The river shivered.
A circle formed on its surface, spinning like a mirror of liquid glass. From that circle bled light—sickly gold, too radiant to be comforting. It spread outward, curving into a halo that stained the water like molten fire. Then the halo broke.
Something rose.
A body, radiant one, a peacock. Its feathers shimmered like hammered gold, each plume aflame with a brilliance that seemed woven from the dawn itself. The arcs of its tail fanned out in endless cascades, a thousand suns caught in motion, bending the air nearby.
The air ruptured.
A thunderous boom tore through the silence, and two worlds suddenly unfurled over the river. One was a Lotus Blood Moon Realm, where crimson lotus petals drifted like knives across a nature choked by a swollen red moon. The other, the Heavenly Lotus Realm, gleamed with pale brilliance—its nature fractured by lattices of light, its ground blooming endlessly with flowers of gold.
The realms collided.
The river split into war. One current seethed with a blood-black stream that reeked of iron, hissing as though alive. The other pulsed with molten gold, luminous and sterile, washing everything it touched into dazzling blindness. Where they met, the water boiled into chaos, each trying to devour the other.
In the heart of it, two thing collided — sword and bird, light and dark—clashing, tearing, neither yielding. Their fight tore the banks apart, stones shrieking as they ripped free from earth. Trees withered to dust in seconds. The sky above warped like stretched skin, and then—an explosion. Both forces flung backward, crashing into opposite banks.
But something new lingered.
That mask, fused itself onto the chest of the demonic woman. The ground quaked.
13 figures stepped into existence around the river, forming a circle. The Eclipse, silent and faceless, each presence bending the air as if gravity itself worshipped them. Their forms flickered between shadow and flesh, some crowned with horns, others stitched together like puppets. A congregation of inevitability.
She emerged again, holding the boy. He was still sleeping, his small frame tethered to her by soaked cloth that clung like a second skin.
The demonic woman's lips parted. Her voice—clear, human, disturbingly tender—slipped out."Give it to me. That thing."
Nidhi's face hardened. "You are mistaken. I carry nothing of the sort."
A laugh, jagged and shrill, slithered through the circle. The Joker, mask split by a painted smile, tilted his head."Do you think I don't know? We came because it's inside you. Do not waste us with lies. Hand it over. Spare yourself. A quick death for you—and for your child."
The river seemed to shudder at his words. Then like before world stop by sudden voice...
Nidhi's eyes burned. "Quick death? For me? For him?" She stepped closer, dripping water onto stone. "Let us see who is still breathing when the sun rises. Do not think of him—I will protect him."
As her words fell, the river stirred once more. From its depths bloomed a lotus, gold as dawn, but etched with azure veins that pulsed like living script. She laid the boy upon it, her hand trembling only once before letting go.
The lotus cradled him gently. Then, without warning, it sank back into the river's mirror. The waters swallowed it whole.
...
The demonic woman's voice rang like a blade striking stone.
"So, you choose fight over that thing," she murmured, lips curling into something between scorn and promise.
Her long sword—still quivering from its clash with the hairpin—snapped back into her hand. At the same time, the hairpin returned to its mistress, each weapon answering its true owner as though bound by fate itself.
Around them, the other twelve members moved as one. Their weapons, silent until now, found their grip again. The first three stepped forward. Instead of charging, they began to sing. The sound was unsettling—three voices weaving into a hymn that was neither prayer nor chant, but something far older. The air trembled beneath their song; ghosts wept in the distance, and monsters crawled forth in answer. A bad omen echoed within the sound, heavy and unshakable.
Then came the man with the wide hat, clutching his strange book. With a single stroke of his brush he marked its third page. Ink bled into shape, and from that painted surface tore beasts not born of nature. Twisted animals—foxes with too many eyes, hounds with ribcages split open into wings, serpents that slithered in flat 2D outlines like shadows given hunger—spilled into the battlefield. They lunged, snarling, at the demonic woman.
