The chamber breathed like a wounded, dying creature.
Low, mechanical hums echoed through the vast underground room, layered with the wet, organic sloshing of something that should never have been alive. The walls—carved from raw stone and reinforced with cold steel—were etched with glowing red veins that pulsed faintly. It was as though the corruption itself had burrowed into the very structure of the building, turning the lab into a living organ of rot.
A single red lamp flickered overhead. Its light was weak, barely reaching the center of the room.
There stood Nirmul.
Before him loomed a massive cylindrical tank, taller than two men, filled to the brim with corrupted sap. It was a thick, crimson-black substance that swirled endlessly, folding into itself like living blood. Veins of a darker, bruised purple crawled through the liquid, pulsing in rhythm with an unseen, jagged heartbeat.
The sap whispered. It didn't use words; it used pressure. It promised power. It demanded a host.
Behind Nirmul, three scientists stood frozen. Their lab coats were damp with cold sweat, and their hands trembled so violently they could barely hold their datapads.
"S-Sir…" one finally stammered, his voice cracking. "The corruption levels are… they are far beyond safe thresholds. Your body—your cells—they won't be able to withstand the exposure. It's suicide."
Nirmul didn't turn. He didn't even blink.
"If we push further," another scientist whispered, "the corruption may destabilize. It won't just kill you; it will erase you."
Silence followed. It was a heavy, suffocating silence that felt like a weight on their chests. Then—
"Good."
The word fell into the room like a guillotine blade.
Nirmul slowly turned around. The red light caught his eyes, but they no longer reflected the light the way human eyes should. A faint, oily mist of crimson energy bled from his pupils, like heat rising from dying embers.
"If the forest chose a child," Nirmul said, his voice measured and terrifyingly calm, "then the corruption will choose a king."
He stepped toward the tank. The scientists backed away instinctively, their heels clicking against the cold floor. "Sir, please!"
Nirmul didn't listen. Without hesitation, without fear, and without a single shred of regret—he plunged his bare hand into the swirling red sap.
BOOOOM—!!
The chamber exploded with a violent surge of energy.
The glass tank cracked, spiderwebbing outward but held together by the corruption itself. Red lightning ripped through the room, frying monitors and sending equipment crashing to the floor in showers of sparks. Alarms screamed for a split second before their circuits melted into silence.
The scientists screamed too, falling to the floor and covering their faces.
But Nirmul stood still. He didn't make a sound.
The corrupted sap surged up his arm like a starving predator, crawling beneath his skin, merging with his veins, his muscle, and his bone. His breath fogged the air in a dark, grey mist. Dark lines spread across his neck and face like poisoned roots.
A symbol burned itself into the side of his neck—twisted, broken, and wrong.
When the light finally dimmed, Nirmul withdrew his hand. The sap clung to his skin for a moment before retreating, almost as if it were bowing to its new master. He looked at his reflection in the cracked glass and smiled.
It wasn't a human smile. It was something colder. Something ancient.
"Now…" he whispered, his voice layered with a hollow resonance that made the stones vibrate. "…let the real war begin."
EXT. FOREST EDGE – NEXT MORNING
Morning light filtered through the trees in soft, golden beams, illuminating dew-covered leaves like tiny diamonds.
Mokshit walked quietly along the forest path. He didn't stomp anymore; his steps were lighter, placed instinctively where the roots were strongest and the soil was most stable. Birds fluttered from branch to branch above him, chirping in a language he could almost understand.
Fireflies lingered even in the daylight, circling his shoulders like curious sentinels. Thin, vibrant vines wrapped loosely around his wrists, pulsing gently with his breathing.
Rohan walked beside him, unusually quiet. Nikhil kept glancing at Mokshit every few seconds, as if afraid his friend might turn back into a tree at any moment.
Meera watched him the most. "You feel different," she said softly.
Mokshit nodded. "I hear things now. Not just noise. Meaning. The forest doesn't shout anymore—it speaks."
Nikhil's eyes widened. "That is… insanely cool and mildly terrifying. Does the grass think I'm annoying?"
Rohan elbowed him. "Give him a break, Nikhil."
They reached Mokshit's house. The moment the door opened, his mother, Prakruthi, ran forward. She wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe, sobbing into his shoulder.
"Where did you go?!" she cried. "We thought we lost you!"
Rakshit stood behind her, his hands gripping Mokshit's shoulders. His voice broke as he spoke. "We searched everywhere. We thought Nirmul..."
Mokshit hugged them both. "I'm here. I'm okay."
Prakruthi pulled back, her eyes locking onto the faint, glowing patterns beneath his skin—the golden-green light of the Spirit Grove. "Mokshit… what happened to you?"
"I met the Nature Spirit," Mokshit said. He raised his hand, and a lotus bloomed in his palm, glowing with a soft, holy light.
Prakruthi covered her mouth, torn between wonder and terror. "You're becoming something incredible… and something dangerous."
"I know," Mokshit said, his gaze turning toward the forest. "That's why I need to grow stronger. Because he is growing, too."
Suddenly, the house trembled.
Windows rattled in their frames. Birds scattered into the sky in a panicked cloud. Mokshit dropped to one knee, clutching his chest as a wave of cold nausea hit him.
"Guardian!" the forest cried out in his mind. "Corruption awakens!"
"Nirmul," Mokshit gasped. "He's finished the transformation."
Then, every phone in the room buzzed at once. A video began to play on the screens—an emergency broadcast. Nirmul appeared, standing before a towering tree that was slowly turning to ash. He looked into the camera, his red eyes burning.
"I want you alive, boy," Nirmul's voice echoed through the speaker. "So you can watch me erase everything you love."
The screen went black.
Mokshit stood up, his green aura exploding around him, rustling the curtains. He looked at his friends and his parents.
"This isn't a fight anymore," Mokshit said, his voice hard as oak. "This is war."
Meera stepped beside him, her hand finding his. "Then we fight together."
Outside, the forest roared in response. The Guardian's journey had truly begun.