The mansion was filled with a heavy, suffocating silence broken only by the labored breaths of the family sprawled across the floor. Dust rose in little clouds from the impact of their falls, mingling with the faint scent of blood and bruised flesh. Each groan, each tiny movement, echoed like a drumbeat of fear.
Kiaan lay on the ground, small fists curled into the marble, his tiny body trembling. A faint golden glow began to seep into his eyes, like the first hints of sunrise—but before it could bloom, Mohana exhaled sharply, a swirl of green ashes drifting over him. His eyes dimmed, the glow vanishing instantly. The moment hung frozen, the air thick with the weight of her triumph.
Mohana's lips curled into a cruel, confident smile. "Ah… so predictable," she whispered, her voice carrying across the room. "I've found a way to neutralize him… for an hour. One hour… more than enough time to sacrifice him and claim what I desire."
Her hands reached toward Kiaan, fingers curling possessively as if the child were hers to take.
But before she could close the distance, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension.
"No!"
Kiara was there in an instant, her body low, knees bent, hand firmly grasping Mohana's wrist. The look in her eyes was one of pure, unyielding determination—motherly fire that refused to be extinguished.
"This is my son," Kiara said, her voice trembling with rage and love, yet steady as stone. "And I will not—cannot—let you harm him. You will not touch him while I draw breath. My role as his mother, my duty, my life… it all ends here if I must."
She shoved Mohana backward with all the strength of her resolve, her arms shaking from the effort but unmoving in spirit. Mohana stumbled, eyes widening in a mix of shock and fury.
"You insolent mortal," Mohana hissed, her voice laced with venom. "Do you dare—"
Kiara's gaze never wavered. Her grip tightened around Kiaan instinctively, pulling him closer to her chest. "I dare," she said softly, yet every syllable carried the weight of thunder. "Because he is mine. Because no darkness—no power—will take him while I stand."
Mohana's smirk faltered, her eyes flashing with rage, and the green ashes swirled threateningly around her. But for a heartbeat, the room was suspended in a tense standoff—the unspoken promise of battle hanging in the air as mother and dark witch faced each other, one holding the essence of life and light, the other wielding stolen shadows.
---
The air thickened, pressing against every breath. Shadows stretched unnaturally, curling along the walls like living serpents. Mohana's laughter slithered through the mansion, low, sinister, and unyielding. She lifted her hands slowly, savoring the fear she had created, and the shadows surged around her, twisting, swelling, consuming the edges of the room. Her body stretched taller, more monstrous. Her eyes blazed like molten gold, cutting through the dim light with a cruel, molten intensity.
"I am not what you think you know," Mohana's voice rippled like thunder, slow, deliberate, venomous. "I am not a witch… I am the Maha Daayan Mohana! The one who cannot be undone! The one who commands death and shadow alike! You dare stand before me, clutching your child, trembling in the face of eternity? Do you think love, fragile love, can shield you from the inevitable? I will unravel your courage. I will shred your hope. I will consume everything you hold dear and leave nothing but despair in my wake! Every prayer, every wish, every bond you cling to—I will crush it under my will. I am eternal. I am relentless. I am the shadow that devours light, the curse that devours life, and today… today, I will take from you that which you hold most precious!"
Kiara's gaze drifted to the idol of Parvati beside Shiva, the soft radiance illuminating her face, gentle and steadfast. Her chest tightened with the familiar surge of devotion and love. She drew a slow, deliberate breath, letting the tension in her shoulders flow into her arms, into her hands, and into the air around her.
"Mothers are goddesses," Kiara whispered, voice low, trembling, yet gaining strength with each word. "And goddesses are mothers. Every mother who protects, who fears, who loves beyond measure… she carries the spark of divinity within her. When a mother cries for her child, her prayer is not weak—it is the voice of eternity. When the world trembles, when darkness rises… it is the mother who stands, unwavering, whose love cannot be broken. And today, I stand, not merely as a woman, not merely as a wife, not merely as a mother… but as one who carries that divine fire. And I will protect my child, no matter the cost, no matter the shadow, no matter the darkness that dares stand before me."
Her hands lifted, slow, precise, as if she were tracing sacred symbols in the air, her aura growing, shimmering with devotion and divine light.
Bhoomi stepped forward beside her, her own posture deliberate, her presence radiating quiet, impenetrable power. Susheela followed, hands poised in sacred angles, her devotion solid and unwavering. Chandrika moved forward, standing tall, embodying the strength of maternal love, the quiet fury of a protector. Together, they formed a living shrine of light and purpose, unyielding against the darkness.
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