Divya's hand flew to her waist.
Steel flashed.
She stood her ground, dagger raised, placing herself squarely between Mohana and the child, her entire body trembling—but not retreating.
"Stay away from my daughter," Divya said, her voice shaking yet fierce. "One more step and I swear—"
Mohana clicked her tongue slowly.
"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."
She tilted her head, red eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Divya… Divya," she crooned. "Poor, brave thing."
Her smile widened, savoring every word she spoke next. "You have no idea how much pleasure I am going to get by tearing your daughter away from you."
Divya's grip tightened on the dagger. "You won't touch her."
Mohana's expression darkened—just for a heartbeat—before curving into something far more dangerous.
"The same way," she said softly, venomously, "you separated my son Arnav from me."
Divya stiffened. "I saved that child from you," she shot back. "And I will save mine from you too."
Mohana laughed.
A low, delighted sound that scraped against the night.
"Those were his words as well," she said. "Your husband's."
Divya's breath caught. "What… what did you say?"
Mohana stepped closer, voice dripping satisfaction. "Avinash begged. He resisted. He swore. He promised me the same heroic lies."
Her eyes burned brighter. "And then he died."
The world cracked.
Divya's dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering uselessly to the ground. Her knees buckled as a strangled sob tore from her chest.
"Avinash…" she whispered, disbelief shattering her voice. "No… no…"
Mohana did not wait.
Her braid snapped forward like a living whip.
"Gudiya—!" Divya screamed.
The child was torn from her arms in a blur of black and red. Divya lunged instinctively, fingertips grazing fabric—but missing.
Too late.
The baby slipped free.
For one endless, frozen second, Divya saw her daughter suspended in the air—tiny, helpless, framed against the roaring sea.
Then—
She fell.
"GUDIYAAAA—!"
The waves swallowed the child whole.
Divya's scream ripped through the night as the sea surged violently, churning, raging—closing over the place where her daughter had vanished.
The sound echoed long after the water stilled.
And Mohana stood smiling.
Divya staggered forward.
"No—" her voice broke as she ran toward the edge, toward the raging sea that had swallowed her world whole. Her feet slipped on wet stone as she leaned dangerously close, eyes frantic, hands reaching for nothing.
Before she could leap—
The braid struck.
It wrapped around her waist like a living chain and yanked her back with brutal force. Divya's scream was cut short as her body was flung sideways, crashing hard against jagged rock.
Pain exploded through her shoulder. Blood blossomed against her skin.
Divya gasped, the breath torn from her lungs, vision blurring as she slid down the stone, barely conscious.
The braid tightened again.
Slowly—deliberately—Mohana drew her closer, inch by inch, like a predator reeling in prey.
Divya dangled helplessly before her.
Mohana's face loomed near, red eyes burning with triumph, her smile unhurried, savoring every second.
"Do you hear that?" Mohana murmured softly. "Nothing."
She tilted her head mockingly. "No crying. No light. No destiny."
Her braid pulled tighter, forcing Divya to meet her gaze.
"Your daughter is gone," Mohana continued, voice silky and merciless. "Lost to the sea. And with her… the end of Rivanshi."
She laughed quietly. "The daayan world breathes freely again. No lightbearer. No threat. No future."
Divya's body trembled violently, tears streaming silently down her face. Her lips quivered—but no scream came.
Instead, she closed her eyes.
Her breath slowed.
Her hands, slick with blood, curled weakly against the braid binding her.
And she prayed.
Not aloud.
Not desperately.
But with a mother's last, unbroken faith.
"Protect her," her soul whispered into the dark. "Wherever she is… whoever finds her… let her live."
Mohana scoffed. "Faith," she said disdainfully. "Such a useless thing."
She released the braid abruptly.
Divya collapsed to the ground, coughing, broken but breathing.
Mohana turned away, already bored. "Mourn her quickly," she said over her shoulder. "There is no Rivanshi anymore."
She vanished into the shadows.
Neither of them saw—
Beneath the churning waves, where moonlight could not reach, something ancient stirred.
From the depths rose a presence—silent, immense, benevolent.
A Baldevi.
She emerged unseen, her form cloaked in water and light, cradling the child safely in her arms. The baby slept peacefully, untouched by the sea, unharmed, unaware.
The Baldevi looked once toward the shore… then disappeared into the night, carrying destiny away from both light and darkness.
To be continued...