In the jungle, Vikram's expression was one of grim finality. He looked at the bound Chudail, not with rage, but with the heavy sorrow of a man who understood the cost of her actions.
"Because of you," he said, his voice low and resonant with pain, "a mother has lost her child. A father has lost his princess. A brother has lost his sister." He nocked another arrow, its tip glowing with purifying light. "For that, the only punishment you deserve is to perish and meet your devil in hell."
He released the bowstring.
The arrow flew straight and true, embedding itself in the Chudail's heart. A silent scream tore from her throat as holy fire erupted from the point of impact, consuming her in a blaze of white and gold. In moments, she crumbled into ashes, her malevolent presence wiped from the world.
---
Meanwhile, in Yuvaan's room at the Pratap Singh mansion, a different kind of darkness was being held at bay. Yuvaan slept fitfully, his sculpted, topless body gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat. In his nightmare, he was a small child again, locked in a pitch-black room.
"Please! Riddhi! Aakash! Let me out! I'm scared! I hate the dark!" his younger self sobbed, pounding on the unyielding door.
In reality, his body shivered on the bed. His eyes flew open, raw panic in them for a split second before they focused on the figure beside him.
It was Bhoomi, gently caressing his hair, her eyes filled with a mother's instinctual worry. "Yuvi…?"
He sat upright, his breathing ragged. "Mom… why aren't you resting?"
She smiled, a simple, guileless smile. "I couldn't sleep. I felt my son wasn't fine."
The last vestiges of the nightmare, of the feared darkness, melted away under her touch. The mighty Warlock King, who commanded shadows, had once been a little boy terrified of them. He leaned forward, resting his head heavily in her lap, seeking an anchor in her simple, unconditional love.
"Did you have a bad dream, beta?" she asked softly.
"I stopped having nightmares," he murmured, his voice muffled against her sari, "when I became one." He was referring to the first time his powers had manifested, when the darkness had ceased to be a monster under the bed and had instead become a part of him. But Bhoomi, in her fragile mental state, could never grasp that truth. To her, he was just her son.
She gently scolded him, her priorities beautifully mundane. "Go, freshen up. I made food for you."
"I'm not hungry, Mom."
"You always scold me to eat on time, and now you don't want to eat?" she chided, her brow furrowed with concern. She pinched his arm. "Look how skinny you have become!"
A genuine, warm laugh escaped Yuvaan—a rare, uncalculated sound. "I'm not skinny, Mom. I have six-packs. I'm a fitness freak."
Bhoomi blinked, not understanding the terms. "No arguments. Freshen up. Now."
He obeyed. When he returned, she had a plate ready. She insisted on feeding him herself, and he let her, a soft, genuine smile playing on his lips as he watched her.
As he swallowed the food she offered, a profound thought settled in his mind. In this world filled with selfish, cruel humans… I never expected a demon lord like me would be blessed with a loving mother.
It was this love that fueled his darkness. It was this love that made him a villain. And it was for this love that he would tear the world apart to get the Dark Stronghold and cure her.
The silence of the Shetty mansion's library was usually a comfort to Kiara, but today it felt heavy. Bored with the endless scroll of the internet, she sought the tangible weight of a story in her hand. As her fingers trailed along the leather-bound spines, a sound, faint as a sigh, made her freeze.
"Jishwa…"
It was a whisper, woven from dust motes and old paper. She spun around, her heart giving a funny little jump. The library was empty.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice hesitant. Nothing. Shaking her head, she chalked it up to her imagination. But as she turned back to the shelves, it came again, clearer this time.
"Jishwa…"
This time, she whirled around, her eyes scanning the shadows between the bookshelves. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Unbeknownst to her, deep in the secret basement hidden behind a false bookcase, an ancient mystic tome bound in pale leather had opened on its own. On its pages, an illustration of a warrior woman with a glowing trident began to pulse with a soft, golden light.
Before she could investigate further, a gentle hand touched her shoulder.
She jumped, spinning around to find her father. "Dad! You scared me. Where were you?"
Vikram offered a tired smile, his hunter's attire long since changed for a simple kurta. There was no trace of the bow, the arrows, or the jungle on him. "I had some early morning business to attend to," he said, his voice even. He looked at her, seeing the restlessness in her eyes. "How about you go out with your friends? It's your birthday week, after all. You should be celebrating."
Kiara shook her head, a wave of sudden melancholy washing over her. "No, Dad. Not today. Today… I'm really missing Mom." She gestured vaguely at the shelves. "I felt like reading one of the books she loved."
A profound sadness flickered in Vikram's eyes, so deep and old it seemed carved into his soul. He nodded, and they moved to a plush sofa, sitting side-by-side in the quiet room.
"If only Mom were here," Kiara whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Our family would feel… complete. Her death has always been such a mystery to me."
Her words were a key, turning a lock Vikram had kept sealed for fourteen years. The library faded, replaced by the oppressive green gloom of a jungle.
Flashback - 14 Years Ago
"Run, Vikram! Don't stop!"
His wife, Kajal, her eyes wide with terror, was a fierce protector even in her final moments. A six-year-old Kiara, sobbing in confusion, was thrust into his arms. The moment he caught his daughter, a thick, ropelike braid of jet-black hair—unnaturally long and strong—shot out from the dense foliage behind Kajal. It wrapped around her neck with a sickening crack, yanking her off her feet.
"MAA!" Kiara's tiny scream tore through the forest.
Vikram could only watch, helpless, as his wife was dragged backwards into a dark, bottomless ditch, her hand stretching towards them for one last, fleeting second before she vanished into the shadows. Her final, choked whisper was not a scream, but a name, a promise: "Jishwa…"
The memory was a physical blow. Vikram's breath hitched, and he pulled Kiara closer, holding her as if he could shield her from the past.
"It was… a terrible accident, beta," he managed to say, the lie ash in his mouth. He could never tell her the truth—that her mother hadn't died in a random tragedy, but had been murdered by a dark force, a casualty in the secret war that was now, once again, closing in on their daughter. The same war that had just claimed another girl on the street, and the same war that was the reason her mother's last act was to save the child who was destined to end it.