The forgotten was moving again.
Some stories fade with time. Others only wait. This one had been waiting for centuries.
In the city where Chirag and Yashika lived — though no one would speak of them here — there was an old belief. On nights when the moon vanished from the sky, after the church bells tolled seven, the streets belonged to someone else.
They said it was the ghost of a knight — not just any knight, but the commander of the king's guard, betrayed and left to die far from home. His armor had been his coffin, and it had rusted into the black iron shell that still clung to his spirit.
Seven feet tall, clad in scarred, corroded plates, the figure wandered the darkened lanes. Every dent, every scratch told of battles fought and lost long ago. His visor was forever shut. His steps made a slow, grating sound — metal dragging against stone.
The old tales claimed he killed those he caught. No one knew how. But where he struck, a small pile of strange orange sand would remain, as if the earth itself marked the place of death.
And yet, no one alive could name a single confirmed victim. People only spoke of glimpses — a shadow at the far end of the street, a shape vanishing into the fog, a clang of steel in the distance. That was enough to keep the tradition alive.
On no-moon nights, shutters slammed shut. Lanterns were snuffed. The streets became an empty stage for something unseen to pass through. Even the bravest refused to wander after seven, for fear of meeting the knight's hollow gaze.
But in the deep hours, when the wind carried strange echoes through the lanes, some swore they heard it…
That slow, deliberate scrape of armor, growing closer.
Because some stories are not content to be forgotten.
The kingdom of Adhiraj was vast and prosperous, its towers glittering like spears of gold against the morning sun. Among the most loyal protectors of the crown stood Vedansh, a knight whose valor had turned tides in countless battles. His sword was feared, his heart was pure, and his loyalty was unquestionable. Yet for all his victories, the true treasure of his life was not his armor nor his sword—it was his wife, Sumbramati, and their young son, Aagasth.
After a decisive war where Vedansh led the charge to victory, the king invited him and his family to the royal palace for a grand feast. At first, it was a rare honor, a gesture of gratitude.
"Vedansh, my brother in arms," King Adhiraj had declared, raising his goblet high, "without you, our flag would not fly over conquered lands. You and your family are always welcome at my table."
Vedansh bowed humbly. "It is my duty, my king. But more than that—it is my bond to you, my friend."
Adhiraj's eyes lingered, though not on Vedansh. His gaze often found its way to Sumbramati, radiant even in her modesty. Her laughter was soft, her presence graceful, and soon the invitations became frequent. Every week, every other week, sometimes without reason—just another feast, another gathering.
Vedansh noticed.
"Why does His Majesty call upon us so often?" he asked his wife one night as they returned from yet another banquet.
Sumbramati gave a small smile, trying to brush away his worry. "Perhaps he is lonely, Vedansh. You know the queen is no longer in this world. Maybe he only seeks company."
Vedansh wanted to believe it. For the bond of brotherhood he shared with the king, he swallowed his unease. Until the night everything broke.
Vedansh returned home late after training his men. His armor was dusty, his throat dry, yet he longed for the familiar comfort of his wife's voice and his son's laughter. But when he entered the house, it was quiet. Only Aagasth sat in the corner, his small face pale with confusion.
"Aagasth, where is your mother?" Vedansh asked, kneeling before him.
The boy looked down. "She… she hasn't come home yet, Father."
Before Vedansh could question further, there was a frantic knock at the door. He opened it—and his heart nearly stopped.
Sumbramati stumbled in, her body trembling, her clothes torn, skin marred with bruises, hair tangled, eyes streaming with tears. She collapsed forward, and Vedansh caught her before she hit the ground.
"Sumbramati! What happened? Who did this to you?" His voice was thunder, but beneath it cracked the sound of breaking glass—his heart.
Her lips quivered as she whispered the words that shattered his soul.
"It was the king… Adhiraj. He forced me. I tried to run, Vedansh, I tried… but his guards… his power… I am ruined."
Vedansh's grip trembled. His mind could not reconcile the image of the king he had trusted with the horror his wife now bore.
"No…" he whispered, his throat dry. "No, not Adhiraj… not the man I called my brother."
Sumbramati sobbed, pulling away. "Leave me, Vedansh. I am no longer pure. I am stained. You deserve better."
Vedansh cupped her face firmly, tears brimming in his own eyes. "Never speak such a thing again. You are mine, Sumbramati. No hand, no cruelty, no sin of another can take away who you are to me. You are my wife, my soul, my purity."
