Deep within the inky expanse of the Shadow Realm, the air shimmered with dark energy, thick and suffocating. Twisting shadows danced across jagged, obsidian spires, forming shapes that would make ordinary humans tremble in fear.
Sunehri knelt before a towering, formless presence—a shadow witch whose very being seemed woven from the darkness itself. The witch's voice, low and echoing, reverberated like the whisper of a thousand winds through a graveyard.
"Our king… he attacked me," Sunehri confessed, her tone a mix of frustration and fear. "All for the sake of that Reeva descendant. He… he won't be denied."
The shadow witch's form shifted, tendrils of darkness curling like smoke. "I hope our fear does not come to pass," she said, her voice chilling and melodic. "If Yuvaan… falls in love, the Kaal Vansh will be defeated. The throne will be lost before it is even claimed. And then… all we have built, all we have waited for, will crumble into dust."
Sunehri's eyes, glowing a fierce yellow, reflected her unease. The shadows around them seemed to thicken, pulsing with ominous intent. Even in the realm of darkness, the possibility of love—a human weakness—was a threat powerful enough to shake the very foundations of their kingdom.
She bowed lower, her long braid sweeping the ground. "Then I will ensure it does not happen, my queen. The Reeva descendant will never come between our king and his destiny."
A silence fell over the Shadow Realm, heavy and oppressive, as if the darkness itself was waiting, watching, and biding its time.
Vikram's eyes landed on Yuvaan as if seeing the man for the first time in full daylight. The single syllable tore from his chest like a challenge.
"You," he said, voice low and edged with something older than fear.
Yuvaan's lips curved in that careless half‑smile. "Hi—oh, sorry. Greetings, father‑in‑law," he said, mock‑polite, the title tasting new on his tongue.
For a moment no one moved. Then Vikram's hand—steadier than his voice—knitted the distance between them. "Come here," he ordered. His tone brooked no refusal.
Yuvaan cocked his head, amusement flickering across his face. "Are you talking to me?"
"Yes." Vikram's fingers lifted as if by habit he were blessing a child. He pressed his palm to Yuvaan's brow—an absurd, intimate, defiant gesture given everything that had happened—and the room held its breath.
"I bless you, as my son‑in‑law," he said, the words simple and final.
Kiara and Varun stared, mouths half‑open. Yuvaan's amused expression softened into something darker, and he murmured, "Interesting. Very interesting."
But beneath that outward calm, Vikram's mind was already working, cold and precise. He felt the truth of it like a weight in his chest: brute force would not unmake what Yuvaan was. The Warlock King's power was older and stranger than any arrow or blade. To win back his daughter and end this threat would require craft, patience, a plan that outwitted a mastermind used to bending fate.
As he let his hand fall from Yuvaan's brow, Vikram made the vow inwardly—quiet, terrible, immovable. He would save Kiara. And when the time came, he would find a way to kill the man who had become both her captor and her husband.
The words did not leave his mouth. They did not need to. The look that passed through his gaze carried the promise: a strategist's war had begun.
Later, as the tension in the air softened just enough for a fleeting moment of normalcy, Kiara clung to her father and brother, burying her face against Vikram's chest as tears slid silently down her cheeks. Varun's arms wrapped around her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could, his own heart hammering with worry.
Vikram held Kiara a little longer, then straightened, his gaze flicking to Yuvaan. "And you," he said, his voice calm but sharp, "won't seek your father‑in‑law's blessings?"
Yuvaan's lips curved into that faint, villainous smirk. Slowly, deliberately, he bent down, touching Vikram's feet with an exaggerated show of respect. Kiara and Varun exchanged confused glances—Vikram's behavior seemed almost… approving, a stark contrast to the man they had seen moments ago.
Yuvaan straightened again, letting the moment hang in the air, and then turned, taking Kiara's hand. Without another word, the newlywed couple walked away, leaving a swirl of questions and tension in their wake.
Varun's gaze burned into his father's back as they disappeared. "Dad… why did you send her with him? She's your daughter—we could have fought! We could have—"
Vikram raised a hand to stop him, his eyes serious, unwavering. "If we just fight, we are bound to lose," he said slowly. "But if we fight wisely, with strategy and patience, then victory will be ours." His gaze hardened. "I will save my daughter… and I will end Yuvaan. Mark my words, Varun. The Warlock King may be powerful, but he underestimates the resolve of a father."
Varun clenched his fists, the weight of his father's words sinking in, both comforting and terrifying. The game had only just begun.