The silence that followed Urvi's collapse was so sharp it almost felt like a sound itself—
thin, trembling, stretched across the chamber like a fragile thread that could snap with a breath.
Kiara's heart hammered painfully against her ribs as she staggered to her feet.
Her bow hung loose in her fingers.
Her palms burned.
Her whole body felt carved out of exhaustion.
But her eyes—
her eyes went straight to the cradle in the center of the demonic formation.
Kiaan.
Their baby.
His tiny chest rose in soft, shaking breaths.
His eyes were wet, swollen, red from crying too long.
His fists were curled into trembling little knots.
His head, freshly shaven, glistened with a sheen of sweat and ritual oil.
"Ki…aan…"
Kiara's voice cracked like glass breaking.
Yuvaan didn't walk toward him.
He ran.
He almost slipped on the stone floor, caught himself with one hand, and still didn't slow.
The sword dropped from his grip with a metallic clang as he reached the cradle and scooped Kiaan into his shaking arms.
Kiaan whimpered the moment he touched his father's chest—
and then, as if recognizing the heartbeat he had known long before birth,
he clung to Yuvaan's kurta with both hands and burst into sobs.
Yuvaan's face twisted—
not in pain,
but in a kind of relief so deep it broke him open.
Kiara reached them on trembling feet, her fingers brushing Kiaan's cheeks,
his forehead,
his tiny ears,
as if making sure he was real
over and over
and over again.
Kiaan let out a small cry—
a confused, frightened sound that melted her heart.
Kiara pressed her forehead to his.
Her tears fell onto his skin, sliding down the curve of his temple.
She kissed the crown of his head again and again, whispering his name like a mantra.
"Kiaan… baby… my baby… you're okay… you're okay… you're okay…"
Yuvaan wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him.
They held their child between them, three heartbeats syncing—
one terrified,
one broken,
one newborn and trembling.
Their breaths matched slowly.
Shuddering.
Uneven.
But together.
A soft sound came from behind them.
Footsteps.
The family reached the chamber—
dust-covered, bruised, blood on their clothes, breath ragged from the battle outside.
Bhoomi was the first to break.
"Kiaan!"
She ran to them, knees hitting the floor as she cupped Kiaan's tiny feet, sobbing into them.
Chandrika bent down beside her, both hands over her mouth, tears streaming freely.
Aakash's face crumpled.
Angad brushed his sleeve across his eyes, failing to hide the wetness.
Riddhi and Vinod stepped closer, hands trembling, overwhelmed with sheer relief.
Susheela folded Kiara into her arms from the side.
Vikram placed a firm, steady hand on Yuvaan's shoulder—
his eyes saying what words couldn't.
One by one, they drew closer.
Arms went around shoulders.
Hands touched backs.
Heads leaned together.
The family didn't hug as one group at first—
they merged slowly, naturally, instinctively.
A chain of trembling bodies,
all anchored around the tiny heartbeat in Yuvaan's arms.
It wasn't loud.
No one wailed.
No one shouted.
It was quiet.
Raw.
Human.
A single, broken, grateful exhale escaped them all at the same time—
the kind of sound people make only after surviving something they thought they never would.
After a long, long moment, Vikram straightened slightly.
"We should leave," he said softly.
Not an order.
Not a warning.
Just a father speaking from caution and instinct.
Everyone nodded.
Kiara gently shifted Kiaan in her arms, wrapping him close, his small face buried in her shoulder now.
Yuvaan picked up the sword with shaking fingers, ready to lead the way.
They turned—
took a single step toward the exit—
When—
SPLASH.
A violent, monstrous splash erupted behind them, drenching the stone floor with dark, churning water.
Everyone froze.
No one breathed.
Slowly, like puppets pulled by invisible strings, they turned around.
The pool—
the ritual pool—
was bubbling.
Boiling.
Rising.
A thick, oily darkness surfaced, spiraling upward like smoke and water twisted into one impossible form.
A hand broke the surface.
Long.
Pale.
Clawed.
Then another.
The water parted like curtains—
And slowly, slowly,
agonizingly slow,
the Boss rose from the depths.
Tall.
Unnatural.
Drenched in black water.
Eyes glowing with a merciless, ancient hunger.
Everyone's faces drained of color.
Eyes widened.
Breaths stopped.
Kiaan whimpered weakly against Kiara's shoulder, sensing the terror in the air.
Kiara clutched him tight.
Yuvaan stepped in front of them instinctively.
The figure stood fully now, water dripping from its robes like ink falling from a broken sky.
A voice—distorted, deep, echoing from somewhere not entirely human—escaped the figure's lips:
"…missed me…?"
Everyone froze.
Their expression shifted from fear—
to shock.
recognition.
unbelieving horror.
The Boss was none other than—
To Be Continued
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