Vedshree's breath left her lungs.
The footprint was wrong.
The toes faced backward. The heel pressed forward.
Reversed.
Suman saw it too.
Their eyes met, fear flaring sharp and sudden—
And then the mark shifted.
Blurred.
Corrected itself.
A normal footprint stared back at them.
Mohana crossed the threshold.
The lamps darkened further.
The flowers died completely.
And the house, old and proud, swallowed her whole.
And so, without realizing it, the Raizada family began to flourish.
It happened quietly at first.
Deals that had stalled for years suddenly closed themselves. Long-pending disputes dissolved without effort. Money flowed in smooth, uninterrupted streams. Even illnesses that had lingered vanished as if they had never existed.
The house grew louder with laughter.
Festivals arrived richer. Prayers felt lighter. Fortune settled into the mansion like a long-awaited guest.
No one questioned it.
No one asked why.
Because prosperity, when it comes without cost, is rarely doubted.
Only Vedshree watched more closely.
She noticed how Mohana never truly slept.
Night after night, when the mansion sank into stillness, Vedshree would wake suddenly—heart racing for no reason she could name. And from her window, she would see a shadow slipping out of the house.
Always at midnight.
Always alone.
Mohana would leave without sound, her footsteps swallowed by darkness. By the time Vedshree reached the corridor, the door would already be shut, the night calm once more—as if nothing had moved at all.
"Where does she go?" Vedshree whispered once to Vanraj.
Vanraj shook his head. "Let it be. Some women carry their own silences."
But the unease stayed.
What Vedshree did not know was that the night did not merely take Mohana away.
It returned her to what she truly was.
Beyond the boundaries of the town, where forests thickened and temples stood abandoned, Mohana shed her human skin. Her eyes burned red once more. Her feet twisted back into their true shape. Her single braid unfurled, heavy and alive.
She returned to the Daayan Vansh.
There, under blood-moon skies and chanting shadows, Mohana performed rituals older than memory. She carved symbols into stone with black nails, fed fire with forbidden offerings, and called upon powers that should never be passed to flesh.
All of it—for the life growing inside her.
"This child will not be ordinary," she declared to the darkness. "He will carry all that we are… and more."
The daayans listened.
They obeyed.
Back at the mansion, the truth revealed itself in a gentler form.
Mohana was with child.
Joy erupted.
Bani Dadi's trembling hands rested over Mohana's belly in blessing. Suman wept openly. Vedshree forced a smile she did not fully trust.
Rajeev was radiant.
He hovered around Mohana with devotion that bordered on worship. He spoke to the unborn child every night, promising protection, legacy, love.
He did not notice how thin he was becoming.
How his strength faded.
How his cough lingered longer than it should.
Nine months passed.
On a night thick with storm clouds, Mohana gave birth to a son.
The child did not cry immediately.
When he did, the sound cut sharp and deep, echoing unnaturally through the halls.
He was named Arnav.
The house rejoiced.
But joy never comes alone when evil has been invited in.
Within weeks, Rajeev fell ill.
No diagnosis fit. No medicine worked. His body weakened as though something inside him was being drained—slowly, deliberately.
Doctors came and went. Prayers were whispered. Lamps were lit endlessly.
Nothing helped.
One morning, Rajeev did not wake up.
There were no wounds.
No explanation.
Only a body emptied of life.
The Raizada mansion, once swollen with fortune, fell silent.
Mohana wept.
The family mourned.
And somewhere beyond human sight, a daayan smiled—because the price had been paid.
To be continued…