But Ma didn't take him to all of those places.
She didn't take him to any place at all.
Next day, Rudra found her at quite an odd place. It was by the door at the end of their private wing in Ashkavar Castle. the corridor there always colder than the rest, the torches along its walls burning lower, as if the fire itself knew better than to reach too close to that door. The door that led to nowhere. Not, at least, for a human being.
"What are you doing?" Rudra asked as he spotted his Ma standing there by the doorframe opening up to the air, with no stairs, no balcony- just a black drop and the wind pouring in, smelling of storm and altitude. It was a quick route for dragons. Things which had wings.
But Ma didn't have wings.
Ma flinched, turned around. Her usual beautiful hair was a mess, the bun come undone,strands sticking to her damp cheeks. No jewelry. The anchal of her saree flew recklessly behind her in the night wind, snapping like something trying to break free.
"No," she whispered,the word cracked clean in half, "no, no, no, no... you are supposed to be asleep." Her voice broke—like she was trying to talk while swallowing something invisible. The words tumbled out of her mouth too fast, too urgent.
"You shouldn't be here!" The voice rose- thin, climbing too high at the edges like the mountain of Ashkavar itself.
She took a step towards Rudra, a hand raised. But then she pulled it back with a sharp hitch.
"I heard a sound," Rudra informed sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "Why aren't you back in bed, Ma?" Something was wrong—he could feel it—but he couldn't put his finger on it, really.
She didn't answer. The moon hung behind her, painfully bright, painting the sky and Ma's dark hair silver. For a moment, Ma looked small, young — something so fragile that the night wind might just take her.
The thought made Rudra's ever-hot palms feel cold and numb. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked. "Are you leaving without me?"
Ma's eyes shone, her throat worked. But she didn't say anything. Not for a long time. And then she whispered, "I am sorry, my dearest. But I must go."
Her voice was more stable now. Like she had already made up her mind.
Like whatever Rudra said, nothing would make her stay behind.
Rudra held his breath, staring at his mother. His eyes stung and his mouth felt dry. "Ma... where?"
Ma looked behind her and back at him. "To the moon. I'm going to the moon."
Rudra looked at the moon behind her and then again at his Ma. It looked like something cold, soulless, and utterly faraway.
Rudra swallowed. "Can I follow you? When I grow my wings?" he asked, trying to be hopeful. "When I become a real dragon—"
"No."
Ma's answer was fast, devastatingly fast. She almost looked angry. "You must never follow me." Her voice grew a hard edge. "You must live, Rudra. You must live here."
"Ma—" Rudra teared up. It was so unfair! So very unfair of her not to let him even follow her. "Why?"
Ma didn't answer. Instead she kept insisting, "Rudra! Look at me!"
And Rudra tried, really, really tried to look at his mother one last time, even though it became harder and harder to see as his vision blurred.
"I forbid you to ever become a dragon!" Her voice rang firm and absolute through the corridor,l. As she spoke, the torches along the walls seemed to shrink back into themselves, their flames guttering low, as though even fire flinched from her word- the shadows creeping longer across the stone, swallowing the light whole. It was as if her voice was drinking the very light- until only gloom and moonlight remained.
It seemed the words themselves got absorbed by its darkness, becoming a part of Ashkavar Castle like its very foundation stones. "You must never fly! For once you learn to fly, all you will bring is fire and death."
Rudra didn't know what she had meant. But suddenly it was hard for him to look at his dear mother. He ducked his head, looking at his bare feet on the black marbled stone of the floor, and at his own tears falling down — too quiet, like the tears of a thief, or a criminal.
He knew he had sinned, but he didn't know exactly how.
"Good." Ma's voice softened ever so slightly. "Keep your head down. For I cannot leave with you looking at my back."
And Rudra kept his head down.
There was no goodbye. No "I will miss you, my son." No "don't forget me."
But Rudra knew exactly when she had left. A shift in the air first — something pulling at the corridor, like the night itself had inhaled. Then a shuffle, quick and quiet, fabric or feet or both.The torches flickered once, in unison, as though even the fire had noticed her go. And then the soft sound of something flinging itself off the door into the open air, followed by a faint, distant THUD.
Claude finished the response
Here's that moment with those details woven in:
There was no goodbye. No "I will miss you, my son." No "don't forget me."
But Rudra knew exactly when she had left. A shift in the air first — something pulling at the corridor, like the night itself had inhaled. Then a shuffle, quick and quiet, fabric or feet or both. The torches flickered once, in unison, as though even the fire had noticed her go. And then the soft sound of something flinging itself off the door into the open air, followed by a faint, distant THUD.
There was no goodbye. No "I will miss you, my son." No "don't forget me."
But Rudra knew exactly when she had left. A shift in the air first — something pulling at the corridor, like the night itself had inhaled. Then a shuffle, quick and quiet, fabric or feet or both. The torches flickered once, in unison, as though even the fire had noticed her go. And then the soft sound of something flinging itself off the door into the open air, followed by a faint, distant THUD.
And then — nothing.
The silence that followed was awful, absolute, the kind that seemed to press down on Rudra's ears like water, thick enough to drown in. No wind. No wingbeats. Not even the small, ordinary sounds of the castle settling around him. As if the whole world had gone as still as he was, waiting to see what he would do.
Ma must have landed on the moon, he told himself. But he never looked up.
Not even when the sun rose.
He kept his head down- listening to a silence that had no end to it.