He kissed her forehead gently. "You are not dirty. You are not ruined. You are my forever."
Aagasth, confused and frightened, clung to his mother's torn sari. "Mother… don't cry. Father will protect us."
Vedansh gathered them both. "We cannot stay here," he said, his voice steeled with resolve. "The palace is poisoned. The man I served is no longer my king. Tonight, we leave this land."
Under the shroud of darkness, the knight abandoned his armor and banners. With only his wife and child, Vedansh fled across the river into the neighboring village. There, he shed his title and became nothing more than a humble shopkeeper. His sword hung hidden beneath the floorboards, never to be drawn again.
Life was quiet. For the first time in years, peace lived in their small home. Vedansh sold grains and tools, Sumbramati tended to the hearth, and little Aagasth grew among the fields.
But whispers followed. Some nights, villagers would claim to see strangers inquiring about a family with hidden pasts. Other times, Vedansh would return from the market to find unfamiliar footprints around his door.
That night, when dawn was about to break, flames swallowed the quiet home of Vedansh, the knight who had once left behind his kingdom, his identity, and all the honor of war to live in peace with his wife Subarmati and their little son, Aagasth.
The villagers of their new residence rushed to the site, horrified by the fire. None of them knew that Vedansh was once a knight, or that his bloodline was tied to the very kingdom they bowed before. To them, he was just another man living quietly at the edge of the settlement.
But when the fire ended, nothing remained except ashes. Among the ruins, only two skeletons were found—one small, belonging to a child, and another that clearly belonged to a woman. No one ever saw Vedansh again.
The whispers began. Some villagers said it was nothing but an accident, an unfortunate tragedy of the night. Others insisted that it was the hand of the kingdom's king, who must have discovered that Vedansh and his family were from enemy lands and had come to spy. Yet others murmured darker things—that it was King Adhiraj himself who had ordered the flames. A few, the most superstitious, claimed Vedansh had set the fire himself, for reasons unknown, leaving only his wife and son to perish.
No one ever truly knew. The story turned into a legend, and the legend into mystery.
_______
And this mystery… this was what Yashika always loved talking about. She would sit for hours, retelling the tale to Chirag, while his quiet patience turned into a bond between them. She loved the pure devotion between Vedansh and Subarmati, and her heart ached at the thought of little Aagasth. To her, it was more than a story—it was a love that defied kingdoms, a tragedy that lived beyond time.
What neither Yashika nor Chirag knew, however, was that this tale wasn't just something that brought them closer, nor just a story they shared out of interest or called their favorite. In its own mysterious way, it was destined to become a part of their lives—a part so deep, so unforgettable, that it would stay with them until their last breath.
Stay tuned for the upcoming part.
---
Author's Note ✨
Hi my lovely readers, this is your author of The Dust Between Us.
Firstly, I'm really sorry for not uploading for the past two weeks. I've been going through a lot of emotional ups and downs, and honestly, my mental health hasn't been in line. On top of that, school has been piling up—projects, assignments, endless tests, upcoming exams, notes, homework… it all became too much. Eventually, the stress caught up with me and I fell sick with a high fever. My body felt numb, and the past two weeks have been anything but normal. Teenage life honestly sucks sometimes.
Still, I tried my best to make it enjoyable , and I hope you enjoyed it 💜 (But I know it just didn't hit the spot, did it?)
Now, there's something I really want to talk about. If you hate me for not uploading regularly, I'll accept that hate. I know I'm a late uploader, and it sucks, but I won't argue with you about it.
About comments, votes, and reviews—honestly, I've been asking, but I haven't received much response. And that's okay, but just know… if you ever feel like sharing your thoughts, I'm always here to listen and reply. No grudges, no holding back. Just share freely—I'll always be here to talk.
As for support like shares, votes, or reviews—it's completely up to you. If you want to, you're always welcome. If you don't, that's fine too.
Now, the important part: I'll be on a long break because of my half-yearly exams. For about a month, I won't be able to upload a new chapter. I know it sounds like a lot, but I need to focus on my studies—I can't afford to fail and risk being kept out. I hope you understand.
Thank you so much for being patient with me. I truly love you all. Stay happy, stay safe, and stay tuned. 💜
—Your Author
Aaradhaya 🌷