THE MAN OF GOD : THE OMARIYA FOREST

Riya arrived at the location Milton had mentioned. It was about 20 kilometers from the main MRC headquarters — still under their control, but remote and isolated. As she stepped onto the familiar soil, a strange thought crossed her mind.

"This is where it all began… and now, I've returned."

The wind carried a strange silence, heavy with memory.

Milton stood at the entrance of the operations base, waiting. He greeted her with a smile and a subtle nod. Beside him stood three individuals — her new team.

"This," Milton began, "is your new squad."

First, he pointed to a tall, sharp-eyed man with a confident stance.

"Neeraj Sharma. Tactical Operations Lead. Ex-military. Knows the jungle like the back of his hand. Talks a lot, too."

Neeraj gave a slight grin and a respectful nod.

Next, Milton gestured toward a calm figure adjusting a small drone controller in his hand.

"Manjul Haas. Tech and Surveillance Specialist. Drones, trackers — he controls everything from the sky to the ground."

Manjul simply raised his hand in quiet acknowledgment, eyes still on his device.

"And this," Milton turned to a woman with a medic bag slung across her shoulder,

"is Priya Vani. Medic and Biochemist. One of the best we've got."

Finally, he looked toward Riya.

"And of course… Riya Sen. Lead Botanist. You all know who she is."

There was a pause. Everyone exchanged nods, subtle greetings. But Riya didn't say much. Her face stayed unreadable, and her presence carried a quiet weight. The others felt it but didn't speak of it.

Milton smiled faintly. "I'm glad you came."

Riya replied, without emotion, "Don't be too happy just yet."

The team was ready. The mission was set. A flight awaited them, waiting to cut through the silence of the approaching night.

One by one, they climbed in.

The journey had begun — again

The hum of the plane echoed in the background. One by one, the team had drifted into sleep, heads slumped against seatbacks, exhaustion finally catching up with them.

All except Riya.

She sat by the window, her gaze lost in the endless clouds outside, her thoughts far from the present. Her eyes were open, but her mind wandered — back to the forest, back to what she'd seen... and what she'd lost.

It took them nearly a full day to reach their destination.

By the next morning, the plane touched down in Africa, where a remote MRC outpost awaited them. This office, hidden away near the edge of the great green stretch of Omariya, acted as a final checkpoint. From here, there was only one way forward — by river.

Several motorized boats, narrow and worn from years of silent service, were docked at the edge of a winding river that slithered into the heart of the jungle. Milton had prepared everything in advance. Their next phase was ready.

The team boarded the large boat .

With engines growling softly beneath their feet, they slipped into the current and began the journey deeper into Omariya — into the dark.

Thick foliage hung like curtains over the water, swallowing the daylight in patches. The farther they went, the quieter everything became. It would take two more days by river to reach their target location deep within the jungle.

Only then would they know what waited.

As the boat glided forward, Riya stood silently at the very back, her eyes locked on the narrowing path ahead. The jungle whispered around her — familiar, yet foreign. With every turn, visions of her past danced before her eyes: screams, blood, and the face of Virat disappearing into the trees.

In the boat, the remaining three watched her.

"She hasn't spoken much since she arrived," Neeraj murmured.

"I know," Manjul added. "Feels like she's carrying something way heavier than just memories."

"I think one of us should talk to her," Neeraj suggested.

But Priya raised her hand, stopping them. "Let me."

She moved to the rear of the boat and sat beside Riya, who didn't even glance at her.

"I've heard a little about your past," Priya said gently. "I can't even imagine how hard it must've been. But it's been two years. Maybe it's time to let go… start fresh."

Riya finally turned slightly, a small, tired smile playing at her lips.

"I'm better now than I was then," she said softly.

Priya nodded and looked around at the looming trees. "This place is beautiful, isn't it?"

"Don't be too thrilled," Riya replied, her voice turning cold. "It looks beautiful from the outside. But once you go deep… it becomes something else. Something terrifying."

Priya hesitated. Then asked, "You saw the Omethra, didn't you? What… what does it look like?"

Riya's eyes went distant.

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful, it feels like you're standing in heaven itself."

She paused, then added, "But the moment you see it… it's like you're marked. A few days later, all I could see was death."

Priya looked at her with wide eyes. "The people there… what are they like?"

Riya turned to her, voice low but sharp.

"They're kind. Gentle. But if anything goes wrong…" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"…they're more terrifying than monsters."

"What are they called? The people you met… the ones from the forest?"priya asked

Riya didn't look at her. Her voice came low, almost reverent.

"Naazi."

—

The scene shifted, leaping hundreds of kilometers deep into the heart of Omariya.

There, far from the edges of civilization, nestled in the untouched folds of the forest, was a sacred land — the homeland of the Naazi. An ancient people, bound to the roots of the forest and the breath of their god.

Fires burned quietly in a large circular clearing. Dozens of Naazi had gathered, heads bowed in solemn prayer. Their chants rose and fell in harmony with the forest winds, each word a hymn to their god — DOVA, the one they worshipped with soul and silence.

But their prayers weren't just for reverence.

They were for grief.

Two of their own had died — Kyri and Enara. Now, their spirits were being sent into the wind, into the branches, into DOVA's eternal embrace.

Some among the Naazi looked anxious, whispering that danger loomed ahead, worse than before. A storm was coming — not of wind, but of blood.

Others stood firm, brave. "We will face them," they said. "We are not afraid."

And then, a few voices rose with hope. "He is still watching us," they said. "The one who protects. The man from beyond."

Far from the village, on the outskirts of the Naazi land, high atop a rocky cliff, stood a massive ancient tree. Its twisted branches clawed at the sky, and on one of them — balanced like a shadow against the moonlight — was a lone figure.

He was cloaked head to toe, his entire body hidden beneath folds of bark-colored fabric, blending into the wilderness. Only his eyes gleamed, sharp and alert, scanning the lands below — the village of the Naazi.

Strapped to his back was a bundle of arrows and a bow carved from blackened wood.

He said nothing. But he saw everything.