Vihan
The world outside his tent was still shrouded in darkness, but Vihan could not sleep.
The embers of the fire pit outside flickered faintly, sending wisps of smoke curling into the cool night air. The rhythmic sounds of the wind against canvas, the distant murmurs of the guards patrolling the camp, and the low rustle of Varun shifting beside him were the only things grounding him to reality.
Yet inside, Vihan still burned.
He had met many women before. Some had sought him for his strength, others for the promise of power that came with his lineage. Some had whispered words of desire in his ear, only to turn their backs when his fire became too much to hold.
But none had ever reached into his soul the way she had.
Aaravi.
Her name had not been spoken, yet he knew it as though it had always belonged to him. He could still feel the brush of her presence—golden light against his darkness, blue feathers against his fire. She had not feared his rage, had not shrunk beneath the weight of his past.
She had seen him.
And for a man who had spent years being told he was broken, unwanted, unworthy—that meant everything.
"Find me."
A low voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"You're still awake."
Vihan turned his head slightly to see Varun, his closest friend, watching him from across the tent. Unlike the others, Varun did not pry. He did not offer empty comforts. He simply observed, waiting for Vihan to speak first.
Vihan exhaled, running a hand over his face. "I had a dream."
Varun's brow lifted slightly. "The same as before?"
"No," Vihan murmured, shaking his head. "This one was different."
That alone was enough to catch Varun's attention. He leaned forward, hands clasped. "Tell me."
Vihan hesitated. He had never been the type to believe in dreams, in prophecy, in fate. The fire of his ancestors ran through his veins—he was a warrior, not a man bound by superstition.
And yet…
And yet, this felt real.
"It was a woman," he admitted. "A healer. A peacock draped in gold and blue. She…" He trailed off, swallowing thickly. "She looked at me as if she had known me all my life. As if she knew me better than I knew myself."
Varun was silent for a moment before tilting his head slightly. "And what did she say?"
Vihan's jaw clenched.
"Find me."
Something about those words felt like a command woven into his very soul.
"She told me to find her," he admitted.
Varun studied him, his dark eyes unreadable. "And do you intend to?"
Vihan scoffed. "I don't even know if she exists."
Varun smirked. "You don't believe in fate, do you?"
Vihan shot him a dry look. "Do you?"
Varun shrugged. "I believe in things that refuse to be ignored. If this dream lingers in your mind, if it calls to something deeper in you, then perhaps it's not just a dream."
Vihan frowned, but deep down, he knew Varun was right. He had spent years drowning in the past, in the weight of what had been lost. But tonight, something had changed.
And for the first time in a long time, Vihan wasn't sure he wanted to fight it.
Aaravi
Aaravi had always believed that destiny was something one shaped with their own hands.
She had spent years healing others, restoring what was broken, guiding those who had lost their way. She had met warriors who carried their wounds in silence, leaders who spoke in riddles, poets who drowned their sorrows in ink.
But never had she felt what she felt tonight.
Never had she seen someone like him.
Her breath was still uneven as she sat before the small burning diya in her chamber, the golden glow flickering over her hands. The dream had not left her—it lingered like a pulse beneath her skin, a whisper just beyond her hearing.
She had touched his soul before she had touched his skin.
And he had touched hers.
It was not a simple attraction, nor the fleeting pull of curiosity. It was something deeper, something raw and unshaped, waiting to be understood.
"Find me."
She had spoken the words, but now, she realized—she wanted him to find her just as much as she wanted to find him.
A soft chime rang through her chamber, signaling the arrival of someone outside. Aaravi pushed back the silk sheets and stood, brushing her fingers over the fine embroidery of her robe. She took a steadying breath before stepping toward the entrance.
As she slid the wooden partition aside, she found her elder mentor, Mira, waiting for her with wise, knowing eyes.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Mira said softly.
Aaravi swallowed. "I don't know what I felt."
Mira smiled, but it was the kind of smile that came from knowing—from having seen the threads of fate before they had even begun to weave.
"You will."
Aaravi wasn't sure whether that should comfort her or terrify her.
Mira stepped inside, kneeling gracefully on the floor, motioning for Aaravi to sit across from her. "Tell me," she said.
Aaravi hesitated, but then, the words spilled out.
"He was fire," she whispered. "Not just in the way he looked, but in the way he carried himself. There was something… broken in him, but not in the way that makes a man weak. It was like the embers of something once great, waiting to be reignited."
Mira listened intently, her fingers tracing the rim of the brass cup before her. "And how did he see you?"
Aaravi shivered.
"Like I was meant to be there," she murmured. "Like I was meant to find him."
Mira smiled, but this time, there was something deeper in her gaze. "Then you must decide, Aaravi. Will you wait for him to find you, or will you seek him first?"
Aaravi exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening slightly in her lap.
"I don't think I have a choice," she admitted.
Mira's eyes gleamed. "Then you already know your answer."
Elsewhere…
Vihan sat in silence long after Varun had fallen asleep.
The night stretched before him, but he did not close his eyes.
Because he knew—if he did—he would see her again.
And the fire inside him was already preparing to burn a path toward her.