They say fire purifies all, but this flame trembles—before a curse no ritual can break, and before a closeness nothing can hide.
~~~~~
Shaamvi wakes with an ache pressing behind her eyes. Her nose is bleeding ; red stains her palm.
She gently stands, to walk to her washroom, hoping to rinse her face— only to feel sudden chill beneath her feet.
Water ripples across the floor, seeping out from under the bathroom door. Her pulse spikes. She suddenly remembers KaanKuwar is inside.
She pounds against the door. "Hey… hey, open the door!"
Inside, he stirs, shifts into his human form, and starts to dress himself in Human clothes.
"KaanKuwar, open now." Her breath flares, half-irritated.
The lock clicks. The door opens.
KaanKuwar stands there, shirt half-buttoned, droplets gleaming across his skin. His eyes carry the haze of interrupted sleep.
"What happened?" His voice is rough. "I told you I would lock—"
He notices blood running from her nose; he softly wipes it using his thumb. "This damn curse is acting even in the morning." He says, irritated.
She jerks his hand and pushes past him, splashing through the shallow flood. "Why is my bathroom drowning?" She yanks the drainage lever, watching water swirl away.
Before he can answer, a sharp knock rattles her room door. Stanzin's voice cuts through. "Shaamvi?"
She spins, panic flashing. "Go, quick— No, No wait—not now."
But too late. KaanKuwar steps out just as Stanzin pushes the door wider.
"What were you doing in her room at dawn?" His gaze hardens. "And why are you drenched?"
KaanKuwar exhales, annoyed. "Nothing."
Stanzin gazes at Shaamvi, looking for answers.
Shaamvi presses fingers to her temple, frustration buzzing. " I will explain later."
Stanzin lingers, his eyes flicking between them. The silence stretches taut, suspicion simmering. But he says nothing more, only jerks his head toward the yard. "It's time."
"I will be there in 10 minutes." Shaamvi replies.
.
Shaamvi walks to the yard.
The ritual circle waits in the yard, made with Ochre and turmeric powder, Stanzin made 14 Zibu angelic signs inside the circle using rice— for protection, healing, strength, wish fulfilment and success. At the four corners, glass bowls filled with water shimmer; just outside the circle, a copper urn stands.
Stanzin rests a hand on her shoulder, his voice calm and steady. "Shaamvi… are you ready?"
She nods, though the tightness in her breath betrays her nerves.
He kneels by the urn, checking the circle, adjusting the powders, making sure everything is ready.
As Stanzin busies himself with preparing, Shaamvi leans toward KaanKuwar. Her voice hisses under her breath. "What did you do last night? The walls in my bathroom have cracks, water was flooding everywhere. Did you just leave the tap running?"
KaanKuwar's jaw tightens. "The tub was too small. You should thank me for enduring your pale little bathroom without complaint." He murmurs.
Her eyes widen. "Enduring? That's the largest bathroom in this house! What the hell are you that you couldn't adjust there?" She whispers.
From across the circle, Stanzin glances up. The way they argue startles him. It looks like familiarity, like two people long used to each other's presence. He knows Shaamvi from childhood, yet he cannot remember her ever speaking to him with such freedom.
When did they become so close? He thinks.
KaanKuwar lifts his chin and replies to Shaamvi. "You call that tiny bathroom large? One thing I will never understand about humans—you live in tiny places, in cages and call them palaces."
Before Shaamvi can retort, Stanzin cuts in. "Come. Everything's ready. Sit."
She sits in the middle of the circle.
The copper urn flares as Stanzin strikes flame to the waiting oil. Fire leaps upward, painting the circle in restless gold.
Shaamvi is nervous, she has done countless rituals, to free humans from evil souls, to free evil souls from curses. But never has she sat at the center herself. Never has the ritual been for her.
Her lashes flutter with nerves. She blinks too often, too fast.
At the circle's edge, Stanzin fastens the brass anklets to his legs.
Outside the boundary, KaanKuwar keeps his watch. His eyes never leave her. He can feel her fear ripple like water. Shaamvi glances at him, seeking something she does not voice. He bends his head slightly, his lips shaping the faintest whisper. "It's okay. God is with you."
She exhales, holding his gaze. Some of the fear softens.
Stanzin notices. The way her tension dissolves at KaanKuwar's word, the way she looks for him, not for Stanzin. A knot twists in his chest. He has known her all his life, yet she leans toward this stranger. Emotional closeness burns between them, unspoken, undeniable. And Stanzin does not like it.
He rises barefoot onto the soil, a small portion of offerings for the fire in his hands, he steps into the rhythm of ancient mantras and begin the Agni Moksha Tantra, an old inheritance of Himalayan curse breakers, monks, shamans and tantrics.
The anklets stir as he dances, one foot striking lightly, the other following. Each offering—turmeric, petals, clarified butter—bursts alive, crackling into smoke.
His prayers pours into the air,
"O Lord Hari, break her chains.
Oh Lord Hari Let the knots of darkness loosen.
Let her breath be free.
Let her soul be untouched."
The bells keep time with his chants. His voice grows louder, the fire brighter, smoke curling upward in heavy coils. His arms sweep wide, circling, then draw inward, pulling unseen currents.
But then, the curse bites back.
Stanzin staggers mid-step. A sudden weight presses on his chest like a boulder. His vision shivers at the edges, dizziness flooding him. The dark force lashes through him like venom, burning his veins. Yet his bells keep ringing. His feet do not stop. He pushes harder, voice breaking yet still rising:
"Release her, O Hari, Please bestow your mercy .
Undo what shadow has bound.
Break this weight—free her."
The fire roars as if resisting him. Sweat runs in rivers down his body. His hands tremble, yet he casts another offering into the flames, forcing the chant from his throat.
The curse's negative energy is too high for Stanzin to handle.
It's too venomous for him to fight and break it.
Stanzin never faced this kind of curse before, it's different, it's pure evil.
Shaamvi senses the shift. The pressure around her intensifies. This isn't normal. This ritual has turned into war.
KaanKuwar, standing beyond the circle, watches in silence.
He can see— the invisible energy of this curse is attacking back at Stanzin, yet he keeps fighting…. pushing against the impossible.