Chapter 10: The Witch of the Forest
The light in the forest was failing, not fading, but being pushed back. Long, cold shadows stretched across the moss like black fingers reaching for the last warmth of the day.
Agnivrat moved first, catching Nakul as the boy's legs gave out. He was a husk—skin clinging to bone, eyes too large in a face that had lost all its roundness. His hair wasn't white; it was colorless, like cobwebs.
"Water," Agni grunted, lowering the boy against a tree.
Neer was already there, not with a waterskin, but with his cupped hands. A sphere of clear water condensed from the damp air, hovering above his palm. He guided it to Nakul's lips. The boy drank reflexively, a faint shudder passing through him.
"Look at me," Neer said, his voice stripped of all its usual playful melody. It was flat, calm, a clean surface to reflect truth. "Where is the pain?"
Nakul's eyes focused with immense effort. "Not… pain. Cold. Empty." His hand fluttered to his chest. "Like… winter inside."
"What did you see?" Agni pressed, his voice low but intense. Heat radiated from him, a small, desperate furnace against the growing chill.
"A circle," Nakul whispered. "Drawn in the dirt. Black powder. It… sang to me. A woman's voice. From the trees. I stepped in… and the song… it went inside me. And pulled something out." A tear, cold as the dew, tracked down his cheek. "I think it took… my summers. All the warm days I had left."
Neer and Agni exchanged a look over the boy's head. This wasn't a curse of sudden aging. It was a theft. A surgical removal of potential, of future time.
"Can you walk?" Agni asked.
Nakul shook his head, a feeble motion. "Tired. So tired."
Agni nodded once, a decision made. He scooped the boy up with surprising gentleness. "Then we carry you to the edge. To the sun."
"We're leaving?" Neer hissed, following as Agni began striding back the way they came.
"He is a clue, not a compass," Agni said, not breaking his pace. "His life is the evidence. We secure the evidence. The witch knows we are here. Let her wonder why we are retreating."
---
They emerged from the forest into a world that had forgotten its own darkness.
The village square was an explosion of life. Swirls of red, yellow, green, and blue painted the air like a living rainbow. Children ran with pichkaris, their laughter sharper than any sword. Women sang folk songs that spoke of Krishna and Radha, of love that transcends form. Men danced to the thunderous beat of dhols, their feet raising clouds of colored powder.
Neer stopped dead.
His mouth fell open. For a long moment, the prince of water—the one who always had something to say—was completely, utterly speechless.
"Agni… it's Holi."
Agni frowned, still holding Nakul. "We don't have time for festivities. The witch—"
"Just look." Neer's voice was soft, almost wondering. "Colors. Everywhere. After all that grey in the forest. After all that darkness."
A group of children spotted them. Before Agni could protest, a little girl no older than seven ran up and threw a handful of gulal at him. Pink and yellow exploded on his chest.
Agni froze.
His expression—the eternal mask of stone-cold seriousness—cracked. His eyes widened slightly, the amber irises catching the sunlight, reflecting the pink dust that now covered his chest. His lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came.
The girl giggled, completely unafraid of the fire prince. "Dada, you're all pink now! Pink like a flower!"
Neer stared. Then a sound escaped him that hadn't been heard in weeks—a genuine, unguarded, helpless laugh that seemed to push back the forest's darkness all by itself. His head tilted back, his throat exposed to the sun, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. The laugh echoed across the square, drawing smiles from everyone who heard it.
"Agni!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "The great Agnivrat! The prince of flames! The most feared warrior of Tejgarh! Covered in pink!"
Agni carefully set Nakul down against a wall where an old woman immediately began tending to him with warm milk and concern. Then he turned to Neer.
Something shifted in his eyes. A flicker. A spark that had nothing to do with fire.
"You think this is funny, water-boy?"
Neer grinned, still laughing, his chest rising and falling with each breathless chuckle. "Hilarious. Best thing I've seen in my entire life."
"Good."
In one fluid motion—so fast Neer couldn't react—Agni dipped his hand into a nearby bucket of deep crimson color. The paste was cool and thick against his fingers, staining them blood-red.
Neer's laughter died in his throat as he saw Agni moving toward him. His blue eyes widened, pupils dilating, a sudden awareness passing through him.
Agni's hand rose. Time seemed to slow.
Neer didn't dodge. He couldn't. Not because Agni was too fast—but because some part of him didn't want to.
