberate. "Bring him to me."

Back in the cell, Safal's thoughts were interrupted by the harsh creak of the iron door. Two burly bandits yanked him to his feet, dragging him out of the cell. Ram reached out, crying, "Safal! Don't leave me!"

"I'll be back," Safal assured him, though his heart clenched with uncertainty.

He was taken to a dimly lit room where Nishan awaited. The leader's piercing gaze locked onto Safal's the moment he entered, analyzing him like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Sit," Nishan ordered, motioning to a wooden chair. Safal hesitated but complied, his movements cautious.

Nishan circled him slowly, like a lion stalking its territory. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice calm but commanding.

"Safal Basel," Safal replied hesitantly, the lie on his tongue as he avoided mentioning his family name, "Drago."

Nishan smirked. "Basel?Safal? I don't care about your name." He leaned in, his face mere inches from Safal's. "What I care about is the fire in your eyes. It's rare to see that in someone so young."

Safal clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

Nishan continued, his voice low and deliberate. "I've seen people fight for money, land, women, and revenge. But do you know what all that is?" He paused, waiting for Safal to respond.

Safal shook his head, remaining silent.

"It's a mask," Nishan said, his voice sharp. "A lie people tell themselves to hide their true nature. Their devilish side." He straightened, his shadow looming over Safal. "But you… I see it in you. That hunger. It's raw, untamed, and honest."

Safal's breathing quickened. He didn't know whether to feel flattered or frightened.

Nishan's tone shifted, becoming almost conversational. "Tell me, boy, do you find satisfaction in defeating the weak?"

Safal blinked, unsure of how to answer.

"Of course, you don't," Nishan answered for him. "There's no thrill in it. Real power, real satisfaction, comes from taking on the strong. From stealing the lion's prey, not the hyena's scraps."

The words struck a chord deep within Safal, resonating with the buried rage and despair he carried.

"I won't kill you," Nishan declared suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension. "Not yet, anyway. Instead, I'll train you. I'll push you to your limits, break you if I must. And if you survive, I'll give you a reward that will make you the strongest—strong enough to face the world on your own."

Safal stared at him, his mind racing. The idea of becoming strong enough to protect what he cared about burned brighter than ever.

"I will become strong enough to protect the things or people I love," Safal said, his voice trembling but determined. "For that, I can sell my soul to a demon... or I can even become one."

Nishan's laughter echoed through the room, a sound both chilling and powerful. "Are you ready, my demon?" he asked, his sinister grin sending shivers down Safal's spine.

The room fell silent as Safal contemplated his answer. The weight of his decision pressed down on him, but he knew he couldn't turn back. With a steady gaze, he nodded.

Nishan's grin widened. "Good. Your training begins now."

The next morning, Safal stood in the center of the lair's training grounds, surrounded by Nishan's most trusted bandits. Ram watched anxiously from a distance, his small hands clutching the bars of the cell.

"Let's see what you're made of," Nishan said, tossing Safal a wooden sword.

The first opponent stepped forward—a towering man with muscles like boulders. Safal barely had time to react as the man lunged, swinging his sword with brute force. Safal dodged, the weight of the wooden blade unfamiliar in his hands.

"Come on, boy," Nishan called out, his voice laced with mockery. "Show me that fire!"

Safal gritted his teeth, adrenaline surging through his veins. He darted forward, aiming for the man's side. The hit landed, but it was like striking a wall. The man barely flinched, retaliating with a blow that sent Safal sprawling.

"Is that all you've got?" the man sneered.

Safal pushed himself up, his body aching. He could feel Nishan's gaze on him, judging him, weighing his potential.

"You'll have to do better than that if you want to survive," Nishan said coldly.

Safal tightened his grip on the sword, his knuckles turning white. He remembered the faces of his dead villagers, the cries of his loved ones. The fire inside him reignited, stronger than before.

With a roar, he charged again, this time dodging the man's swing and delivering a swift strike to his knee. The man faltered, giving Safal the opening he needed. He brought the sword down on the man's shoulder, forcing him to yield.

The crowd erupted in cheers and jeers, but Safal didn't care. He stood tall, his chest heaving, as Nishan approached.

"Not bad," Nishan said, a hint of approval in his voice. "But this is just the beginning."

Safal met his gaze, determination burning in his eyes. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady.

Nishan smirked. "We'll see, my demon. We'll see."