The secret basement felt colder than usual, the air thick with dread. Vikram paced before the ancient tomes, his face ashen. Mishka stood silently, having delivered her devastating report.
"You are certain?" Vikram's voice was a gravelly whisper. "With a mere flick of his wrist..."
"Every crow dropped dead, Uncle," Mishka confirmed, her own hybrid nature allowing her to perceive the act's terrifying elegance. "It was not a struggle. It was an effortless negation. This is not the power of a common demon. This is the authority of a king. This confirms it. Yuvaan is Kaal."
The name hung in the air, sucking the warmth from the room.
"And the kiss?" Vikram asked, almost unable to voice it.
"Under the mistletoe. Public. Passionate," Mishka stated, her tone clinical despite the gravity. "He is not just toying with her. He is building a web, and she is willingly walking into it."
"But why?" Vikram's voice broke, the father overpowering the hunter. "Why her? What is so special about my Kiara that the Warlock King himself is courting her?"
Mishka's gaze was steady. "There is a way to learn his true motive. The Kaal Vriksh. It holds the secrets of his dark heart."
Vikram's eyes widened in alarm. "Only a creature of profound darkness can summon that tree! Its roots are poison to our kind!"
A sad, resigned smile touched Mishka's lips. "But I am not just 'our kind,' am I, Uncle?" Her eyes met his, acknowledging the disowned, tainted bloodline they never spoke of. "I am a witch."
Without another word, she stepped into the center of the room. She stretched her hands forward, palms up, and closed her eyes. The air crackled. Her form began to shift, her features sharpening, a faint, malevolent energy radiating from her as her Daayan heritage surfaced. A low chant spilled from her lips, words of ancient, forbidden power.
From the stone floor, shadowy, serpent-like roots erupted, coiling around her outstretched hands. They did not burn her; they accepted her. Her body stiffened, her eyes flying open, now glowing with a faint red light as a vision flooded her mind:
Yuvaan, dressed in dark ceremonial attire, his expression one of triumphant possession. Before him stood Kiara, draped in a red bridal lehenga. With a deliberate, intimate motion, he applied a streak of vermillion along the parting of her hair.
The vision shattered. The spectral roots vanished, and Mishka stumbled back, her form returning to normal, her breath ragged.
She looked at Vikram, her face pale. "He doesn't just want to manipulate her, Uncle," she whispered, the horror of the vision clear in her eyes. "He plans to marry her."
Vikram stared, his worst fears not just confirmed but magnified into a nightmare beyond comprehension. The enemy wasn't just at the gate; he was preparing to marry his way into their bloodline.
Mishka's words hung in the air like a death sentence. "How will you save her, Uncle?" she had asked. "She is totally in love with the Devil."
Vikram's face had been granite, his eyes haunted. "There is a way," he'd replied, his voice hollow. "Something my daughter would never expect. And to save her… I have to do this."
---
The next morning, Kiara awoke with a jolt of excitement, her heart already racing. She was out of bed in a flash, pulling out outfits before her mind had fully cleared. It was only as she held up a third dress that she glanced at the clock and groaned.
"It's 9 AM, you idiot," she muttered to herself, slumping onto her bed. "The date is at 4 PM." She took a deep breath, laughing at her own eagerness. "What the fudge, Kiara. You're a diva. Get a grip. Stop acting like a fool."
A little while later, as she was calmly planning her day, Varun knocked and entered. "Hey, you're up and ready. Good. Dad wants you downstairs."
Puzzled but compliant, Kiara followed him. As she descended the staircase, her steps slowed. Seated in their formal living room were a distinguished older couple and a young man, all of whom turned to observe her with keen, appraising eyes.
Putting on her best social smile, Kiara greeted them. "Good morning."
Vikram stood, his expression unreadable. "Kiara, this is Mr. and Mrs. Oberoi, and their son, Vedant. Vedant was a top student at my college. A very good, respectable boy."
Kiara's smile became strained. She leaned toward her father, whispering, "Papa, what's this about? Why are they here?"
Vikram's voice was loud and clear, meant for all to hear. "They are here with a marriage alliance for you, Kiara."
The words didn't compute for a second. Then, they hit her like a physical blow. "You're kidding, right?" she breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"No, dear," Vikram said, his tone firm and final. "I want you to get married to Vedant."
Kiara shot to her feet, her composure shattering. "What the fudge!" she exclaimed, before quickly covering her mouth and turning to the stunned guests. "I am so sorry. That was rude. But this… this is insane!" She looked directly at her father, her voice trembling with betrayal. "I am not going to marry a boy I just met! And I will never marry against my wishes!"
With that, she turned and stormed back up the stairs, the echo of her footsteps a stark contrast to the horrified silence she left behind.
Vikram offered the Oberois a pained, apologetic look. "Please, forgive her. She is just surprised. Give me some time to convince her. I will make her see reason."
After ushering the bewildered family out, Vikram was left alone in the silent living room. He had lit the fuse. The battle for his daughter's heart and soul had now begun, not in a shadowy realm of magic, but in the painful, intimate space of their own home.
---