The river murmured in silver song,
its waters soft, yet swift and strong.
Two strangers stood on either side,
their worlds divided, yet hearts allied.
The silence between Rudra and Anaya stretched like a fragile thread, delicate but unbroken. He had spoken, and she had listened. That was dangerous enough—an Asura and an Apsara should not have exchanged even a glance, let alone words. Yet the forest seemed to lean closer, curious, as though the trees themselves hungered for this forbidden meeting.
Rudra kept his gaze low, wary of frightening her. He had fought gods, torn down walls of gold, and carried the roars of battle across endless fields. But here, before her, he felt strangely unarmed.
Anaya, on her part, should have fled. Her sisters often warned her—"The Asuras are shadow-born; to look into their eyes is to invite ruin." And yet, what she saw was not ruin. His eyes held the weight of solitude, the kind she too understood. For though she was heaven's dancer, adored for her grace, she was also bound—a servant of divine whims, never free to choose her own heart's desire.
"You do not belong here," she said softly, but not in anger. "This grove is sacred to the river goddess. If the Devas see you, they will not forgive."
"I know," Rudra replied, his voice steady but quiet. "Yet still, I came. For in all my wandering, no place has felt so free."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes remained cautious. "Freedom is rare… and dangerous."
He stepped no closer, only lifted his head to meet her gaze. "Then perhaps danger is the price worth paying."
For a moment, she could not look away. Something unspoken passed between them, something neither the heavens nor the underworld could name. It lingered in the air, soft as the drifting fragrance of lotus blossoms.
The river flowed on, carrying their silence into the twilight.
The river heard, the forest knew,
the wind had carried whispers true.
That love had stirred, though none could see,
in places where no love should be.
The twilight deepens, shadows creep,
the forest stirs from gentle sleep.
Not all who wander seek the light—
Some walk with hunger in the night.
Anaya's laughter faded, her eyes suddenly clouded. The anklets at her feet, which had sung so freely, now fell into silence. Rudra noticed the change at once—the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her gaze darted to the trees.
"What is it?" he asked.
Before she could answer, the air shifted. A chill swept through the grove though the night was warm. From the eastern edge of the river, golden flames rose—not of mortal fire, but divine.
Through them stepped God Surath, a lesser Deva but one swollen with vanity and greed. He was draped in silks that shimmered like the sun, jewels clinking at his wrists and throat. His smile was sharp, not with kindness but with possession.
"So this is where you hide, Anaya," Surath's voice rang across the grove, honeyed yet cruel. "The jewel of the heavens, gathering flowers in the dusk. You belong not to the river, nor the forest, but to me."
Anaya's face hardened, though her body trembled. She bowed slightly, out of habit if not respect. "Lord Surath, you mistake me. I serve the court of Indra, not the whims of your desire."
Surath's eyes glinted as they slid past her and landed on Rudra. His smile twisted. "And what is this?" He stepped closer, the air around him crackling. "An Asura… in sacred ground? Do you defile even this river with your stench?"
Rudra straightened, his muscles taut but his voice calm. "I came here in peace."
Surath laughed, the sound hollow. "Peace? Asuras know nothing of peace. And you—" he turned his gaze back to Anaya, his voice dropping low, sharp as a blade—"you dare stand so near him? Do you betray your own kind so easily?"
Anaya's heart pounded. She knew the god's threats were no idle words. Surath had pursued her before, cloaking his desire in compliments, in promises of wealth, in whispers of power. She had refused him each time, and each refusal had stoked his hunger.
Rudra's fists clenched, but he did not move. He remembered the countless battles he had fought, the countless gods warrior he had slain in rage. But here, before her, he could not draw blood. Not yet.
"Leave her be," he said, his voice like a low storm.
Surath's laughter echoed through the grove. "And if I do not? Will you challenge me, beast? Strike me, and the heavens will rain fire upon you. Stay silent, and I will take what I wish."
The river's song grew louder, as though it too recoiled from his words. The forest trembled, the air thick with the weight of choice.
Anaya's hand trembled against the basket of flowers. Her eyes darted between the Asura who should not care for her, and the god who would claim her.
And in that moment, destiny leaned closer.
The river darkens, thunder calls,
the night prepares for what befalls.
For when desire and fury meet,
love must decide if it retreats… or beats.