The boy drifted downstream, unconscious, yet somewhere inside, his mind clung to a fragile thread of awareness. He could still see, a garden. Sunlight bathed the air in warmth, flowers swayed in the breeze, and beside him, holding his hand, walked his mother.

He blinked, dazed, his voice breaking with childlike wonder.
"Mom… where are we going?"

She smiled as if she had been waiting for him all along. "We're going to that little fountain. See it there?"

His eyes lit up. "I'll go first!" he shouted, tearing away with sudden energy.

"Slow down!" she called after him, her voice both scolding and fond. "You'll trip!"

But the boy only laughed. "No! I'm first!" His feet flew across the grass, reckless and proud, until he reached the fountain. He spun around, beaming, calling for her.
"Mom! Mom, look! I won!"

But when he turned, there was no one. The garden suddenly felt too quiet. His smile faltered. A shiver of fear crept in.

Then, tap. A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. He whirled, eyes wide, only to see her smiling face. Relief crashed over him.

"You used your power again!" he accused, cheeks puffing in mock outrage. "Humhh! Hummhhh!" He turned away dramatically, lips stuck out in an exaggerated pout.

His mother chuckled, reaching around to pinch both his cheeks. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!" He wriggled free, jabbing his finger at her like a detective unmasking a criminal. "I know you did. You always do it!"

Suddenly, she dipped her hands into the fountain, scooped up water, and splashed it right in his face.
"Then catch me if you can!"

He gasped, wiping his dripping hair back. "H-hey!" But she was already darting away, laughter trailing behind her.

"Ohhh, now you've done it!" He plunged both hands into the fountain, trying to fling water after her. Droplets flew, but most just fell pitifully at his feet. He groaned. "Why does it never last?!"

She turned mid-run, tossed another handful at him, and cackled.

"There! Again! You used it!" he shouted, pointing like a prosecutor in court. "I'm not playing anymore! Hmphh!" He crossed his arms, lips twitching to hide his grin.

His mother sneaked behind him, slipped her palms gently over his eyes, and whispered, "Then tell me—why can't you do it?"

"Because…" He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. "Because I'm busy running after you."

"Mm, close." Her voice teased in his ear. "Guess again."

He put on his most serious thinking face, lips pursed, eyebrows knitted. "Uhhhhhmmm… because… my focus is only on catching you?"

Her hands left his eyes. He turned proudly. "See? I figured it out!"

"Good." She smirked—then flicked his forehead.

"Ow!" He yelped, rubbing it. "What was that for?!"

"Don't think too much," she scolded, wagging her finger. "You'll go bald early. Then no girl will marry you."

His jaw dropped in theatrical horror. "What?! That's not fair!" He stomped, pouting. "Well, they're bad girls anyway! I don't want them! They're not beautiful. I'm not choosing any of them! Bad, bad, BAD!"

His mother burst out laughing, doubling over. "Oh heavens, you sound like an old man already. 'Bad, bad, bad!'" She mimicked his pout, puffing her cheeks until he cracked and laughed too.

But then she leaned down, softening, brushing his hair from his forehead. "You don't need to chase anyone, silly. Just learn where to look. Sometimes, the fountain isn't where you run—it's what you hold in your hand."

The boy blinked, confused but touched. He wanted to argue more, to tease her again, but instead he just grinned and splashed her with the last of his dripping handful.

"Ha! Got you this time!"

Her shriek turned to laughter, echoing across the garden, as the current outside carried his body farther downriver—yet within the dream, he was safe, running hand-in-hand with his mother.

........

The little boy sat squirming while his mother, with infinite patience, tied two small ponytails on his head with bright ribbons. He puffed his cheeks, eyes darting, ready to escape the moment her fingers left his hair.

"There," she said with a proud smile, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now tell me—why did water spill from your hands earlier?"

He froze. His lips parted as if a great revelation was about to thunder out. But the moment stretched, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then—without warning—he bolted across the courtyard, flailing his arms.

"You always do this!" he shouted, wagging a small finger at her from a distance. "Always asking, never answering. Bad! Very bad!"