The vine-laden lady followed suit. She unfurled her arms, and flowers burst from her sleeves. Vines writhed like serpents, curling through the air, flinging blossoms that shone with deceptive beauty. Each flower carried thorns dripping with venom, and they whistled through the chaos like darts.
From another angle, the hooded man came with speed unnatural. His sword gleamed as he rushed, blade raised to cleave her where she stood. Behind him, the black-bodied figure moved at last, pressing fingers into a gesture—two spread like an eye. Behind his form, a massive black disk pulsed, birthing twelve smaller disks. They spun outward, razor-edged, cutting the air as they flew toward her like a storm of cursed shuriken.
The child with three heads and six arms followed with a mocking shriek, running with a grotesque Bronx cheer, tugging his eyebrows wide with tiny fingers before charging. Each hand snatched at something—rocks, bones, blades of light—and hurled them wildly as his laughter curdled the air.
Not to be outdone, the aqua man raised his hands. From the water coiled around his wrists, six serpentine dragons erupted, scales shimmering like rivers caught in moonlight. They twisted skyward before plunging down, their jaws snapping for her.
And more came—the grotesque creatures that bore fire in their throats, spewing black and green gases, trailing death as they rushed with animal savagery. The loon did not strike but bore its rider forward steadily, carrying her like a dark mount through the storm.
The demonic woman stood tall against it all. She lifted her sword, and at its tip, strange markings bloomed. She carved a symbol into the air itself, then thrust it forward. The mark burned like molten steel and streaked across the battlefield toward them.
Yet even as that surged, the jester slipped away, darting toward the lotus flower sprouting in the distance, his grin widening with secrets of his own.
Then—her hands rose. Her stance shifted, serene, like the statues of sea goddesses carved in temples. On her forehead, light pulsed, a lotus marking itself upon her skin. Her body shimmered, reshaping, as if divinity itself was climbing through her veins.
From beneath her feet, the earth split, and a colossal lotus unfurled, cradling her in its bloom. The hairpin she wielded changed—its sharpness dissolving into beauty—as a peacock blossom grew from its form. From her back, feathers burst, radiant and endless, a peacock's display painted with fire, ice, shadow, and dawn.
Majestic and terrifying, the feathers bent, curled, and then separated. Twelve forms stepped from her, each one another self, each holding a different weapon—sword, staff, spear, bow, claw, chain, shield, whip, fan, scythe, hammer, and dagger.
Her twelve selves stood tall, feathers shimmering behind them like a living aurora.
And then, in perfect silence, they charged.
..................................................
The battlefield was nothing but a ruin of shattered lotuses and black water, the air thick with the smell of blood and smoke. Nidhi stood hunched, her body trembling, one foot barely balanced on the broken petal of a once-radiant lotus. Her breath rattled like glass about to crack. Across from her, the demonic woman spread her wings of red veins, two eyes are blinking in them. Her sword, impossibly long, glistened with veins of black ichor. Her hair whipped in the wind, her chest-face weeping black tears as if in mourning. Both women were covered in wounds—Nidhi in crimson, the demon in tar-dark blood.
Between them, silence swelled, pressing like a stone on their chests.
The demon finally broke it. Her voice was deep, metallic, but tinged with something human.
"After all these battles, all these hollow years… I have finally found someone who could meet me strike for strike. Someone who does not crumble at the weight of my domain. And yet—" her lip curled into something between a grin and a snarl—"what a shame."
Nidhi steadied herself, gripping her fractured weapon.
The demon continued, her tone heavy with disdain. "It is shameful that you never once fought for yourself. Every blow, every cut, every drop of your power—you gave it not for the fight, not for victory, but for that boy. That fragile, insignificant boy. I should have ended him before it began. That would have spared us this mockery of a duel."
Her wings shifted, bleeding shadow into the sky.
