The battlefield was silent, save for the faint crackle of lingering fire and the echo of collapsing stones. The demonic woman turned away, her silhouette melting into the crimson haze like a phantom retreating into its lair. Behind her, Nidhi stood broken, her body fading into motes of light, her breath shallow and ragged. Her vision blurred, and the metallic scent of blood mingled with the bitter taste of defeat.

From the shattered hairpin near her hand, a glimmer of blue burst forth. It spiralled upward, feathers shimmering like fragments of a lost sky. A peacock, radiant, otherworldly, unfolded its wings and perched beside her. Seeing it, Nidhi's lips curved into a weak smile. Her voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper, yet heavy with desperate hope.

"Survi… I never asked for your help before," she murmured, each word a struggle against the pull of darkness. "But this time… please… will you help me?"

Her chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow pants. Then, a voice bloomed in her mind, a voice warm and sorrowful, like an echo of an old friend.

"Help?" Survi replied softly. "Yes… tell me, Nidhi. Tell me what you need, and I will give everything—even if it costs me my last breath.

Do you want me to use my remaining energy to destroy her? Or wipe out the rest of the demons?

Do you want to escape this place? Or… should I give you what remains of my life instead?

Tell me. I am here for you."

For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy. Then Nidhi spoke, her tone breaking like glass. "Can you… change his fate?"

Survi froze. "What… what did you say? Say that again."

"Please," Nidhi pleaded, her fading voice trembling with urgency. "Change his fate."

"No…" Survi's tone quivered. "No, I can't. I… I am not allowed. Even with my power—"

"Please!" Nidhi's cry pierced the weight of the dying world. "Help me. It's the only way to save him. Without him… my living is only suffering."

A long pause. Then, softly, "And mine… is the same. So why do you fade while I remain?"

"You still have work," Nidhi whispered. "For him."

Survi's voice broke into shards of anguish. "Did your star-counting fail me this time?"

"Have my calculations ever been wrong?" Nidhi asked weakly.

"…Never."

"Then do it," Nidhi said, her tone resolute despite her crumbling body. "Use everything. Change his fate."

The peacock spread its wings wide, its feathers glowing like molten sapphire. "Then goodbye, my friend," Survi whispered. "If we are reborn, let us meet again."

Light consumed Nidhi's form as she smiled one last time, fading into the wind.

Far away, a boy drifted downstream, unconscious, lost in dreams where he sang and laughed with his parents. Above him hovered the shattered hairpin. From it, Nidhi's voice trembled: "I'm sorry, little Arnab, Live well."

Then the river erupted in white blossoms. A lotus cocoon enveloped him, and glowing veins pulsed through his hands as his lifelines twisted and rewrote themselves. The sky roared with thunder. Fate had been broken.

A voice cleaved through the silence like the strike of a divine bell:
"Stop. Do not tamper with the fate-lines. They are not yours to weave. Each thread is earned through previous lifetimes or this life time of virtue and sin. To unmake them is to defy the primal law. Beware… or Heaven's wrath will claim you."

The woman tilted her head toward the heavens, her lips curling into a cold smile.
"It does not matter. I gave my word. To my friend… to the one who trusted me. I will honour it, even if the sky itself tears me apart. Heaven is nothing but an illusion chained to fear. I will break it. I will rewrite him—completely. If happiness is a lie, then I will forge that lie into truth."

A lotus of burning light unfurled around the man's still body, cocooning him in petals of gold and shadow. Within, his fate-line writhed, resisting, its luminous current splitting like a bleeding river. Her power poured into him—yet halted. Something ancient stirred.

From that fracture emerged a seal: a tiger's head, carved in flames and ink, its roar shaking the void.

A voice—deep, guttural—echoed through her mind.
"What are you doing here?"

"Changing his fate," she whispered. "She commanded me. She wants him to live… a simple life."

The roar became laughter. "But I am already merging with him. What now?"

"Seal yourself," she said, her breath trembling. "Hide in the darkest chamber of his soul—the place he fears most. I will strip his memories clean. He must never know."

"And when truth hunts him?"

"It won't. We will bury it. Forever."

The tiger's presence hesitated… then faded into silence. "So be it."

But as their wills intertwined, their essence sinking into his deepest layers, the world fell away. Space twisted. Time fractured. They crossed into an unnamed domain, one that should not exist.

It was not darkness. It was something worse.

They felt it before they saw it: a pressure older than light, a breath that tasted of eternity. Their steps faltered, yet curiosity dragged them forward. And then—

A voice broke them, raw and desperate, shattering every echo.
"Come back! Both of you, leave that place. Do NOT enter. COME BACK!"

Her master's command. His master's command. Too late.

..........

From the unseen realm, two voices drifted like echoes through eternity.
One murmured, calm yet grave:
"His fate line is changing…"

Another voice, sharper, asked:
"So what should we do?"

The first one chuckled softly, a sound like ripples disturbing still water.
"No worry… fate will change again and again. Just like time, it cannot be bound. It flows until it reaches the bank of one side. Everything must end someday. His fate will wander like this river, but in the end… it will find its shore."

The second voice lingered in silence, then whispered:
"I will wait for it. And what about them?"

The first replied,
"Don't worry. They will play their part. But they cannot… not fully."

The conversation faded like mist, and that dimension folded upon itself. The heavenly peacock, once radiant, could no longer sense the tiger's presence. The bond that had tied them together—shattered like brittle glass.

