Midnight draped the Kothari mansion in a blanket of calm. The golden glow of diyas flickered faintly from the balcony, and outside, the night air carried a whisper of approaching festivities.
Inside their room, Vihaan and Gauri lay peacefully asleep — until Gauri suddenly stirred. Her breathing grew fast, her fingers clutching the bedsheet.
In her dream, she saw it — Vihaan, standing in the courtyard, his eyes wide with shock as a hooded man emerged from the mist, dagger gleaming. The blade pierced his chest, crimson spilling across his white kurta. Gauri screamed his name, the echo ringing through her dreamscape like a haunting bell—
"Vihaan!"
She shot awake, drenched in sweat.
Vihaan sat up instantly, alarmed. "Gauri? What happened?"
Her eyes darted toward him, searching, trembling. "You—you're okay?" she asked, touching his face as if confirming he was real. "I saw you— you were stabbed—"
Vihaan gently took her hands in his, pressing them to his heart. "Hey… look. I'm fine. See? Still breathing. Still here."
But Gauri couldn't shake the image. "It felt so real, Vihaan. That man… he had no face, just darkness."
Vihaan smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "You're just stressed. Tomorrow's Diwali, the festival of lights. Darkness doesn't stand a chance — not when you're with me."
Gauri tried to smile, though her heart still thudded unevenly. "You always say that."
Vihaan leaned back on the pillow. "Because it's true. And since you always recite poems to me, tonight it's my turn."
Gauri blinked, surprised. "You? A poem?"
"Why not?" he said proudly. "I'll call it 'Diwali — The Firecracker of Love'."
He cleared his throat dramatically, then began,
> "The diyas are bright,
The laddoos are sweet,
My wife is angry,
But still… she's my treat."
Gauri stared at him, then burst into laughter. "Vihaan! That's not even close to a poem!"
He grinned. "What? It rhymes!"
"Barely," she said between giggles. "Poetry isn't your field — action, law, and Sarvansh magic are. Leave the verses to me, Mr. Kothari."
Vihaan chuckled, his voice warm. "Well, at least I managed to cheer you up, Mrs. Kothari."
Gauri smiled at him fondly, the fear in her chest slowly melting away. "You always do."
He pulled her close, resting her head against his shoulder. "Now sleep. Tomorrow will be bright — I promise."
And as Gauri closed her eyes again, the diyas outside flickered softly… as though guarding them from the shadows lurking beyond the light.
The midnight fog curled around the gates of Kothari Mansion, soft and eerie under the faint glow of the street lamps. The city was asleep, but something ancient stirred in the darkness.
By the old banyan tree across the mansion, three Daayans gathered — their eyes like burning coals, their voices serpentine whispers.
"Kamini, the Queen of Daayans, is gone," one hissed. "But her legacy still stains this house."
"Her son walks among them," another growled. "The Sarvansh boy, born of a witch and serpent blood — the world should never have let him live for betraying his mother, our queen."
"We'll finish what our queen could not," the third cackled. "The Kotharis and her son — all will perish by dawn."
Suddenly, a chill wind swept through the alley. The flames of their torches flickered violently.
From the mist, a hooded man emerged — tall, calm, his aura dark and commanding.
"You dare speak of the Kotharis," he said, his voice cutting through the night like steel, "without knowing who truly deserves to destroy them."
The Daayans turned sharply, hissing.
"And who are you to decide that?"
The man lifted his hand. A strange crimson-black glow flared from his palm — power that looked both human and forbidden. The ground trembled as the Daayans shrieked in fear, their bodies twisting unnaturally before crumbling into dust.
When silence returned, the hooded figure stepped forward, staring at the ashes.
"You fools," he muttered. "Only I will end them… starting with her precious son — the son of Kamini, the witch queen."
He slowly pulled back his hood. The mist parted, revealing the face of Veer.
His eyes glowed black, glimmering with an unnatural rage.
"They all celebrate my return," he whispered, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. "But they don't know the truth. The blood that runs in Vihaan's veins is cursed — and I'll cleanse this house of that curse."
As he turned away, the wind howled — carrying away the ashes of the Daayans and the promise of a storm that was about to shatter the Kothari family's fragile peace.