The last crumbs of the birthday cake were eaten, the laughter still hanging warmly in the air. Kiara stretched, letting out a theatrical, convincing yawn.
"Wow, I'm suddenly so tired," she announced, feigning a drowsy blink. "That was amazing, Papa, Varun. Thank you. I think I'll head up to bed."
She hugged them both goodnight, her performance flawless, before disappearing up the grand staircase.
The moment her bedroom door clicked shut, the warmth vanished from Vikram's face, replaced by the grim demeanor of a clan leader. He met Varun's eyes. "The basement. Now."
Below the house, surrounded by ancient texts, Vikram revealed the terrible truth from the Cave of Answers. "Kaal has been reborn," he stated, his voice hollow. "The Vachan Dhara confirmed it. He is here, in this city, and it warned me our paths will cross soon."
Varun stared, stunned. "He's... here? But who is he?"
"The cave would not reveal that," Vikram said, his fists clenching. "But the Daayans hunting girls born on the eclipse... it all makes sense now. They are trying to kill Jishwa before she can awaken. The war has already begun, and we don't even know our enemy's face."
---
Meanwhile, upstairs, Kiara's "sleepiness" had vanished. She quickly changed into a sleek, black outfit. With practiced ease, she slid her window open and shimmied down the sturdy, ornate trellis, her heart pounding with a thrilling mix of rebellion and excitement.
On the street below, a friend's bike waited, engine purring softly. Kiara ran the last few steps and hopped on, grabbing the helmet. "Go, go, go!" she laughed.
She didn't see the pair of eyes watching from the deep shadows across the street.
Yuvaan leaned against his luxury car, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his lips as he watched his target escape her gilded cage. He had seen the light go on in her room, seen the window slide open, and witnessed her graceful, rebellious descent.
"Naughty little princess," he murmured to himself, the word a caress and a threat. His plan was falling perfectly into place. Her rebellion made her vulnerable. It made her predictable. It made her his.
He slid into the driver's seat, his eyes never leaving the disappearing taillight of the bike. The hunt was officially on.
---
Varun stared at his father, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him. "If the Cave wouldn't show you his face, how do we find him? He could be anyone."
"He is not 'anyone'," Vikram corrected, his voice low and steady. "He is Kaal. His power, even dormant, will have a signature. A ripple in the fabric of the mundane world. We cannot see it, but they can." He moved towards a chest carved with celestial maps and pulled out a pouch of finely ground, iridescent sand and four black feathers that seemed to absorb the light. "We will pass a message to the Watchers."
"The Watchers?" Varun's eyes widened with a mix of awe and trepidation. He had only read about them in the oldest texts—supernatural informants bound to the Reeva Vansh by ancient pacts, spirits who observed the unseen currents of the city from the four Cardinal points.
"Without them, we are blind," Vikram stated. He began to clear the center of the stone floor, using the special sand to draw a perfect circle. At each of the four directions—North, South, East, West—he placed one of the black feathers. He lit a single candle of pure beeswax in the center, its flame burning unnaturally still and bright.
Vikram knelt, and Varun followed suit, mirroring his father's posture.
"O, Keepers of the Four Winds," Vikram intoned, his voice resonating with a power that filled the basement. "Eyes in the shadows, ears in the silence. Hear the call of the Reeva."
The candle flame flickered, and then split into four distinct, smaller flames, each leaning towards one of the cardinal points. The black feathers trembled.
"A soul has returned from the great wheel," Vikram continued. "A soul of shadow and great malice. The one known as Kaal. He walks among the mortals of this city, his power a hidden cancer. We charge you, Watchers: Find the ripples of his presence. Mark the places where the darkness gathers thickest. Seek the scent of ancient ozone and cold fire. Bring us whispers. Bring us signs."
As he finished, the four separate flames shot out, vanishing into the four feathers. The feathers glowed with a dim, infernal red for a moment before returning to their jet-black state. The pact was sealed. The message had been sent.
The main candle snuffed itself out, plunging them into near-darkness.
"It is done," Vikram whispered, his face grim in the dim emergency light. "Now, we wait. The Watchers will scour the city. And when they find a trace of him, we will be ready."
Meanwhile, miles away, as Kiara's friend's bike sped toward the pulsating lights of the club, a cold, observant wind seemed to brush against Yuvaan's car window. He glanced out, a faint, unreadable expression on his face, as if sensing a distant, familiar whisper on the air. The hunt had begun on both sides.