She crossed her arms, pretending sternness. "If you call me bad one more time, I won't play with you."

The boy skidded to a stop, mischief twinkling in his eyes. For a heartbeat he considered her warning. Then, just to test fate, he yelled—"BA—!"

But before the last syllable could escape, her hand shot out like lightning, snagging his wrist mid-run. His feet kept moving but his body didn't, leaving him dangling like a rabbit caught in a trap.

"Fine," she said, crouching to meet his eyes. "I will tell you the answer. But listen carefully. Do not forget. Those with the strongest will, strongest believe - those who truly want something - can get anything they desire." Her gaze locked into his, solemn, weighty.

The boy squinted, then blew a raspberry. "Another riddle!" He stamped his foot. "I want a real answer, not a puzzle! Look! My will is strong! I demand it!"

He leaned so close his nose nearly bumped hers, eyes blazing with childlike fury. For a moment he looked like a tiny warrior facing down a great foe. Then—smack! Her hand connected with his backside in one swift motion.

"Owww!" He clutched his rear dramatically. "You're worse than riddles! You're a monster!"

"You wait," she warned, wagging her finger. "Just wait."

He puffed out his cheeks again, darting away in zigzags, dodging invisible enemies as though on a battlefield.

—–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Some time later, a tall figure appeared at the courtyard gate.

"Wife," the man said in a rumbling voice, "what is this chaos?"

She beamed. "Husband, look at our little cub. He wants to learn!"

The man crossed his arms, frowning as if the weight of the universe rested upon him. "You spoil him too much. Let me teach him something important."

He crooked a finger. "Naughty boy, come here."

The boy approached without hesitation, clutching half a flower garland he had been clumsily weaving. The mother sighed, plucking it from his hands. With a single wave of her palm, threads of unseen energy pulled the blossoms together, completing the garland in seconds.

"Mom!" the boy gasped, eyes round with awe. "I want to learn that!"

"Not that," the father growled, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You must focus here." He tapped the boy's chest. "I will teach you something important. If you forget—"

But before he could finish, the boy squealed and darted behind his mother, clinging to her robes. "Mom! Dad is scary! He wants to eat me alive!"

The mother clapped a hand over her mouth, pretending shock. "Husband! How dare you frighten my cub! Perhaps you need a good beating!"

Her hand shot out, mock-swatting at him while he stumbled back, trying to shield himself with a chair. "Woman! Have mercy!" he cried.

The boy collapsed onto the fountain's edge, giggling at the sight of his mighty father fleeing from the tiny hands of his mother. Slowly, lulled by the splashing water and laughter, his eyes grew heavy, and he drifted into sleep.

The father peeked around the chair. "Look—he's fallen asleep already."

"No teaching today," the mother whispered.

The man's brows knitted. "No, just a small lesson." He grinned, sneaking closer to the boy.

She caught his ear instantly. "One only. If I find more…"

He nodded frantically. "One! Just one!"

Carefully, he placed his forehead against the boy's and began chanting a soft mantra. A pulse of light flickered between them. He whispered another mantra, this one with a deeper tone.

The mother's ears twitched. She stormed forward, grabbing his ear mid-incantation. "What did you just say before?"

He winced, caught in the act. "N-nothing important."

"Speak!" She tugged harder.

He flailed his arms dramatically. "I swear! I swear upon heaven and earth—I believe in no gods, no demons, only one…"

"Only one what?" she demanded, yanking his ear like a lever.

He smiled sheepishly, eyes darting. "Another beautiful woman?"

Her grip tightened dangerously.

"No, no! Only you! I swear on my wife's name!"

"Good answer," she muttered, though her fingers pinched harder.

"Ow! Ow! Mercy, wife! How dare you treat me like this! I am the master of this house!"

"Master?" She raised her other hand, knuckles ready.

The boy, half-asleep, giggled in his dreams as his parents chased each other around the courtyard like children themselves.

—–––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Moral of the story:
Even the strongest man trembles before his wife.