Agni's palm met Neer's cheek.
The touch was warm—warmer than it should have been, even for a fire prince. His fingers spread slightly, the crimson color smearing across Neer's skin, covering the blue that was already there from earlier celebrations. Red and blue meeting. Blending.
For a heartbeat, Agni's hand lingered. His thumb, almost unconsciously, traced the line of Neer's cheekbone, leaving a trail of color behind.
Neer's breath caught.
His heart—that steady, rhythmic drum that had never faltered through battles and storms—stumbled. Once. Twice. Then raced.
He could feel every point of contact where Agni's fingers pressed against his skin. The warmth seeped into him, spreading from his cheek down his neck, across his chest, pooling somewhere deep in his stomach. His lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping.
Agni's eyes held his. The amber depths were no longer hard, no longer guarded. They were… soft. Open. Almost wondering.
What am I doing? Agni thought, but his hand didn't move.
Why isn't he moving his hand? Neer thought, but he didn't step back.
The village square continued its celebration around them—children laughing, drums beating, colors flying—but for these two heartbeats, there was only this.
Neer's cheek, warm under Agni's palm.
Agni's fingers, stained red against Neer's blue.
The space between them, shrinking.
Then Agni's lips curved. A real smile. Small, genuine, devastating.
"Now we're even."
His hand fell away.
Neer exhaled—a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His cheek tingled where Agni had touched it, the warmth lingering long after the hand was gone. He raised his own hand, fingers brushing the spot, coming away red.
He looked at the color on his fingertips. Then at Agni.
"You…" His voice came out strange—lower, rougher. He cleared his throat. "You had that coming."
Agni's smile didn't fade. If anything, it grew. "I know."
The village square erupted in cheers. The children surrounded them, pulling them deeper into the celebration. For a moment—just a moment—they weren't princes or warriors. They weren't heirs to thrones or carriers of ancient curses.
They were two young men, covered in color, laughing in the sun.
---
The afternoon melted into evening.
Neer had been pulled into a circle of dancing women. He moved with natural grace, his blue-stained hands clapping to the rhythm, his laughter bright as monsoon rain. But something was different now.
Every few moments, his eyes would drift—searching, seeking, finding.
And every time they found Agni standing at the edge of the crowd, watching.
Their gazes would meet. Hold. Then Neer would look away, but a new warmth would bloom in his chest, spreading through his veins like honey.
His heart would quicken. His smile would soften. And when he turned back to the dance, his movements were somehow lighter, freer.
---
Agni stood apart, watching.
He told himself he was keeping guard. The witch could come at any moment. He needed to stay alert, stay separate, stay focused.
But his eyes kept finding Neer.
The way the setting sun caught the colors on his face—blue and red mixing into something new, something that shouldn't exist but was beautiful anyway. Purple. The color of twilight. The color of boundaries.
The way his hair, damp with thrown water, curled at the ends, dark strands clinging to his temples.
The way his smile reached his eyes, truly reached them, for the first time since before the war.
When did you last smile like that? Agni thought. When did I?
His chest ached. A strange, unfamiliar pressure behind his ribs, like something was trying to break free.
He pressed a hand to his heart, feeling its rhythm—steady, strong, but faster than usual. Much faster.
What is this?
An old woman appeared at his elbow. The crone. She held a small cup of thandai and studied him with eyes that saw too much.
"You keep looking at him."
Agni's jaw tightened. His heart stuttered—caught. "I'm watching for threats."
"Mm-hmm." Her voice dripped with knowing. "And yet your eyes follow only one threat. The blue one."
"He's not a threat. He's my—"
Agni stopped.
The word stuck in his throat.
Friend? Brother? Partner? Companion?
What was Neer to him?
The question echoed in his mind, and for the first time, he didn't have an answer. Not a simple one. Not a safe one.
The crone smiled, a gap-toothed, knowing thing. "I've seen that look before, beta. On young men who don't yet know what's happening to them." She pressed the cup into his hands. "Drink. And then go to him. The colors won't last forever. Neither will this moment."
She shuffled away before he could respond.
Agni looked down at the cup. His hands—his always-steady hands—were trembling.
---
The sun was a bleeding orange wound on the horizon when Neer finally broke free from the dancers.
He was breathless, glowing with exertion, his blue kurta now a chaotic masterpiece of every color imaginable. Sweat traced paths through the pigments on his skin, creating rivers of clean flesh through the rainbow.
