For a long, terrible moment, no one moved.
Not a breath.
Not a blink.
Not even a shaky exhale.
The dripping of dark water from the rising figure echoed through the ancient chamber,
each drop hitting stone like a countdown to doom.
Kiara clutched Kiaan closer.
Yuvaan's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles whitened.
Bhoomi stepped back, her fingers trembling around Chandrika's wrist.
Susheela swallowed hard, her eyes widening like she had seen a ghost crawl back into the world.
The figure stood fully now, tall, cloaked in dripping darkness, water rolling off her as if she had risen from hell's own river.
Her face was hidden behind her wet hair—
inky strands plastered across her cheeks,
masking everything but the faint, glowing eyes
that burned like embers beneath a dying sky.
A single heartbeat passed—
loud, shared, terrified.
Then another.
The figure tilted her head.
Slowly.
Smoothly.
Wrongly.
In a way no human neck should bend.
And her voice—
cold, layered, echoing like coming from both water and cavern and memory—
slithered into the room.
"So… you finally see me."
Everyone froze.
Kiara's breath hitched.
Yuvaan shifted in front of her on instinct, sword raised.
Vikram, however, stepped forward—
his face drained of color,
his eyes wide with a shock so deep it rattled his very bones.
"I…" he whispered, voice trembling.
"I didn't know you survived."
Silence.
The figure straightened slowly, letting the water roll off her in heavy sheets that hit the stone floor with a splatter.
Then—
she laughed.
A soft, hollow laugh at first—
almost like a child humming.
Then it opened—
wide, cracked, manic—
echoing off every wall of the chamber.
"You didn't know?"
The figure lifted her chin.
Her hair fell back—
Revealing her face.
Pale.
Sharp.
Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful—
powerful, terrifying, inevitable.
Her lips curled into a smirk that tasted of poison and centuries-old grudges.
"Do you think it's so easy to get rid of me?"
Chandrika gasped.
Bhoomi's knees buckled.
Angad stumbled backward.
Kiara stared, breath stolen from her lungs.
The woman stepped forward, water rippling behind her like a living cloak.
"I survived," she said, her voice growing harder, darker, vibrating with old power.
"I survived everything you threw at me."
Yuvaan's eyes widened — he recognized her silhouette, her aura, her cruelty.
The woman raised her hands slightly—
and the shadows in the chamber trembled as if bowing to her.
"And now…"
A slow smile spread across her face.
"Now my dearest celestial warlock has restored my powers."
The temperature dropped.
Kiaan whimpered in Kiara's arms.
Yuvaan stepped closer to them.
The woman took another step forward, her gaze fixed on the child with a hunger older than the mountains.
"And with his life," she whispered,
"with his perfect blood…
with the celestial gift he carries…"
She raised her hand—
a clawed hand, glowing with black fire.
"…I will attain immortality."
Every member of the family stiffened.
Kiara's grip on Kiaan tightened until her fingers went numb.
Yuvaan's breath came sharp, lethal.
The woman smirked.
"I will never die.
Never decay.
Never be destroyed."
Her voice dropped into a terrifying whisper that slid into their bones.
"Only then will I truly live forever…"
She lifted her chin proudly—
"And take my rightful place…"
The air tightened. Magic swirled. The shadows bent forward.
Her voice erupted—
booming through the chamber like a curse finally fulfilled.
"I will become the legendary witch—"
her eyes burned with blood-red light,
"—Maha Daayan Mohana with even more powers."
A shocked, strangled gasp escaped nearly everyone at once.
It was her.
It had always been her.
The mastermind.
The puppet master.
The ancient witch who refused to die.
The monster who had hunted Kiaan since the very beginning.
Mohana.
Alive.
Stronger.
Ascending.
And now standing only steps away from their child.
Kiara's heart stopped.
Yuvaan's rage ignited.
And Mohana smiled—
the smile of someone who already believed she had won.
A dead silence spread through the courtyard, heavy as smoke.
Kiara tightened her protective hold on Kiaan.
Yuvaan shifted beside her, his arm a shield across both of them, breathing hard from the battle but steadying himself for whatever came next.
Behind them, the family slowly gathered—Bhoomi trembling, Chandrika clutching Angad's arm, Vinod stepping protectively ahead, Susheela whispering a terrified prayer.
Vikram stood like stone.
All of them stared at the figure rising from the blood-dark pool.
Mohana.
Reborn.
Her hair flowed behind her like black fire, her eyes glowing with cruel satisfaction. Every step she took cracked the stone beneath her feet, as if the earth itself feared her return.
Her smile was slow. Sharp. Sinister.
"So," she breathed, voice like a velvet blade, "you think you have won?"
Her gaze moved across each face, savoring their shock, their unease, their hatred.
Vikram swallowed hard, voice low.
"I thought you were dead. I thought we finished this."
Mohana laughed softly, twisting her wrist as if testing her new power.
"Finished? Me?"
She tilted her head with mocking sweetness.
"You should know better, Vikram. A daayan like me does not die so easily. Your attack merely… inconvenienced me."
Her eyes slid to Kiaan in Kiara's arms.
"And my beloved celestial warlock," she purred, "has restored what little I lost."
Kiara's heart slammed in her chest, pulling Kiaan closer.
Yuvaan stiffened beside her, a tremor of fury running through him.
Mohana saw it.
Loved it.
"You saved him today," she whispered, "yes. But you will not keep him. Not from me. Not forever."
Aakash stepped forward, breath shaking.
"You won't touch him again."
Mohana raised a brow, amused.
"So many brave words… and yet none of you have powers left. Tell me—what exactly will you fight me with? Hope?"
Her smile darkened.
"I will punish all of you for killing my Tri-kaalishini. And then—"
Her gaze zeroed in on Kiaan, hungry, cold, merciless.
"—I will take what is mine."
Kiara moved one step closer, her voice low but unyielding.
"You will never touch my son again."
Mohana laughed, the sound sharp as shattered glass.
"You mortals and your delusions… do you think love can protect him?"
Her fingers curled, shadows trembling around her.
"I am Mohana. Soon to be Maha Daayan Mohana. I will take him. And none of you,"
her voice dropped to a whisper,
"can stop me."
The air thickened.
Wind spiraled violently.
Dust lifted in a choking whirl.
Mohana lifted her hand, power gathering like a storm ready to strike—
"Now," she whispered, eyes blazing,
"shall we begin?"