"You used your sealed power all at once, squandered it like water spilled on dirt. You broke through my illusions. You shredded my blood-moon domain. Alone, you destroyed what countless others could not even look upon without screaming. And still—you threw it all away to protect him. To teleport him away in the middle of our war. To bleed for him."
Her voice cracked, almost like laughter. "Do you even realize? You robbed me of the fight I wanted. You robbed me of the worthy death I seek. You made me ashamed. Ashamed that I lost an opponent worthy of my blade."
The wind hissed between them. Nidhi did not move, her eyes locked on the demon's. A faint tremor passed her lips, but no words yet came.
The demon tilted her head, her one good eye burning like a coal. "Tell me, is he so important? That fragile child? Important enough for you to throw away everything?"
At last Nidhi spoke, her voice rough, almost broken, but with iron threaded through the pain.
"You will never understand… not while you stand there with your wings of blood. You speak of battle, of glory, of opponents to crush. But you left something behind when you chose them. You left me. You left us. And when you turned your back, I tried—I tried every path, every prayer, every curse—to bring you back."
Her fingers tightened around her weapon, her knuckles white despite the blood. "But you chose the abyss. You chose this path. And so you will never understand what it means for me to stand here bleeding for someone else..."
The demon's face twitched, just slightly. That chest-face, the one that always wept, seemed to sob harder, black tears splashing down her body. She gripped the hairpin she had torn from Nidhi's form, its delicate frame cracked but still glowing faintly.
Nidhi's voice fell to a whisper, but it carried across the battlefield like a bell in a void.
"You will never understand a mother's love."
For a moment, the demon hesitated, her sword faltering. The broken lotuses shifted with the rippling of black water. She screamed, her voice cracking through the blood-soaked air.
"Enough of this! It is a disgrace—I cannot fight you fully. I will wait… for him to grow. To rise with power equal to yours."Her breath trembled as she spat the words, a strange calm slithering in after her fury. "Sister… live well in the afterlife. Do not burden yourself with chains. Go peacefully. None of us will hunt him. I will wait for him… I will wait to fight him."
The words were not a mercy but a curse.With sudden violence, she lunged forward again, blade howling, hatred burning like tar in her veins.
Nidhi, gasping, chest heaving with coughs of blood, tried to summon one last shred of strength. Her fingers clenched around her fractured weapon, muscles shaking like brittle glass. But she was too slow—her broken body betrayed her. Before her final strike could reach, the cold gleam of steel pressed to her throat.
Then… the sword did not sever her.It dropped. With an eerie weight, the blade slid down her neck and sank into the river, swallowed like molten tar into water.
Her voice was cold, final."Sister… you have lost."
That mask tore from her chest and came on that river again.
One by one, shadows withdrew. Their footsteps echoed like hollow bones snapping, and the night seemed to darken with their departure.
Nidhi stood broken, her body little more than a ragdoll stitched by pain. She staggered toward the water. The hairpin—her last fragment—floated weakly, cracked, dissolving. She caught it, trembling, and as it disintegrated into drifting motes of light, so too did her flesh. Her body began to flake, to burst into particles, a sadden unravelling as though she were being erased from the fabric of existence.
From the pin, a surge of energy shimmered faintly. Her lips moved, and her words clawed their way out, ragged, nearly drowned by blood."Live well… my son. Live a simple life."
And then—she was gone.
Then sky broke.Rain poured violently, as if the world itself collapsed in grief. The rivers swelled like veins bursting. Even the heavens, it seemed, could not bear her suffering. The storm wept for her, blackened with sorrow.
..............................................
.................................................
The boy drifted downstream, unconscious, yet somewhere inside, his mind clung to a fragile thread of awareness. He could still see, a garden. Sunlight bathed the air in warmth, flowers swayed in the breeze, and beside him, holding his hand, walked his mother.
He blinked, dazed, his voice breaking with childlike wonder.
"Mom… where are we going?"
She smiled as if she had been waiting for him all along. "We're going to that little fountain. See it there?"
