The morning after, the light outside Maajaan House seemed subdued. It filtered through the broken panes and landed on the dirty floorboards, illuminating the shattered pieces of glass and charred wood. The air was still thick with the acrid taste of smoke and melted wax, a reminder of all that had transpired but a single night before.
For once, the house was subdued. Too quiet.
Iaa stood at the grand entrance, gazing out at the low-hanging mist in the forest. The rest of the world outside Maajaan seemed tranquil, but she was not fooled. No peace existed in the lands where demons dwelled.
Her own golden glow had long since faded, leaving only subtle imprints beneath the surface of her skin, but the power within her was agitated. She sensed it—waiting. Watching.
Behind her, Shiva cinched the strap on her arm and wriggled her wrist until the joints cracked. "You're up early," she said, reaching to stand by Iaa.
"Couldn't sleep," Iaa said.
"Same," Shiva grumbled. "I keep thinking about that thing. I know it's not gone."
"It isn't."
The two stood silently, hearing the soft hum of the wind.
Downstairs, Sita was also awake. She sat beside the fire, swaddled in a blanket, her tea untouched. The pieces of the necklace were still bound together with cloth and worn on her wrist—like she was attempting to keep some part of it alive.
When she drew breath, the shards glowed softly blue, but her control was not the same.
She picked up her mug and spoke softly, "Just one note. Carefully."
She hummed. A gentle sound. The flame before her shivered, then steadied.
A smile tugged at her lips. Progress.
From the other side of the room, Aravali's voice broke the silence. "Not bad."
Sita looked up. "You're up early too."
Aravali smirked. "You can't expect a genius to rest while the universe is still trying to kill us."
Her equipment was spread out on the table. The newer model of her device lay next to it, emitting a faint blue glow. But today, there was another item next to it—a sketchbook full of fashion designs.
Sita turned her head. "That's new."
Aravali didn't glance up as she went through the pages. "I dreamt about something last night. You know my ability, yes?"
Sita nodded hesitantly. "The one of transformation?"
"Yeah." Aravali's eyes shone. "If I can build something that captures the spirit of the spirit world, I can fight on their terms—half in our world, half in theirs. If I am what they are, then maybe I can hurt them right this time."
"That sounds risky."
Aravali finally met his gaze, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. "So does everything else we do."
---
By noon, Jeet uncle was awake too, though he looked weaker than ever. He sat quietly, listening as they gathered in the main hall to plan.
"The demon," he said, voice low but steady, "was not destroyed last night. It has only retreated. Its power feeds on chaos. When the seal cracked, it latched onto this place. It will return."
Iaa nodded. "Then we'll be ready."
Jeet's eyes stayed on her. "Your mother would have spoken the same words."
That stopped her. "You understood its power, didn't you?"
He smiled weakly. "I understood she feared it. The light you bear—it doesn't destroy. It binds. It can draw from worlds beyond your sight."
Iaa's heart warmed again, gentle but throbbing. "Then perhaps it can stop this."
Jeet nodded once, like he knew something she did not. "Maybe."
---
The rest of the day was like a breath held too tightly.
Sita trained in slow increments, exercising her voice in quiet moments, and keeping her tones soft and steady. Her dance steps danced in rhythm with her heart—slow, careful, full of caution. Each note she produced now was guarded, a reminder of what she once was, yet it still had power.
Shiva spent the afternoon honing her weapon, muttering tiny prayers she'd learned from Jeet. Her blade hummed back at her, a soft silver sheen along its edge.
Aravali spent hours locked in the top room, working on her plan. When she emerged, her eyes sparkled and her fingers were smudged with ink.
"Finished," she said flatly.
Iaa lifted her gaze. "You drew it?"
Aravali nodded, unrolling a page. The drawing depicted a long, layered garment—white and silver, as thin as mist, ribbons that resembled flowing smoke. It wasn't a design. It was a spell in textile form.
"This one's designed like a spirit warrior," Aravali said. "If I put it on, I should phase partially into the ghost plane. If I'm correct, it'll render me invisible to lower spirits—and more difficult for the demon to strike directly."
Sita blinked. "You're going to *wear* that?"
"I did it for me," Aravali said, already taking the stairs. "And for him."
"Him?" Iaa asked.
Aravali looked back, grinning. "The demon. He'll never know what hit him."
---
That evening, the storm returned.
The sky above Maajaan darkened, thunder rumbling low on the horizon. The lamps were extinguished by flashes of lightning. The wind outside leaned the trees.
Sita hovered near the door, hands shaking a little. Shiva cracked her neck, knife in her hand, ready.
"Whatever it is," Shiva said, "stay behind me."
"Don't even consider it," Sita whispered but firmly. "I'm not staying out of this one."
Jeet, sitting in his chair, nodded in approval. "Courage is greater than fear. But be wise."
The floor shook. The wind ceased.
