The golden morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of Yuvaan and Kiara's room, soft as breath, fragile as prayer. The war had ended five days ago—but peace had not yet returned.
Kiara lay still upon the bed, her face pale against the ivory sheets. Her hand rested limply in Yuvaan's palm, and he hadn't let go since that day. The faint scent of sandalwood and burnt incense lingered in the air—a reminder of the pujas Chandrika kept performing downstairs, hoping the gods would listen.
Yuvaan's thumb brushed lightly over Kiara's fingers.
"Five days," he whispered, his voice rough from sleepless nights. "Five whole days, Kiara… and you still won't open your eyes."
He leaned closer, his breath trembling as he spoke.
"Are you… scared to wake up?" he murmured, almost like he feared she might hear and leave again. "Scared to face me? Your greatest rival… and yet, the man who can't breathe without you?"
He chuckled bitterly, but it was hollow.
"I never thought the woman I fell in love with, fought for, would turn out to be Jishwa herself—the one my clan feared for centuries. My wife, my enemy, my light…"
His voice broke on that last word. He swallowed hard, lowering his forehead to their joined hands.
"I fought the world for you, Kiara. I turned my back on darkness, on my mother, on everything I was born into… all because you made me believe love could change destiny. And now, when I finally have you, you leave me to fight alone in this silence."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch feather-light, as if afraid she might vanish.
"Please," he whispered, his eyes glistening, "wake up. Tell me this isn't the end of our story. You promised you'd stand beside me till the last breath, remember?"
The clock ticked softly in the background. The world outside went on—but in that room, time stood still.
Yuvaan exhaled shakily, pressing her hand to his heart.
"Even if you're Jishwa and I'm Kaal," he said, voice trembling but resolute, "we've already rewritten what fate dared to write for us. And I swear, Kiara… if love has any power left in this world, it will bring you back to me."
A single tear slipped down his cheek, landing on her fingers. The room grew utterly quiet—except for the sound of his heartbeat, echoing against the silence that separated them.
The tension in the Pratap Singh mansion felt heavy—thick like storm clouds that refused to break. The faint hum of the morning wind carried through the hallways, and yet, inside Yuvaan and Kiara's room, the air was still.
Kiara remained motionless on the bed, her face serene yet pale, her breaths shallow. Yuvaan still sat beside her when Vikram and Varun entered, followed closely by the rest of the family—Chandrika, Bhoomi, Aakash, Riddhi, and Angad, their faces carved with worry.
Vikram's tone was grim as he stepped closer. "Yuvaan… we went to the Cave of Answers," he said quietly, glancing at the unconscious Kiara. "We discovered why she isn't waking up."
Everyone's eyes turned toward him.
Vikram continued, his voice steady but sorrowful. "She overexerted her divine powers during the battle. Her body was mortal—it couldn't withstand the force of Jishwa's awakening. Her energy is depleted, her spirit weakened. We… don't know how to revive her."
The words settled like cold steel in the room. Chandrika clasped her hands in silent prayer; Bhoomi began to cry softly.
Yuvaan stood abruptly, eyes dark but determined. "There is one person who can bring her back."
Varun frowned. "Who?"
Yuvaan didn't answer. He simply turned and walked out of the room. The others followed him down the hall, their footsteps echoing on marble floors until they reached the grand temple at the heart of the mansion.
As Yuvaan stopped at the threshold, Vikram's expression changed from concern to alarm.
"Yuvaan, don't," he warned. "You know what will happen if you step in there. The divine energy will burn through your demonic aura. You'll lose your powers for twenty-four hours—maybe longer!"
But Yuvaan only looked ahead, his gaze fixed on the idol of Lord Shiva glimmering under the lamp's flicker. "If losing my powers means saving her," he said quietly, "then so be it."
He took his first step into the sanctum.
A powerful jolt coursed through him—the divine barrier lashing against his dark essence. He stumbled, his body quaking, but he didn't stop. He took another step, and another. Each one burned like fire under his skin. His breath grew ragged; veins on his hands glowed faintly crimson as his strength began to drain.
The family gasped, calling out for him, but Yuvaan didn't turn back.
Finally, he reached the idol—his knees buckled, his hands trembling. He collapsed before Lord Shiva's feet, his forehead pressing against the cold stone floor.
"I never believed in you," Yuvaan said, his voice cracking. "Never prayed, never bowed. I was born from darkness, not devotion." His eyes glistened, his tears mixing with the sacred dust. "But today… I'm not here as Kaal Vansh's heir. I'm here as a man begging for the life of the woman he loves."
He folded his hands, trembling. "Please, Mahadev… save her. Take my strength, my power, even my life—but give her back to me."
The lamps flickered violently, the air in the temple shifting with divine energy. Yuvaan remained bowed, breathing heavily, as a faint vibration filled the space—like the whisper of a cosmic response.
Outside the temple, the family watched, awe and fear mingling in their eyes, as the man once known as the King of Darkness prayed with a heart full of light.