CHRISTOPHER — EPISODE 2

Christopher — Episode 2

Written by Kingson

[ Rain fell softly over Aelm Village.

The stage lights flickered against the dark sky while villagers rushed beneath cloth roofs and wooden shelters, protecting themselves from the sudden storm. Children laughed as thunder echoed through the mountains, but the older people remained uneasy.

Because rain near Demon Mountain was never considered normal.

People believed the mountain listened.

Watched.

Waited.

And tonight…

It felt awake.

The bus slowly entered the village road, its tires dragging through wet mud. Michael stepped down silently, carrying nothing more than a small bag and a face untouched by expression.

He looked around once.

Broken houses.

Fearful eyes.

Men arguing even in the rain.

This place already felt tired.

A voice suddenly shouted from nearby.

“The play is starting again!”

Crowds began gathering toward the center of the village.

Michael didn’t care.

At least—that’s what he thought.

Then he heard music.

Traditional drums echoed softly through the rain-covered night. Something about it pulled his attention. Slowly, he walked toward the crowd.

At the center of the village stood a large stage made of wood and cloth. Oil lamps surrounded it, their flames dancing in the wind.

And standing at the center—

Was Sakhare.

For a moment…

Everything around Michael became quiet.

She wore simple traditional clothing, but under the stage lights she looked almost unreal. Rainwater glimmered against her hair while the crowd watched her with admiration.

Then—

She looked up.

And their eyes met.

The wind grew stronger instantly.

Thunder cracked across the sky.

People turned nervously toward the mountains.

But neither Michael nor Sakhare looked away.

It lasted only seconds.

Yet somehow—

It felt longer.

Then the drums began again.

The performance resumed.

At first Michael assumed it would be another mythological play from Ramayana or Mahabharat.

But this story was different.

Darker.

Sadness filled Sakhare’s voice as she played the role of a young village girl whose family had been destroyed by powerful men.

The crowd watched silently.

Michael’s expression slowly changed.

Because the story…

Felt familiar.

On stage, actors dragged a crying woman across the ground while corrupt officers stood watching without helping.

“Please…” the woman cried.

“No one will save you.”

The line hit Michael harder than expected.

Then the scene changed.

A police station.

Villagers stood with their heads lowered while an officer questioned them.

“Did anyone see the killers?”

Silence.

Fear.

No one answered.

Because everyone knew the police themselves worked for those men.

Then—

Sakhare stepped forward in character.

“I saw them.”

The entire crowd in the real village became quiet.

Michael froze.

The officer on stage slowly walked toward her.

“What did you say?”

“I saw them kill her.”

The next moment—

The officer kicked her violently to the ground.

Gasps spread through the audience.

But Michael no longer saw a stage.

He saw memories.

Rebecca crying.

Rebecca bleeding.

Rebecca trying to speak.

His breathing became heavier.

The rain around him blurred.

In his mind—

He heard her voice again.

“Michael…”

Then—

Another gunshot echoed inside his head.

Michael clenched his fists tightly.

For the first time in years…

Anger began returning to his eyes.

Meanwhile, hidden near the edge of the crowd, three men watched the stage carefully beneath black raincoats.

One of them spat on the ground.

“That girl talks too much.”

Another nodded.

“She keeps turning people against us.”

The third man pulled out a phone.

“We should tell Inspector Laxman.”

At the mention of the name, even the others became serious.

Laxman.

The police officer feared across the region.

A man known for making people disappear.

A man who smiled while hurting others.

The call connected.

“We found the girl.”

A voice answered coldly from the other side.

“Watch her.”

The man hesitated.

“And the outsider?”

Silence.

Then—

“Bring me his face.”

The call ended.

Back near the stage, Sakhare completed the emotional scene while tears filled the eyes of several villagers watching. She stood there breathing heavily, staring into the crowd—

Until she noticed Michael again.

Unlike everyone else…

He wasn’t emotional.

He looked broken.

And dangerous.

Their eyes met once more.

This time—

Sakhare felt something strange.

Not fear.

Not comfort.

Something deeper.

As though this man carried death beside him.

The performance ended moments later.

People applauded loudly while children rushed toward the stage excitedly.

Michael turned to leave immediately.

But before he could walk away—

A small girl accidentally slipped in the mud nearby.

Michael caught her before she hit the ground.

The child looked up nervously.

“T-thank you…”

Michael simply nodded.

But from the stage—

Sakhare saw everything.

A man who looked cold enough to kill…

Yet gentle enough to save a child without hesitation.

Interesting, she thought.

Very interesting.

Suddenly—

A drunk villager bumped into Michael aggressively.

“Watch where you’re walking!”

Michael stayed silent.

The man grabbed his shirt.

“You’re from outside, aren’t you?”

Several villagers turned toward them.

Tension rose immediately.

“People like you bring trouble.”

Michael slowly looked at the man.

And something in his eyes made the drunk villager nervous instantly.

Not anger.

Worse.

Control.

The kind that comes before violence.

Before things could escalate—

A voice interrupted.

“Leave him.”

Everyone turned.

Sakhare had stepped down from the stage.

Rain continued falling around her as she walked closer.

“He didn’t do anything.”

The drunk man scoffed.

“Why do you care?”

“Because unlike you,” she replied calmly, “he knows how to stand quietly.”

Several people laughed softly.

Embarrassed, the drunk villager backed away angrily.

Michael looked at Sakhare carefully.

“You shouldn’t interfere,” he said.

His voice was calm.

Deep.

Sakhare crossed her arms.

“And you shouldn’t look at people like you want to bury them.”

For the first time—

A tiny reaction crossed Michael’s face.

Almost amusement.

Almost.

Thunder echoed again.

Far above the village—

Hidden within darkness—

A silhouette stood watching from the cliffs of Demon Mountain.

Unmoving.

Patient.

Like a king observing pieces on a board.

And deep below the mountain…

Something waited in silence.

Something powerful enough to drown villages in blood.

But the people below still knew nothing.

Not yet.

]

END OF EPISODE 2

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