The heat didn't ease even when the sun dipped lower.
It clung to their skin like a second layer-dry, suffocating, merciless.
Meera stumbled first.
It wasn't dramatic. No cry, no sudden collapse. Just a misstep. A sway. And then Avni's hands were on her shoulders before she hit the ground.
"Meera-hey-hey, sit, sit," Avni said, panic already slipping into her voice.
Meera's skin was burning.
Neel crouched immediately, fingers brushing her wrist, then her forehead. He didn't need to say anything. The heat spoke for itself.
"She's got a fever," he said quietly. "And dehydration."
Aarav looked around, as if water might magically appear if he stared hard enough. The land around them was cracked and pale, the soil long stripped of mercy. Even weeds had given up here.
"How much water do we have left?" he asked.
Avni didn't answer at first. She reached into the bag anyway, even though she already knew.
The bottle was light.
Too light.
She shook it once. Nothing.
Her throat tightened. "It... it ran out a while ago."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy. Thick. Cruel.
Meera tried to smile. It came out wrong. "It's okay," she whispered. "I'm fine. I just need to... rest a bit."
She licked her lips. They were cracked.
"I'm really thirsty," she added, almost apologetically.
Avni turned away so fast it was obvious. Her shoulders shook.
"Why is it like this?" she choked. "Why do we have to fight just to stay alive? Every day it's something-hunger, fear, running-why does the world hate us so much?"
No one answered, because no one had an answer that wouldn't break them further.
Parth had been standing a little apart, eyes scanning the horizon, mind racing faster than his feet ever could.
"I'll go," he said suddenly.
Everyone looked at him.
"I'll find water. A river. A stream. Anything," he continued. "There has to be something nearby."
Aarav stood up immediately. "I'm coming with you."
Neel shook his head. "No. You need to stay. You are not stable either."
Parth nodded once. He already knew that.
Before Aarav could argue again, Sia spoke.
"I'll go with him."
Parth turned to her. "You don't have to. Are not you tired?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I know. And I am not that tired..."
That was it. That was the whole explanation.
Aarav watched them go, jaw tight. "Be careful," he said. "Please."
Parth glanced back once. "Take care of them."
They walked away without another word.
---
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
The land stretched endlessly, dull and colorless, like the world had been drained of saturation. No birds. No insects. Even the wind felt tired.
Parth finally broke the silence.
"You didn't have to come," he said again, softer this time.
Sia shrugged. "You once again looked like you were about to carry the entire apocalypse on your back alone."
He huffed a weak laugh. "Fair."
They walked a little more.
Then he said, carefully, "You avoided my question earlier that day..."
She didn't pretend not to understand. "I know."
Another pause.
Before he could say anything else, she stopped walking.
"I am," she said.
He turned.
"I am Subhadra," she continued, voice calm, steady. "You don't need to confirm it. You don't need to doubt it. I know you already know."
Parth stared at her for a moment.
Then he smiled.
Not wide. Not dramatic. Just... real.
"I've known for a while," he admitted. "Some things don't need proof. They just... feel familiar."
She exhaled, like she'd been holding her breath for lifetimes.
"I'm glad," she said. "I didn't want to lie anymore."
They started walking again.
Parth spoke slowly, like he was choosing each word with care.
"I'm glad you're here," he said. "In this world. In all this destruction. You're... kind of my only hope right now."
She glanced at him, surprised.
"Madhav stopped coming into my dreams," he added quietly. "He refuses to show himself as Kalki. Maybe I'm still not... good enough."
That did it.
She stopped again and turned fully to him. "Parth."
The way she said his name wasn't sharp. It wasn't angry. It was aching.
"You were never meant to be good enough," she said. "You were meant to be human. That's what he's protecting."
He looked away.
Realizing he'd gone too far, he forced a lighter tone. "But you, Miss Typhoon, you've changed. I thought ruining my days was the only purpose of your life."
She blinked. Then scoffed. "Excuse you. I multitask."
He laughed.
Not the hollow kind. Not the kind that fills silence.
The real one.
She laughed too, shaking her head. "You're unbearable."
"You love it."
"I tolerate it."
For the first time in days-maybe weeks-the world didn't feel like it was actively crushing them.
Then the air changed.
Subtly. Gently.
Parth slowed first.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
Sia nodded.
They had crossed what looked like an old tunnel-probably a train tunnel once, now abandoned and swallowed by time. The concrete walls were cracked, vines creeping along the edges like nature reclaiming a forgotten scar.
And on the other side-
Green.
Not pale. Not struggling.
Alive.
Trees stood tall, their leaves whispering in a breeze that felt cool, kind. Laughter echoed faintly-children's laughter. Real, unguarded.
The sky above them was blue.
Actually blue.
Parth felt something twist painfully in his chest.
"What..." he whispered. "What is this place?"
A man approached them from the distance.
He didn't look poor.
He didn't look rich.
He didn't look afraid.
His clothes were simple, the kind people once wore when life moved slower. His eyes were warm, clear-undimmed by hunger or greed.
He smiled, just a little.
"Sambhala," he said.
Parth's breath hitched.
He looked around again-at the trees, the children running barefoot, the air that didn't hurt to breathe.
A thought surfaced, quiet and devastatingly clear.
So this is what Madhav was protecting...