His eyes lit up. "I'll go first!" he shouted, tearing away with sudden energy.
"Slow down!" she called after him, her voice both scolding and fond. "You'll trip!"
But the boy only laughed. "No! I'm first!" His feet flew across the grass, reckless and proud, until he reached the fountain. He spun around, beaming, calling for her.
"Mom! Mom, look! I won!"
But when he turned, there was no one. The garden suddenly felt too quiet. His smile faltered. A shiver of fear crept in.
Then, tap. A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. He whirled, eyes wide, only to see her smiling face. Relief crashed over him.
"You used your power again!" he accused, cheeks puffing in mock outrage. "Humhh! Hummhhh!" He turned away dramatically, lips stuck out in an exaggerated pout.
His mother chuckled, reaching around to pinch both his cheeks. "No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did!" He wriggled free, jabbing his finger at her like a detective unmasking a criminal. "I know you did. You always do it!"
Suddenly, she dipped her hands into the fountain, scooped up water, and splashed it right in his face.
"Then catch me if you can!"
He gasped, wiping his dripping hair back. "H-hey!" But she was already darting away, laughter trailing behind her.
"Ohhh, now you've done it!" He plunged both hands into the fountain, trying to fling water after her. Droplets flew, but most just fell pitifully at his feet. He groaned. "Why does it never last?!"
She turned mid-run, tossed another handful at him, and cackled.
"There! Again! You used it!" he shouted, pointing like a prosecutor in court. "I'm not playing anymore! Hmphh!" He crossed his arms, lips twitching to hide his grin.
His mother sneaked behind him, slipped her palms gently over his eyes, and whispered, "Then tell me—why can't you do it?"
"Because…" He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. "Because I'm busy running after you."
"Mm, close." Her voice teased in his ear. "Guess again."
He put on his most serious thinking face, lips pursed, eyebrows knitted. "Uhhhhhmmm… because… my focus is only on catching you?"
Her hands left his eyes. He turned proudly. "See? I figured it out!"
"Good." She smirked—then flicked his forehead.
"Ow!" He yelped, rubbing it. "What was that for?!"
"Don't think too much," she scolded, wagging her finger. "You'll go bald early. Then no girl will marry you."
His jaw dropped in theatrical horror. "What?! That's not fair!" He stomped, pouting. "Well, they're bad girls anyway! I don't want them! They're not beautiful. I'm not choosing any of them! Bad, bad, BAD!"
His mother burst out laughing, doubling over. "Oh heavens, you sound like an old man already. 'Bad, bad, bad!'" She mimicked his pout, puffing her cheeks until he cracked and laughed too.
But then she leaned down, softening, brushing his hair from his forehead. "You don't need to chase anyone, silly. Just learn where to look. Sometimes, the fountain isn't where you run—it's what you hold in your hand."
The boy blinked, confused but touched. He wanted to argue more, to tease her again, but instead he just grinned and splashed her with the last of his dripping handful.
"Ha! Got you this time!"
Her shriek turned to laughter, echoing across the garden, as the current outside carried his body farther downriver—yet within the dream, he was safe, running hand-in-hand with his mother.
........
The little boy sat squirming while his mother, with infinite patience, tied two small ponytails on his head with bright ribbons. He puffed his cheeks, eyes darting, ready to escape the moment her fingers left his hair.
"There," she said with a proud smile, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Now tell me—why did water spill from your hands earlier?"
He froze. His lips parted as if a great revelation was about to thunder out. But the moment stretched, his eyes narrowed suspiciously, and then—without warning—he bolted across the courtyard, flailing his arms.
"You always do this!" he shouted, wagging a small finger at her from a distance. "Always asking, never answering. Bad! Very bad!"
She crossed her arms, pretending sternness. "If you call me bad one more time, I won't play with you."
The boy skidded to a stop, mischief twinkling in his eyes. For a heartbeat he considered her warning. Then, just to test fate, he yelled—"BA—!"