He found Agni standing apart, a cup untouched in his hands, watching the horizon.
Or pretending to.
Neer's heart gave a little leap as he approached. He told himself it was just excitement from the dancing. But the warmth spreading through his chest as Agni turned to face him—that wasn't from exertion.
"You missed all the fun."
Neer dropped onto a low wall beside him. Their shoulders were inches apart. He could feel the heat radiating from Agni's body, a gentle warmth like a banked fire.
When did I start noticing that? he wondered. When did I start wanting to be near it?
"People were asking about you." His voice came out lighter than he felt. "The 'mysterious fire prince who won't dance.' I told them you're just shy."
"I'm not shy."
"I know." Neer's voice softened without his permission. "You're just you. Serious. Always watching. Always protecting."
The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full. Like a cup waiting to be filled.
Neer looked at the cup in Agni's hands. "You didn't drink?"
"No."
"Good. Probably poisoned anyway." Neer grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes the way it usually did. "Old village women love poisoning princes. It's a hobby."
Agni's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are. Still stuck with me."
Another silence. Closer this time.
The bonfire crackled nearby, getting ready for the Holika Dahan. The village was preparing for the night's ritual. But for these two, time seemed to have stopped.
Neer stared at the fire, but his mind was elsewhere. His hand, resting on the wall between them, moved slightly. Closer to Agni's. Not touching. Just... closer.
"Agni."
His voice was different. Softer. Stripped of all its usual playfulness.
Agni turned to look at him. Really look.
The dying sun painted Neer's face in gold and crimson, the colors of Holi still vivid on his skin. The red from Agni's hand was still there, smeared across his cheek, blending with the blue into something soft and beautiful.
Purple, Agni thought again. The color of us.
"What is it?"
Neer didn't answer immediately. He kept staring at the fire, at the flames that would soon rise to celebrate the victory of good over evil.
"Today," he said slowly, "when that witch's song caught me... when I was lost in it... do you know what I saw?"
Agni waited. His whole body stilled.
"I saw nothing." Neer's voice was barely above a whisper now. "Darkness. Empty. Like being at the bottom of the ocean with no light, no sound, no way up."
He paused. Swallowed.
"And then I heard your voice. Screaming my name. And that sound... it pulled me back."
Agni's jaw tightened. His hand, resting on his knee, curled into a fist.
Neer continued, still not looking at him. "I've been thinking about that all day. About what it means. About what you mean."
His voice dropped lower. Almost a whisper now.
"Agni... I don't know how to say this. I've never said this to anyone. I've spent my whole life making jokes, running from serious things, because it's easier than admitting that some things... some people... matter too much."
He finally turned. Looked directly into Agni's eyes.
The firelight caught his face—the colors, the sweat, the vulnerability.
"You matter too much, Agni."
His voice cracked. Just slightly.
"You have since the Gurukul. Since that first day you yelled at me for chasing that rabbit. I didn't understand it then. I don't fully understand it now. But I know that when I was drowning in that darkness, the only thing that reached me was you."
Agni's breath caught. A tiny, almost imperceptible sound. His fist tightened further, knuckles going white.
Neer's hand moved. Slowly. Trembling slightly.
His fingers touched Agni's. Just barely. Just enough.
"And I realized something tonight."
He swallowed hard. His eyes glistened.
"In every life... in every world... I would find you. I would choose you. Not because of duty. Not because of destiny."
His voice broke completely.
"But because you are the only one who makes me feel like water can be something more than just... flowing. Like I can be something more than just the easy one, the laughing one, the one no one takes seriously."
A tear escaped. Traced a path through the colors on his cheek.
"When I'm with you, I'm not just Prince Neer of Nilgarh. I'm not the son who lost his father. I'm not the warrior trying to prove something."
He squeezed Agni's hand.
"I'm just Neer. And you're just Agni. And somehow... that's enough."
---
The words hung in the air between them.
Heavier than any curse.
More powerful than any spell.
More beautiful than any color.
Agni didn't speak.
He couldn't.
His throat had closed. His chest burned—not with fire, but with something else. Something new. Something terrifying and beautiful and overwhelming.
Slowly, he turned his hand. Laced his fingers through Neer's.
His other hand came up.
Trembling.
The great Agnivrat's hand was trembling.
It touched Neer's face. Cupped his cheek. His thumb, feather-light, wiped away the tear, smearing the colors beneath.
He didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
His forehead touched Neer's.
Their breath mingled.
Their hearts beat as one.
The world faded away.
And in that perfect silence, Neer heard everything Agni couldn't say:
I know. I feel it too. You are everything. You have always been everything.
---
The old woman watched from her doorway.
She saw the two young men on the wall, saw the space between them shrink to nothing, saw the way they leaned into each other without knowing they were doing it.
She saw the fingers laced together.
She saw the foreheads touching.
She saw the tear that fell and was caught.
She smiled.
"Rang," she whispered to the night. "Asli rang toh wahi hai jo dil mein utre."
Color. The real color is the one that sinks into the heart.
---
When the last light faded, the crone approached them. Her face was grave, all trace of knowing smiles gone.
"The colors are fading," she said. "The music will stop soon. And when the last ember of the Holika fire dies… she will come."
Neer straightened, but he didn't move his hand.
Neither did Agni.
"Tell us everything," Agni said.
The crone's eyes flickered to their still-joined hands, then back to their faces. Something like pity crossed her features. Or perhaps understanding.
"She hates this day. Holi. Because it reminds her of what she lost. Of the human she used to be." She pointed to the dying bonfire in the village center. "That fire is her enemy. When it dies, her courage returns."
"Then we keep it alive," Neer said.
"You can't. The ritual demands it burn out. Holika must die for truth to live."
The crone looked at Agni. "But you, fire-child. You carry your own flame. She cannot steal what you guard with your heart."
She turned to Neer. "And you, water-child. Don't let her still your flow. She will try. She will show you your deepest fear. Hold onto what you found tonight."
Neer's fingers tightened against Agni's.
"What did we find tonight?"
The crone smiled, sad and wise. "Ask yourself that question when the sun rises. If you both survive."
She left them there, at the edge of the dying fire, at the threshold of the darkness.
---
The bonfire crackled low.
The village had retreated indoors, warned by the crone. Only Agni and Neer remained, sitting on the cold ground before the embers.
Their hands were still joined. Neither had let go.
"The witch will come soon," Agni said quietly.
"I know."
"Are you afraid?"
Neer considered this. The old answer would have been a joke. A deflection. But that felt wrong now. Wrong to hide. Wrong to pretend.
"Yes." He said it simply. Honestly. "But not of her."
Agni looked at him. The firelight danced in his amber eyes.
"Then what?"
Neer met his gaze. Held it. Let himself be seen.
"Of losing this." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Of waking up tomorrow and pretending tonight didn't happen. Of going back to being just warriors. Just princes. Just…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to.
Agni's hand tightened around his. That was answer enough.
"Then we don't lose it," Agni said. Simple. Final. A promise.
Neer's lips curved—a real smile, small and fragile and beautiful.
"Together?"
"Together."
---
The song started softly.
A woman's voice, beautiful and terrible, weaving through the trees.
But when it reached the village square, when it tried to wrap around the two figures by the dead fire—it found nothing to latch onto.
Because Agni's fire wasn't in his hands. It was in his heart, burning for a different reason now.
And Neer's water wasn't in his palms. It was in his eyes, the tears he'd finally allowed himself to shed.
They rose together, hands still joined.
The witch stepped from the forest, her beautiful face twisted with confusion.
"Why… why can't I reach you? What changed?"
Agni stood tall, fire flickering to life in his palms.
Neer stood beside him, water swirling around his free hand.
Not behind. Beside.
"Because," Neer said, his voice clear and strong, "you hunt the lonely. You feed on the empty."
He glanced at Agni. Just for a second.
Their eyes met. Everything passed between them in that look—the years, the pain, the healing, the words spoken by the fire, the silent promise in the darkness.
"And tonight," Neer finished, turning back to the witch, "we are neither."
The witch screamed and lunged—
But the colors of Holi were still on the ground.
The memory of touch was still in the air.
The words spoken by the fire were still echoing in their hearts.
And the fire that rose to meet her wasn't just Agni's.
It was theirs.
---
The battle that followed was fierce and terrible.
Agni's flames clashed with the witch's dark magic. Neer's water sliced through her shadows. They moved as one, anticipating each other's strikes, covering each other's weaknesses.
When the witch tried to ensnare Neer again with her song, Agni was there, his fire burning away the notes before they could reach.
When she tried to drain Agni's life-force, Neer was there, his water washing away the grasping tendrils of darkness.