Then, the voice.
"Did you think I'd forgotten you?"
The windows broke.
The demon walked through the mist—taller, darker, more substantial than before. Its red eyes glowed like seething coals.
Varkash had returned.
"I smell the same fear as before," it spat. "But I also smell… arrogance."
"Not arrogance," Iaa said, advancing. "Experience."
She lifted her hands. The golden light reappeared, swirling around her. Her sketchbook rose from the floor and opened in midair. Pages flapped wildly and then halted on one covered with drawn circles and runes.
The ground radiated beneath her.
Shiva flashed ahead first, her knife burning with silver light. Her blows were quick, crisp, deadly—but Varkash flowed like smoke, each blow missing by inches.
Sita resumed singing, the sound of her voice shaking but distinct. The battered necklace on her wrist shone pale blue, vibrating in rhythm with each note. The demon growled and recoiled from the way her song cut through the air like a knife.
Iaa outstretched her hand. A shaft of golden light blazed from her palm, hitting Varkash in the chest. The blast created waves through its smoky mass.
It bellowed, rattling the walls.
Aravali took a step forward now. Her tone was soothing, near serene. "My turn."
She clicked her fingers, and her clothing transformed.
The plain white shirt and jeans shone, replaced by whiter and silver fabric flowing like liquid. The pattern glowed softly with the marks of her drawing—delicate, thread-thin runes that circled her waist and arms.
For a moment, she seemed ethereal—half-present, half-absent.
Her eyes shone soft silver.
Varkash tilted its head. "What sorcery is this?"
Aravali smiled softly. "The trendy sort."
She advanced one step and disappeared.
The demon gazed about, bewildered. Its claws struck at the air—but there was nothing there.
Then, behind it, Aravali's voice resonated, doubled and echoed. "Over here."
She reappeared, cracking the Mark II containment field like a whip. The blue energy snapped across the demon's back, scarring it with a glowing mark.
It screamed.
"I can touch you now," she said. "Guess the design works.
The demon spun around, angry. Its claws went directly through her illusory form, slashing at nothing.
But Aravali was quicker—she moved to the side, striking it once more with the containment beam.
Shiva appeared with her, slicing through the demon's shoulder. The blade bit deeper this time, black energy sparks flowing out.
"Iaa!" Shiva yelled. "Now!"
Iaa lifted her hands. The light of gold flared, more intense than ever before. The sketchbook hung in mid-air once again, and out of it burst a huge circle of light over the ground.
The demon stood still, caught in the middle.
Sita's voice climbed—quiet but firm, threading through the spell. The pieces of her necklace glowed blue, harmonizing with Iaa's gold.
Air vibrated. The power grew.
Aravali, remaining in spirit form, stepped into the circle, her attire shining more brightly. She laid her hand on the demon's chest, combining her containment device's power with Iaa's spell.
Golden and blue light blended into one searing white flash.
The ensuing roar was crippling.
Then—silence.
Once the light had dissipated, the demon knelt upon its knees once more, gold and blue cracks visible in its smoky form.
It gazed up at them, eyes fading. "You… are stronger than I supposed."
"You haven't anything yet," Iaa whispered.
It laughed weakly, a growl with hate and weariness. "This house… is cursed. You will never be free."
And then its form started to disintegrate—slowly, agonizingly, to dust.
The wind swept away the last of its shadow.
The courtyard was still.
For an instant, no one stirred.
Then Sita let out a shaky laugh. "We did it."
Shiva exhaled hard, leaning on her knees. "We actually did it."
Aravali's transformation flickered and faded, her silver outfit dissolving back into her regular clothes. She stumbled, and Iaa caught her just before she fell.
"Hey," Iaa said softly, smiling. "That outfit was killer."
Aravali grinned weakly. "Told you. Fashion saves lives."
Sita laughed again, wiping tears from her cheeks. "I'll make a song about it later."
Jeet stepped forward slowly, his cane tapping the floor. "You've done it," he said, his voice trembling with pride. "You've broken its bond to this house. It will take years to reform—if it can at all."
Iaa looked up at the sky. The clouds were clearing, sunlight spilling over Maajaan once more.
Shiva threw down her knife and flopped to the ground. "I never fight another demon again."
Aravali grinned. "Liar."
"Yeah, sure," Shiva confessed, chuckling wearily.
Sita sat down next to them, her voice hardly above a whisper. "The air feels different now."
"It's lighter," said Iaa softly. "Peaceful."
Jeet nodded. "For the first time in generations, this place breathes freely."
The sisters gazed at one another—the fatigue in their eyes, the grime on their faces, the soft radiation still shining on their hands—and smiled.
They had triumphed.
The demon was defeated.
But in the depths of Maajaan House, below the creaking floors and cobweb-shrouded corridors, something dimly twitched.
A heartbeat.
Weak. Slow. Old.
Awaiting.