But before the last syllable could escape, her hand shot out like lightning, snagging his wrist mid-run. His feet kept moving but his body didn't, leaving him dangling like a rabbit caught in a trap.
"Fine," she said, crouching to meet his eyes. "I will tell you the answer. But listen carefully. Do not forget. Those with the strongest will, strongest believe - those who truly want something - can get anything they desire." Her gaze locked into his, solemn, weighty.
The boy squinted, then blew a raspberry. "Another riddle!" He stamped his foot. "I want a real answer, not a puzzle! Look! My will is strong! I demand it!"
He leaned so close his nose nearly bumped hers, eyes blazing with childlike fury. For a moment he looked like a tiny warrior facing down a great foe. Then—smack! Her hand connected with his backside in one swift motion.
"Owww!" He clutched his rear dramatically. "You're worse than riddles! You're a monster!"
"You wait," she warned, wagging her finger. "Just wait."
He puffed out his cheeks again, darting away in zigzags, dodging invisible enemies as though on a battlefield.
—–––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Some time later, a tall figure appeared at the courtyard gate.
"Wife," the man said in a rumbling voice, "what is this chaos?"
She beamed. "Husband, look at our little cub. He wants to learn!"
The man crossed his arms, frowning as if the weight of the universe rested upon him. "You spoil him too much. Let me teach him something important."
He crooked a finger. "Naughty boy, come here."
The boy approached without hesitation, clutching half a flower garland he had been clumsily weaving. The mother sighed, plucking it from his hands. With a single wave of her palm, threads of unseen energy pulled the blossoms together, completing the garland in seconds.
"Mom!" the boy gasped, eyes round with awe. "I want to learn that!"
"Not that," the father growled, pressing a hand to his forehead. "You must focus here." He tapped the boy's chest. "I will teach you something important. If you forget—"
But before he could finish, the boy squealed and darted behind his mother, clinging to her robes. "Mom! Dad is scary! He wants to eat me alive!"
The mother clapped a hand over her mouth, pretending shock. "Husband! How dare you frighten my cub! Perhaps you need a good beating!"
Her hand shot out, mock-swatting at him while he stumbled back, trying to shield himself with a chair. "Woman! Have mercy!" he cried.
The boy collapsed onto the fountain's edge, giggling at the sight of his mighty father fleeing from the tiny hands of his mother. Slowly, lulled by the splashing water and laughter, his eyes grew heavy, and he drifted into sleep.
The father peeked around the chair. "Look—he's fallen asleep already."
"No teaching today," the mother whispered.
The man's brows knitted. "No, just a small lesson." He grinned, sneaking closer to the boy.
She caught his ear instantly. "One only. If I find more…"
He nodded frantically. "One! Just one!"
Carefully, he placed his forehead against the boy's and began chanting a soft mantra. A pulse of light flickered between them. He whispered another mantra, this one with a deeper tone.
The mother's ears twitched. She stormed forward, grabbing his ear mid-incantation. "What did you just say before?"
He winced, caught in the act. "N-nothing important."
"Speak!" She tugged harder.
He flailed his arms dramatically. "I swear! I swear upon heaven and earth—I believe in no gods, no demons, only one…"
"Only one what?" she demanded, yanking his ear like a lever.
He smiled sheepishly, eyes darting. "Another beautiful woman?"
Her grip tightened dangerously.
"No, no! Only you! I swear on my wife's name!"
"Good answer," she muttered, though her fingers pinched harder.
"Ow! Ow! Mercy, wife! How dare you treat me like this! I am the master of this house!"
"Master?" She raised her other hand, knuckles ready.
The boy, half-asleep, giggled in his dreams as his parents chased each other around the courtyard like children themselves.
—–––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Moral of the story:
Even the strongest man trembles before his wife.
And thus, peace in the household remained… lively.
............................................