And thus, peace in the household remained… lively.

............................................

When he opened his eyes, the world was soft again. The endless clash, the screaming winds, the weight of blood and fire — all of it seemed far away now. He felt warmth instead of pain, the gentle rustle of grass, and a familiar fragrance of jasmine and earth. His head was resting on his mother's lap. She was looking down at him with a smile that could melt every shadow in his heart.

He blinked, confused. "Mother…?"

She brushed his hair away from his forehead. "Why do you look so surprised? Did you forget your mother is beautiful?"

Her teasing voice was light, but her eyes were filled with quiet love.

He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips, and said, "Nope. Survi is more beautiful than you." He said it with the innocence of a child, though there was mischief in his tone.

A cough came from behind them. His father, sitting cross-legged on the grass, turned his head as if he had just heard the greatest revelation of his life.

His mother's eyes widened. "Survi? Who is Survi?" Her voice was still sweet, but it carried a sudden sharp curiosity. "Husband, did you hear that? Who is Survi? Is she becoming his wife already?"

The boy jumped up like a startled cricket. "No! No! She's older than me—way taller, too! She's nothing like that." He waved his arms frantically. "I don't have anyone now, but someday, I'll find someone even better than you, Mother. Better than you in every way."

For a moment there was silence. Then she gasped, putting her hand dramatically to her face. "Oh no. My little boy is growing up. He's already planning to leave me." Her voice cracked in mock sorrow. "Sob, sob… He'll forget about his poor mother when he finds another girl." She sniffled and looked away. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

But she placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, leaning closer to her husband. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, though her lips still curved with a smile. "Hubby, listen carefully. If he ever finds a girl better than me, you are dead. Do you hear me? Dead. And you—" she jabbed a finger at her son—"who is this Survi?"

Before he could answer, his father chuckled and shook his head. "Trouble always finds me, even when I say nothing."

The boy sighed in relief and tried to change the subject. "Dad, can you teach me another mantra?"

But before his father could reply, his mother whipped her head around, frowning. "Another mantra? Oh no, no, no. You should be happy with the ones you already know. What you really need is sugar to sweeten that sharp tongue of yours." She stood up and dusted her clothes. "Come on, let's go for a walk. Maybe some fresh air will teach you some manners."

The boy laughed nervously, realizing his situation was only getting more dangerous. Still, when he lay back down on her lap, his voice softened. "Mother, I feel sleepy."

.......................

But this time, when he woke, it was not the grass beneath his head nor the gentle lap of his mother that greeted him. A radiant light poured over his face, almost blinding, and the familiar voices of his parents echoed faintly, as if slipping away into the distance.

"Arnab," his mother's voice whispered, soft but fading, "we are playing hide and seek. We are going to those stars. You must find us."

He blinked, panic rising. "Mom… it's too far. How can I reach you?"

His father's voice, calm and steady, answered, "Practice the mantras I taught you. Grow stronger, and the path will open. If you become strong quickly, you will find us quickly."

Arnab tried to reply, his throat ached, words caught, no sound leaving his lips. His eyes, too, refused to open fully.

Near him, the hairpin glimmered faintly, as if alive. The woman bound to it was also dissolving, like an oil lamp breathing its last flame.

"Forgive me," her voice quivered, carrying a sorrow he did not understand. "My friend wished only to protect you… to keep you simple, safe, happy and a good life. Do not follow our path—it is dangerous. And for this also, I am sorry."

As her final words dissolved, Arnab felt something shift. The fate line of his hand burned, reshaped as though rewritten by unseen ink. The hairpin's last light vanished into nothing.

Dawn spilled across his face like a blessing and a curse. His eyes fluttered open. Instead of his parents, he saw strangers—faces unfamiliar, hovering above him.

The sound of water rippled nearby. He touched the ground beneath him. A riverbank.

An old woman and two boys stared down at him in silence...

Arnab's lips moved—Where am I?—but again, no voice came...

Only the echo of the hairpin's last words filled his chest...

To be Continued...