Finally, cornered and weakening, the witch revealed her true form—a twisted, ancient creature of hunger and loneliness.
"You think you've won?" she hissed. "You think your little... whatever this is... will protect you? Love is just another hunger. It will consume you in the end."
Agni looked at Neer.
Neer looked at Agni.
And in that look was everything—the years of rivalry, the months of grief, the hours of healing, and this one night of impossible truth.
"Maybe," Agni said. "But if it does, at least we burn together."
Neer smiled—that real, unguarded smile that Agni now knew was worth more than any treasure.
"Together, then."
Their elements merged—fire and water, destruction and flow—and became something new. Something the witch had never seen, never imagined.
A wave of steam, scalding and purifying, rolled over her.
She screamed one last time—
And then there was silence.
---
Dawn broke over a village that had survived.
The witch was ash on the wind.
The forest was quiet.
The sky was soft pink and gold, as if the universe itself was celebrating.
Agni and Neer stood at the village edge, ready to leave.
The village head had blessed them.
The children had thrown one last handful of color.
The crone had pressed two small pouches into their hands—Holi colors to carry with them.
"Keep them," she said. "When darkness comes again, remember: the fire that burns brightest is the one fed by love."
Now they stood alone, the village behind them, the path ahead.
Neer held his pouch of colors, then looked at Agni.
Their eyes met.
The memory of the night hung between them—the touch, the words, the foreheads pressed together in the darkness.
"So," Neer said softly. "That happened."
Agni's lips curved—a real smile, small but genuine. "That happened."
"What do we do now?"
Agni was quiet for a moment.
Then he reached out and took Neer's hand.
Just held it. No words.
Neer's breath caught. His heart stumbled. Then steadied.
He squeezed back.
"I don't know," Agni finally said. "But we figure it out together."
They walked into the forest, hands linked, the colors of Holi still staining their skin.
Behind them, the old woman watched from her doorway.
She smiled.
"Rang hai yeh. Rang-e-ishq. Kabhi nahi dhulta."
This is color. The color of love. It never fades.
---
The forest welcomed them back—dense, heavy with mist, the trees standing tall like silent sentinels.
But something was different now.
The mist didn't feel oppressive. It felt soft. Mysterious.
The trees didn't feel threatening. They felt watchful. Protective.
Neer's hand was still in Agni's. Neither had let go.
He could feel everything—the warmth of Agni's palm, the slight roughness of his calluses, the steady thrum of his pulse against Neer's own.
His own heart was calm now. Peaceful. Like it had finally found its home.
He glanced at Agni from the corner of his eye.
Agni's profile was sharp against the mist—strong jaw, straight nose, those amber eyes focused ahead. But there was something different in his expression too. Something softer. Something open.
Their hands tightened simultaneously. A silent conversation.
I'm here.
I know.
I'm not going anywhere.
Neither am I.
---
Then, a sound.
Distant. Melodic.
A woman's voice, floating through the fog.
Both tensed, instincts snapping back. But this voice was different from the witch's. Not hungry. Not hunting. Just... sad.
Neer's eyes found Agni's.
"Did you hear that?"
Agni's jaw tightened, but his hand didn't let go. "Yes. Stay close."
They moved forward together, drawn by the voice, leaving behind the village, the colors, the night that had changed everything.
But carrying it with them.
Hidden in their hearts.
Stained on their skin.
Woven into the very fabric of who they were.
Neer paused for a moment, closing his eyes and letting the voice guide him. It was hypnotic, sweet, almost unbearably beautiful. His heartbeat quickened—not out of fear, but a strange fascination.
Agni's eyes narrowed as he noticed Neer's gaze softening, his usual sharp focus replaced with a delicate vulnerability.
"Neer… control yourself," Agni whispered, his voice firm yet gentle. "It's a trap. Do not let the charm take hold."
Neer smiled faintly over his shoulder. Their hands were still connected. He could feel Agni's concern through the touch, warm and real.
"I know, Agni… but it feels… different this time. I don't understand…"
The two advanced deeper, hand in hand, until the source of the voice revealed herself.
Beneath the heavy boughs of an ancient tree stood a young woman—her beauty was ethereal, her eyes like dark pools drawing Neer in. Her smile was a trap, her presence intoxicating.
But Neer didn't let go of Agni's hand.
And Agni didn't let go of his.
---
THE END OF CHAPTER 10
---