Kiara's heart hammered against her ribs as she hauled herself over the railing of her balcony, landing softly on the plush carpet. She brushed off her clothes, a triumphant smirk on her face for having successfully sneaked back in.
The smirk died instantly.
Sitting calmly in the armchair in the corner of her room, still and silent as a statue, was her brother, Varun.
"Holly molly!" she gasped, clutching her chest. "You scared me! What are you doing here so early?"
Varun's expression was grim, his arms crossed. "You went to the club last night, didn't you?" It wasn't a question.
Kiara's defensiveness shot up like a shield. "Yes, I did. It's my birthday. What about it?"
"Why can't you just listen, Kiara?" Varun's voice was tight with a frustration she didn't understand. "It's dangerous for girls to be out like that, especially right now."
That was the wrong thing to say. Kiara's eyes flashed with anger. "Oh, so now girls are weak? We should just be locked up in the house for our own safety? Is that what you think?"
"It's not about that!" Varun insisted, standing up. "You know it's not!"
"Then why?" Kiara demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Why is it so specifically dangerous for girls right now? Give me one good reason that isn't just you and Dad being overprotective!"
---
On a sunny, peaceful morning road, the danger Varun spoke of was taking a tangible, horrific form. A young woman, scrolling on her phone, didn't notice the uncovered, deep manhole in her path. Her foot slipped, and with a cry, she plummeted down, managing to barely grip the edge at the last second.
"Help! Somebody, please!" she screamed, her arms straining.
Almost immediately, another young woman appeared, her face filled with concern. "Hold on! I've got you!" she said, grabbing the victim's wrists and, with surprising strength, pulling her out of the hole.
The rescued girl collapsed on the pavement, gasping with relief. "Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I thought I was—"
Her words turned into a wet, choked gurgle.
She looked down. A pale, clawed hand was plunged deep into her chest, fingers clenched around her still-beating heart. Her eyes, wide with shock and incomprehension, slowly traveled up to the face of the woman who had just saved her.
The woman's eyes now glowed with a hellish red light. A cruel, twisted smile stretched her lips.
The light faded from the victim's eyes as she slumped to the ground, dead.
The killer withdrew her bloody hand. Her form shimmered and twisted, transforming from a benign Samaritan into a haggard, monstrous figure with long, unkempt hair, claw-like nails, and feet twisted backwards—a Chudail.
She knelt over the fresh corpse, weaving a complex pattern in the air with her bloody fingers. A faint, star-like symbol glowed briefly above the dead girl's forehead before fading. The Chudail scowled.
"Born on the eclipse, twenty-five years ago," she hissed in disappointment. "But… she isn't Jishwa. Another dud."
She vanished into the shadows, leaving the body on the sunny road, a stark testament to the very real, very supernatural danger that Kiara refused to believe in.
The sun beat down on the grisly scene, the cheerful morning light a mockery of the violence that had just transpired. Vikram Shetty's car screeched to a halt a few yards away, summoned by a disturbance his mystical senses had registered. He rushed to the girl's side, but it was too late. Her lifeless eyes stared at the sky, a gaping, bloodless wound in her chest.
He didn't need a coroner's report. He knelt, his fingers hovering over the fatal injury. A residual, icy-cold energy clung to the flesh—a signature he knew all too well.
"A Chudail," he whispered, his voice grim. The method was a classic dark ritual: a heart ripped out to check the soul's age and origin. "The body's still warm. It must still be close by."
There was no time to lose. He stood, pulling a small, worn leather pouch from his inner pocket. It was filled with Reeva Tracking Dust—a fine, iridescent powder made from crushed moonstone and blessed herbs. He muttered an incantation and flung a handful into the air.
Instead of drifting to the ground, the dust hung suspended, shimmering in the sunlight. It swirled for a moment before coalescing into a single, arrow-like stream of light. It shot forward, away from the road, and into the dense, shadowy treeline of a nearby jungle.
Without a second's hesitation, Vikram followed, his ordinary principal's demeanor completely shed. Now, he was pure Reeva hunter, his eyes hard, his movements swift and silent as he disappeared into the foliage, hot on the trail of the monster that had dared to kill in his city.
---
Back in Kiara's sunlit bedroom, the tension was thick enough to cut.
"Then why?" Kiara repeated, her voice rising in frustration. "If it's not about us being weak, then give me a real reason! Why is it so dangerous for girls right now?"
Varun's jaw tightened. He looked away, a storm of conflict in his eyes. He knew about the Chudails, the Daayans, the hunting patterns. He knew a girl had just been killed not far away. But the oath of the Reeva Vansh, the need to protect her from a truth that could get her killed, sealed his lips.
"I… I can't explain it right now, Kiara," he finally said, his voice strained. "Just trust me. Please."
The answer was like a slap. It was the same vague, infuriating evasion she always got from her father. A fresh wave of hurt and anger washed over her.
"You know what, bro?" she said, her tone shifting from anger to a cool, disappointed dismissal. "You're acting all mysterious, just like Dad. It's really not a good look on you." She turned her back to him, effectively ending the conversation. "You should stop spending so much time with him, okay? You're starting to sound just as paranoid."
She walked towards her bathroom, leaving Varun standing alone in the middle of her room. He watched her go, a heavy weight settling in his chest. He was trying to protect her, and all he had succeeded in doing was pushing her further away, widening the chasm of secrets that threatened to swallow their family whole.