Three years had passed since that fateful night when Mohana had been turned to stone. Life in the Raizada mansion had slowly begun to breathe again, the shadows receding but never completely gone.
The halls of the mansion were alive with activity, bustling with servants arranging flowers, polishing silver, and hanging garlands of marigolds and roses. The air smelled faintly of incense and freshly baked sweets, a fragrant attempt to drown out the lingering memories of fear.
Vedshree moved carefully through the hall, her hand resting protectively on her growing belly. She glanced at Arnav, now a lively three-year-old, chasing after a golden ball with his cousins. His laughter was infectious, a sound that seemed almost alien after the long, silent nights of tension and worry.
"Arnav, slow down!" Vedshree called, her voice filled with warmth and a tinge of playful warning. The boy skidded to a halt, turning with wide, curious eyes and a mischievous grin.
Suman, standing nearby with Rajeev, laughed, her hands resting on Ranav's small shoulders. "Look at them!" she said, smiling fondly at the three little boys. "Ranav, don't push Arnav too hard, or you'll end up tumbling yourself."
Vanraj ruffled Arav's hair. "Careful, my nephew. Remember, patience is a virtue… even for young warriors like you."
Vedshree's gaze softened as she watched the scene unfold. Her heart ached with love and pride, yet a subtle unease lingered at the edges of her mind. She shook it away, telling herself that today was about celebration, not fear. Today was about Arnav's third birthday.
Servants carried in trays of sweets and cakes, placing them meticulously around the grand hall. Vibrant balloons floated lazily, tied to chairs and pillars, swaying slightly as though stirred by a gentle, unseen wind. Vedshree's eyes lingered on the decorations, and for a moment, a shiver ran down her spine.
She glanced at Arnav again, and for a heartbeat, his eyes seemed… different. A faint glimmer of red lingered beneath the dark brown of his irises, fleeting and almost imperceptible. Vedshree blinked, heart tightening. "No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. "It's nothing. He's just a child…"
Still, a shadow of the past loomed. Three years might have passed, but Mohana's threat had not vanished. The memory of that night—the burning red eyes, the whiplash of the living braid, the dagger of Rudramani dust—was etched into her very bones.
Vedshree's hand rested instinctively over the bracelet on Arnav's wrist, the faint glimmer of Riva Warrior enchantment reflecting in the sunlight streaming through the windows. The magic was still there, holding the boy's powers in check, yet she knew that every day brought him closer to the age when the bracelet's protection would fail.
And yet, for now, she allowed herself a rare smile. "Happy birthday, my little Arnav," she whispered, scooping him up into her arms. "Today is your day. And no darkness—no matter how ancient—will take that from you."
The hall echoed with laughter, chatter, and the excited squeals of children. But in the corners, shadows seemed to stretch just a little too far, lingering longer than they should, whispering promises of things yet to come.
Meanwhile, in Reevavansh, the night refused to stay silent.
The sky had darkened unnaturally fast, clouds folding over one another like bruised skin. Wind tore through the dense trees that guarded the clan's settlement, rattling rooftops and snapping prayer flags loose from their cords. Thunder growled—not loud enough to terrify, but deep enough to unsettle, as if the earth itself were uneasy.
Inside a modest cottage, warm lamplight trembled against the walls.
Divya lay on a low wooden bed, her body slick with sweat, fingers digging into the rough sheets as another wave of pain tore through her. A sharp cry escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Three Reeva midwives moved around her with practiced urgency—one murmuring calming mantras, another wiping her brow, the third preparing warm water with shaking hands.
"Breathe… slowly, Divya," one of them whispered, trying to keep her own voice steady. "The child is coming… just hold on."
But Divya felt it—this was not an ordinary birth.
Her body burned from within, as if something ancient was stirring, pressing against the boundary between worlds. The air in the room felt thick, charged, almost alive. The lamp flame bent sideways though no window was open.
Outside, the storm roared louder.
A violent gust slammed against the cottage door, making it creak on its hinges. One of the midwives glanced nervously toward it. "Such a storm… I have never seen one like this before," she muttered under her breath.
Divya clenched her jaw, her breath hitching. Somewhere deep inside, fear and certainty collided.
This is not just a child… she thought, though she dared not say it aloud.
---
Outside the cottage, Avinash struggled against the wind.
Rain lashed down hard, soaking his clothes as he guided a group of Reevavanshis toward safer shelters deeper within the grove. Trees swayed violently, their branches groaning in protest.
"Everyone, move toward the caves beneath the temple!" he shouted over the storm. "It's dangerous to stay here!"
Lightning split the sky open for a brief, blinding second, illuminating Avinash's tense face. His eyes flicked instinctively toward the cottage where Divya labored.
This storm made no sense.
No seasonal signs. No warning from the elders. And yet, it raged as if summoned—circling the heart of Reevavansh, refusing to move on.
Avinash's chest tightened.
"A storm does not always come from the weather alone," he murmured to himself, rain mixing with sweat on his brow. "Sometimes… fate itself roars."
Another thunderclap rolled across the land, closer now, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Avinash helped the last of the clan members inside the shelter, then paused, turning back once more toward the cottage. The wind howled, carrying with it something unspoken—something waiting.
Whatever was about to be born tonight, the world already knew.
And it was bracing itself.
To be continued…