When he opened his eyes, the world was soft again. The endless clash, the screaming winds, the weight of blood and fire — all of it seemed far away now. He felt warmth instead of pain, the gentle rustle of grass, and a familiar fragrance of jasmine and earth. His head was resting on his mother's lap. She was looking down at him with a smile that could melt every shadow in his heart.
He blinked, confused. "Mother…?"
She brushed his hair away from his forehead. "Why do you look so surprised? Did you forget your mother is beautiful?"
Her teasing voice was light, but her eyes were filled with quiet love.
He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his lips, and said, "Nope. Survi is more beautiful than you." He said it with the innocence of a child, though there was mischief in his tone.
A cough came from behind them. His father, sitting cross-legged on the grass, turned his head as if he had just heard the greatest revelation of his life.
His mother's eyes widened. "Survi? Who is Survi?" Her voice was still sweet, but it carried a sudden sharp curiosity. "Husband, did you hear that? Who is Survi? Is she becoming his wife already?"
The boy jumped up like a startled cricket. "No! No! She's older than me—way taller, too! She's nothing like that." He waved his arms frantically. "I don't have anyone now, but someday, I'll find someone even better than you, Mother. Better than you in every way."
For a moment there was silence. Then she gasped, putting her hand dramatically to her face. "Oh no. My little boy is growing up. He's already planning to leave me." Her voice cracked in mock sorrow. "Sob, sob… He'll forget about his poor mother when he finds another girl." She sniffled and looked away. "I'm not talking to you anymore."
But she placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, leaning closer to her husband. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, though her lips still curved with a smile. "Hubby, listen carefully. If he ever finds a girl better than me, you are dead. Do you hear me? Dead. And you—" she jabbed a finger at her son—"who is this Survi?"
Before he could answer, his father chuckled and shook his head. "Trouble always finds me, even when I say nothing."
The boy sighed in relief and tried to change the subject. "Dad, can you teach me another mantra?"
But before his father could reply, his mother whipped her head around, frowning. "Another mantra? Oh no, no, no. You should be happy with the ones you already know. What you really need is sugar to sweeten that sharp tongue of yours." She stood up and dusted her clothes. "Come on, let's go for a walk. Maybe some fresh air will teach you some manners."
The boy laughed nervously, realizing his situation was only getting more dangerous. Still, when he lay back down on her lap, his voice softened. "Mother, I feel sleepy."
.......................
But this time, when he woke, it was not the grass beneath his head nor the gentle lap of his mother that greeted him. A radiant light poured over his face, almost blinding, and the familiar voices of his parents echoed faintly, as if slipping away into the distance.
"Arnab," his mother's voice whispered, soft but fading, "we are playing hide and seek. We are going to those stars. You must find us."
He blinked, panic rising. "Mom… it's too far. How can I reach you?"
His father's voice, calm and steady, answered, "Practice the mantras I taught you. Grow stronger, and the path will open. If you become strong quickly, you will find us quickly."
Arnab tried to reply, his throat ached, words caught, no sound leaving his lips. His eyes, too, refused to open fully.
Near him, the hairpin glimmered faintly, as if alive. The woman bound to it was also dissolving, like an oil lamp breathing its last flame.
"Forgive me," her voice quivered, carrying a sorrow he did not understand. "My friend wished only to protect you… to keep you simple, safe, happy and a good life. Do not follow our path—it is dangerous. And for this also, I am sorry."
As her final words dissolved, Arnab felt something shift. The fate line of his hand burned, reshaped as though rewritten by unseen ink. The hairpin's last light vanished into nothing.
Dawn spilled across his face like a blessing and a curse. His eyes fluttered open. Instead of his parents, he saw strangers—faces unfamiliar, hovering above him.
The sound of water rippled nearby. He touched the ground beneath him. A riverbank.
An old woman and two boys stared down at him in silence...
Arnab's lips moved—Where am I?—but again, no voice came...
Only the echo of the hairpin's last words filled his chest...