Vihan
The banners of his tribe rose high against the morning sun, their deep crimson fabric rippling in the wind like flames licking at the sky. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, steel, and blood—the remnants of battle clinging to his skin.
They had won.
Vihan rode at the head of his warriors, his grip firm on the reins of his horse as they crossed the final ridge leading back to their home. Behind him, his men chanted in triumph, their voices raw with victory.
The battle had been hard-fought, but it had been necessary. Another tribe—one that had long tested their borders—had dared to challenge them, thinking their leader was too broken, too haunted to fight back.
They had been wrong.
The echoes of war still lingered in his body, but his mind…
His mind was somewhere else.
It was with her.
The dream had not left him. It had settled into his bones, filling the empty spaces where doubt and anger once lived. No matter how fiercely he fought, no matter how many times he had reminded himself that reality was forged in steel and blood—not in whispered fate—the thought of Aaravi remained.
As they approached the outskirts of his tribe's stronghold, he could already hear the sounds of celebration. Women and children rushed out to greet the warriors, their laughter mixing with the war cries. Drums began to beat, signaling the return of their men.
But as Vihan dismounted, handing off his horse to a waiting attendant, he felt none of the satisfaction he once had.
Victory tasted hollow.
He should have felt at ease. He had returned home, proven his strength, defended his people.
But instead, he felt as if he was standing at the edge of something far greater—something unseen.
And it wasn't here.
Varun approached, his expression unreadable as he handed Vihan a cup of spiced wine.
"You should celebrate," Varun said. "The people are looking to you."
Vihan accepted the cup but did not drink. "Let them celebrate. The battle is over."
Varun studied him for a long moment. "Then why do you look as if it isn't?"
Before Vihan could answer, a chill slithered down his spine.
A familiar voice purred from the shadows.
"Because the battle is never over for men like you, my love."
Vihan exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on the cup. He did not need to turn to know who it was.
Sharvani.
The lioness prowled at the edges of his vision, golden fur gleaming, her shape shifting between the beautiful woman he had once known and the creature she had become in his mind. She had not spoken to him since the night of the dream, but she had never truly left.
She never did.
"You ride home a hero," she mused, circling him, unseen by all except him. "And yet, you are still empty inside. Tell me, does victory feel as sweet as you hoped?"
Vihan did not respond.
She leaned in closer, whispering in his ear. "Or are you still chasing ghosts?"
The heat in his chest burned, but not from her. It was not her fire that lingered within him.
It was Aaravi's.
Sharvani noticed. Her lips curled into a smirk. "You've found another, haven't you?" she taunted. "Some fragile little thing who believes she can tame the fire in you."
Vihan finally turned, his voice sharp as a blade. "Leave."
Sharvani laughed, a soft, cruel sound. "You think you can erase me so easily?" She tilted her head. "You are fire, Vihan. And fire always needs something to burn."
He clenched his fists, jaw tight. "Not you."
Her expression flickered—something dark passing through her golden eyes. Then, she stepped back, disappearing into the shadows once more.
But she was never truly gone.
Aaravi
The soft murmur of chanting filled the temple courtyard, blending with the scent of fresh herbs and incense. Aaravi moved gracefully through the space, her fingers brushing over the worn wooden bowls filled with crushed lotus petals and sacred oils.
Her day had begun before the sun had risen.
Healing was never a task that waited for convenience. People came at all hours—warriors returning with wounds, mothers bringing sick children, elders seeking remedies for aching bones.
Aaravi welcomed them all.
Her hands worked quickly, grinding medicinal leaves into a fine paste as a young woman sat before her, cradling her injured wrist.
"This will help with the swelling," Aaravi murmured as she applied the mixture, wrapping the wound with a bandage soaked in cooling oils.
The woman sighed in relief. "You have a gift, Aaravi."
Aaravi smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "It is simply patience and knowledge."
"And something more," the woman insisted. "You don't just heal wounds. You heal the heart."
Aaravi paused, fingers tightening slightly on the cloth.
She had always felt drawn to those who carried pain, who hid their wounds beneath layers of pride or silence. It was why she had dedicated her life to healing—not just the body, but the soul.
And yet…
Why had she not been able to heal the ache that had settled in her own heart since the dream?
Why did she feel as if something—someone—was missing?
The sun had climbed higher when Mira approached, her robes trailing along the stone floor of the temple courtyard.
"You've been lost in thought all day," Mira observed.
Aaravi exhaled, setting aside her work. "I have been feeling… restless."
Mira's gaze softened. "Because of the dream?"
Aaravi nodded, reluctant to speak the truth aloud.
Mira sat beside her, looking out over the temple grounds. "It is not uncommon for the soul to recognize something before the mind does."
Aaravi swallowed. "Then why does it feel like I'm searching for something I have not lost?"
Mira turned to her, eyes gleaming with quiet wisdom. "Because you are not searching for something, child. You are searching for someone."
The words sent a shiver down Aaravi's spine.
Because deep down, she knew Mira was right.
She had spent years healing others.
But perhaps…
Perhaps she had been waiting for someone who could help her heal, too.
Vihan
The night was alive with celebration, but Vihan stood apart from it, watching from the shadows of the great hall. His warriors drank, feasted, and sang of their victory, yet he felt no desire to join them.
Varun approached, leaning against the pillar beside him. "If you stand there any longer, people will think you've turned into a ghost."
Vihan smirked, but it was hollow. "I have never been much for celebration."
Varun glanced at him. "Or maybe you are thinking of something else."
Vihan didn't reply.
He didn't have to.
Because she was there—in his mind, in his blood, in the very air around him.
Aaravi.
He had fought battles, led men into war, defended his people without hesitation. And yet, this… this was the first time he had felt truly unsteady.
Because for the first time in years, he did not know what would come next.
All he knew was this—
He was meant to find her.
And he would.
Soon.