She lifted her fading gaze toward the horizon. The sun was rising, and its light struck her golden feathers with a final brilliance. Her body trembled, melting as the last threads of energy unraveled from her soul.

"Our journey ends here…" Her voice was a whisper of wind.
"Live well, little boy… live a simple life, a happy life. Goodbye, my young friend. I will always be your elder sister, watching from beyond."

With that, her essence scattered like sparks in the morning sky.

The lotus that had once traveled with them drifted silently to the riverbank. There, in the quiet where no footsteps tread, it bloomed one final time and surrendered to nature's embrace.

Darkness broke.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself tangled in roots at the edge of a riverbank. His head throbbed; the world swayed like a dream. Voices pierced the ringing in his ears, grannies calling, boys shouting.

"He's alive! Quick, pull him up! Jump!"

Before he could comprehend, the roots gave way. He plunged downward, water swallowing him whole. Just as his lungs began to burn, strong arms seized him. Two boys had leaped from the bank, clutching his shoulders, dragging him toward the surface. Hands reached down from above, tugging, pulling—until at last, he felt solid earth beneath him.

He tried to speak—"Where…?"—but the words collapsed in his throat. Pain scorched his chest. His vision blurred, and darkness claimed him once more.

The next time he woke, the smell of burning herbs filled the air. A low, crackling fire warmed the small hut. Beside him, an old woman knelt, her face wrinkled like ancient bark. She dipped her fingers into a bowl of medicine, coating his arms with thick paste. Leaves, roots, and bark steamed nearby in clay pots.

She chanted softly while passing her hands over him, palm hovering inches from his skin, tracing from head to toe. When he tried to speak, agony stabbed his throat. He gasped.

"My boy," the granny said, pressing a finger to his lips.
"You've not healed yet. Don't talk. It's a blessing you still breathe."

Sleep stole him again.

By noon, the hut buzzed with murmurs. He stirred, blinking against shafts of sunlight. A group had gathered, their faces etched with curiosity. A wiry man stepped forward—his eyes keen, his fingers steady as he inserted pins into precise points along the boy's arm and neck.

Minutes later, he nodded.
"He's stable now. Can you sit up?"

The boy nodded weakly. Pain lanced through his body as he rose, trembling like a new-born calf.

"Good," the man said, offering his shoulder.
"Now, stand."

He obeyed, legs wobbling. For a heartbeat, he stood upright. Then, like a felled tree, he collapsed.

...........

The doctor stood near the bed, his voice calm yet firm.
"His body is weak. Just let him rest—he'll wake up soon enough."

With that, the man in white slipped away through the creaking door, leaving behind the faint scent of herbs and the dull glow of an oil lamp. The boy's eyelids grew heavy, and before he could form a single thought, darkness claimed him again.

When he woke, the sun had shifted. Afternoon light spilled through the wooden shutters, painting dusty beams across the floor. He blinked like a child who had slept too long, sat up slowly, and stretched his arms and legs as if they belonged to someone else. His bones cracked in protest.

He rose to his feet, uncertain, and opened his mouth to call out—only to find an old woman standing in the doorway. Her presence was quiet but commanding, like a tree rooted for centuries.
"Don't speak," she murmured, her voice dry as brittle leaves. "Better for you if you don't for lifetime."

He froze, then gave a faint nod. His fingers trembled as he gestured, pointing toward the open world beyond the gate. "Where… is this?" His voice barely left his throat.

"Small village," she said after a pause. "Pipotal."

The name sounded foreign, like a stone thrown into a deep well, echoing endlessly with no answer. He tried to recall it, to tie it to a memory, but his mind was a blank page smeared with fog. Finally, he nodded and raised his hand again, gesturing toward the gate like a prisoner asking for release.
"May I… go outside?"

Her lips curled, almost amused. "Go—if you can."

He stepped through the wooden frame into a world that felt borrowed from someone else's dream. The air was thick with damp earth and smoke, scented with spices and unfamiliar flowers. Children's laughter drifted from far away, yet it sounded hollow to him, like echoes from another life.

Something was wrong, he could feel it, but every time he reached for the thought, it slipped away like water through his fingers.

Then came the sound from the near road
A boy's voice, light and innocent:
"Mom, where are we going?"

The words slammed into him like lightning. His knees weakened. His breath caught. He turned, searching for the source, but all he saw was emptiness and the weight of a memory he could not hold. His mind split open with longing and fear.

"Why are you standing in a daze?" The old woman's hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him back to the present.

He whispered the only word that mattered: 
"Mother…"
Then he collapsed.

Voices swarmed around him, hands lifting him, carrying him back inside.

Night fell before he woke again, heart pounding, eyes wet. 
"Mother… where are you? Why aren't you beside me? Why aren't you here? Where did you hide?"

Arms wrapped around him from behind, cold as river stones. A soft voice broke the silence.
"It's okay, little boy. Don't cry. Your mother will come next week. She went to gather roots for medicine, with your father. They left you in our care."

He turned his head. A girl stared back, a little older than him, her face half-lit, half-swallowed by shadow.
"Who… are you?" he asked.

"My name is Mala."

"Why… why did she leave for medicine?"

"Does your throat hurt?" she countered.

He touched his neck, confused. "No…"

"It's okay, little one. Don't cry." The voice was almost kind, almost human. "Your mother will come next week. She went to gather roots with your father. They left you with us."

To be Continued...